Wednesday, March 4th

March 4, 2009 By 1 Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,

Is it true that Bernie Madoff is still living in a fancy apartment in Manhattan?  How could this be?  I think he scammed people to the tune of 50 Billion dollars.  Maybe that number is not exact, but my Uncle Chuck has been in jail for selling LSD since 1976.  Why does there seem to be such a huge disconnect between white color criminals and the rest of us?  Also, did I miss the boat on creating a pyramid scheme?  Because I think house arrest in a fine town house would be better then eeking out a living the honest way.

With Curiosity and Outrage,

Working Class Slob

Dear Working Class Slob,
I’m in the process of developing a political theory whereby I prove that the general public is incapable of looking at the politico-civic society as a whole. For instance: How can people make gay marriage their number one political issue when they may be living next to a 200 pound pet chimp that could rip there face off at any minute? Which issue is more likely to directly affect you?

But maybe I’m putting too much theory into something that could be explained with more ease. Maybe people are just mostly idiots. I don’t really believe that, but it’s hard not to come to that conclusion if you read the newspaper.

I’m so sorry to hear about your Uncle. You’re right that there is a huge and embarrassing divide between victimless crimes- like drug offenses- and white collar crimes like Bernie Maddoff’s. The good news is that Madoff is now hated with the level of passion reserved for child molesters. I imagine that his presence will probably make former stock brokers and scam artists form gangs like regular prison. They might be more eloquent while they beat Madoff’s ass, but they’ll get him all the same. It’ll be just like a prison movie, but the guys will be fatter and more entitled.

Bernie Madoff is going to get his comeuppance.

Sincerely,
Poor Lucky Me

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Tuesday, March 3rd

March 3, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,

I recently was watching my nightly fill of E! and Access Hollywood, etc. Some actor, I think it was Nicholas Cage or Hugh Jackman or something, was featured. The brilliant investigative reporter was saying how this actor had to go on a special diet where he eats lots and lots because he had to gain like 30lbs for his next role as a fat person.

I’m writing for your advice on this subject. I always wanted to be a Hollywood Celebrity, and now I think I see my opening. I happen to already be about 30lbs overweight, (according to my mom, anyway), and I’d be happy to stay on a special diet of donuts and ice cream (what I eat most days anyway) in order to star in a movie. I guess the only thing missing is where do I go (besides Hollywood, of course!) and who do I call??

Signed in drool,

Headed to Krispy Kreme to Celebrate my New Career

 

Dear Krispy Kreme,

Traditionally good looking people are so boring with their hot bodies and clean hair.  Anyone can do that.  Not just anyone, however, can really reach for the stars by becoming a fat slob.  I also think that the American standard of beauty is bound to change as obesity and teen pregnancy continue to become the norm. I’m also seeing a lot of nasty tattoos on internet porn, so look into that.  Porn is a good trend indicator.

Unfortunately, I don’t know a ton about how to go about becoming a Hollywood star.  It doesn’t appear that reality TV offers much of a chance to become anything but a drunken ho.  Some people I spoke to while doing my research  said you should go to Hollywood and “sleep your way to the top” but I’m not sure that will work considering your physical aspirations.

Why don’t you start by going on local auditions?  Also take an acting class, that’ll give you access to contacts and like-minded people.  Whenever you decide you really want to go after something- you have to broadcast your wishes to everyone you come in contact with.  That goes for dieting, sobriety, and career goals.

Sincerely,

Poor Lucky Me

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Monday, March 2nd

March 2, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Secrets of Being Nice

Dear Poor Lucky Me,

Is pretending to be nice as good as really being nice?  I mean, if I’m nice when words come out of my mouth, does it matter what’s churning up in my brain?

I’m both proud and worried about my accomplishments in this area.

Yours,

Ex-Catholic

Dear Ex-Catholic,

It sounds like you’re new to the nice game, welcome!  I think you’ll find being nice is one of the most rewarding and beneficial habits you can take on.  You can say goodbye to heated confrontations at work, or in parking lots, or in line at the supermarket.  Your niceness will make you realize how much energy you wasted on being a tool.

It’s such a drag to be mean.  Look at hippies- you think they’re nice to make the world a better place?  No, they’re nice because it’s easier to function, and more conducive to napping. Even when people are dicks to you, it’s easier and more satisfying just to be nice back.

You’re not just pretending to be nice because you occasionally think mean things.  Every person suffers from an internal struggle between their brain and their heart.  It’s why some weird religio-types are so terrified of homosexuality.  They’re afraid that they might be interested in checking the scene out someday, so they have to be vigilant in their hatred.  They think that shaking  a gay dude’s hand might turn into a passionate make out session, because they thought about it once while waiting for the bus.

Normal people understand that sometimes your brain wonders about things that you know you aren’t going to act on.  Most religions try and convince you that what you THINK will translate to how you act, and that’s just not true.  I think a lot about dropping out of society, but I know the lack of flushing toilets and my love of the show Millionaire Matchmaker will always overcome my fantasies of living in a hut in Montana.

Don’t worry too much, just keep acting nice.  Your brain will get on board.

Sincerely,

Poor Lucky Me

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Friday, February 27th

March 2, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,
I read about a girl who taught her dog to lift his leg when he pooped, so she didn’t have to pick it up. It’s an appealing concept on a not-having-to-handle-hot-poop level, but outrageous on a societal level. What do you think?

With Love,
Dismounting From My High Horse

Dear Dismounting,

No, no no no no no.  Please no.  Please.  You really must view picking up your dog’s poop as part of your bonding process.  When all the snow melted in Chicago a couple of weeks ago (don’t worry, now we have new snow) and I got a glimpse of all the sidewalk bombs that people thought they weren’t responsible for because the snow was hiding them, I had a complete nervous breakdown.  In fact there is still a policeman stationed inside the 7-11 near my house, because I stripped down to my undies and burst in there sobbing and babbling about soggy poos.  I was just trying to buy some baggies but I guess the owner got all freaked out and called the cops.

You don’t know rock bottom until you’re sitting in jail in old underpants and your mother won’t come get you because she assumes the phone calls are a joke.  Luckily the personal banker at Chase was still desperate to get me to open a savings account, so he came and got me.  Thank god for these tough economic times, and I don’t even believe in god.

Be cool, pick up your dog’s poo.

Sincerely,

Poor Lucky Me

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Thursday, February 26th

March 1, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,
I’m bored with my life. I want to shake things up, but don’t want to really make a big change. You know what I mean? What do you think about introducing myself as Dr. and if people question it, making something up- like dictologist. I think that people don’t ask a lot of follow up questions because they don’t like looking stupid.

What do you think?

Signed,
More Than High School Educated

Dear More Than,
It’s comforting that you can rely on people not to ask follow up questions.

Well, not always. Once, while I worked in advertising, I went to a baby shower. I sat next to a sweet old lady who very politely wanted to know what I did for a living. I told her I made commercials. She asked:
“Which commercials have you worked on?”
I said “Um have you seen the Allstate commercial where they drive a car off Marina Towers?”
“No,” she said. “What else?”
“Oh ah have you see the commercial where everything the guy touches turns to Skittles?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t see that. What else?”
“Oh, well have you seen the commercial where the parade balloons all want the Coke?” I prayed this would end soon.
“No I didn’t see that one. What else?” She looked at me so expectantly. So I said:
“Have you seen the one where the old lady falls and can’t get up?”
“Yes” the lady chirped “I’ve seen that!”
“Yea I worked on that one!” I said, smiling broadly.
“WOW,” said my new friend, “but you seem too young to have worked on that.”

I just shrugged and then launched into a long story about some sports injuries I had recently obtained. I kept talking until her face dropped into her soup. Long story short, I ended up giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation but it was worth it.

Sincerely,
Poor Lucky Me

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Wednesday, February 25th

March 1, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,
I was recently at bar for my good friend’s birthday party, and one of her friends who I had taken out on a date about 6 months ago was also in attendance. We had a great time on our date, so I thought, but for some reason we didn’t go on another. I hadn’t seen her since we went out, and I was trying to strike up some small talk with her about a play I had just seen (she works for the company who produced it) when she abruptly stops our conversation. She puts her hand on my shoulder and says “Look at the person on your left.” I look, it’s my roommate. She continues “that’s who you’re going home with tonight.” I playfully suggest that he’s probably going home with his girlfriend. She says “then look to the person on your right.” Nobody is there. With a snarky look she quips “that’s right,” and snaps her head around and walks away. I’m left there sort of confused and completely sand-bagged, wondering why this bitch be trippin’. To get one thing out of the way, I definitely was not trying to flirt with her. And for the record, I had treated her to a really nice dinner and a hilarious comedy show on our date.

I may see her again at an upcoming function thrown by our mutual friend. How should I handle any future encounters?

Sincerely,

Wondering Why This Bitch be Trippin’

Dear Wondering,
Based on the follow up encounter you had, it sounds like you dodged a bullet by not calling this ho. “That’s who you’re going home with tonight”? Snap.

Well, here are a couple of important things to note: a) This girl would definitely do sexy times on you if you want. All it would take is one phone call and a short series of put-downs/compliment cycles. Crazy girls love that; it makes them horny to be jerked around. b) This girl’s version of reality is never going to sync up with your version of reality, so you should just get used to taking a vacation to crazy town when she’s around. Don’t worry, anyone who knows her already knows that she’s dumb/crazy/annoying/horny so you don’t have to worry about your street cred.

In the future, you have to come out of the gate swinging. It’s important to be hyper-aggressive when you’re in uncomfortable social situations. When you see her, charge up to her and say “Thanks for using me for a good time, then not even having the courtesy to call me after our date. Really, I expected a lot more from a girl like you.” Then look down at your hands, and shuffle your feet back and forth. When she tries to reply, keep interrupting her and just say “I was hurt. I was really hurt. You used me” until she’s noticeably worn down. If you can whip up some tears to really make a scene, I say go for it. There is nothing wrong with causing a scene to stick it to someone.

Sincerely,
Poor Lucky Me

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Tuesday, February 24th

March 1, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,
The other day I was in the break room at work, making my co-workers laugh by telling stories about my encounters with Don Juan Assholio. That’s what I call my boss. Suddenly the room went silent and I turned around to find my boss standing there. He said- who’s Don Juan Assholio? I blurted out “my new boyfriend”. He said “Really? We should have dinner sometime. How about Thursday night?” I agreed.

I don’t have a boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure my boss is just trying to torture me because he knows I’m lying. Do I scrape up a fake boyfriend somewhere or just admit that I was mocking him?

Signed,
I Wish I Could Say I Learned My Lesson, But I Know Myself Better Than That

Dear I.W.I.C.S.I.L.M.L.B.I.K.M.B.T.T.,
Don Juan Assholio? That’s kind of funny, but I sure know what it’s like to take a so-so joke to the next level to impress a crowd. In fact, that’s one of the hairiest traps a person can walk into- socially. Not physically. Physically you want to avoid those pits dug into the group and set with sharpened spears then covered over lightly with brush. Because when you fall into those you get impaled by the sharpened spears. Also, look out for trip wires that cause branches to whip around and hit you in the face. I just read that those branches are often tipped with fecal matter to increase the possibility of infection. So, try and remember that at least.

I’ve got to say- faking a boyfriend, going to dinner just to prove to your boss that you’re not a jerk- the whole scheme smacks of Weekend at Bernie’s II. Are you going to get a Real Doll and put him on crutches and tell your boss and his wife that your boyfriend is a deaf/mute/anorexic? Or ask a friend to pose as your boyfriend then have some awkward moment at the end of the date where you either have to fake a fight in front of your boss to explain the break up? (Actually I like that Jennifer Aniston movie where she’s the “Ad Executive” and hires a guy who really likes her to play her fiancee- with hilarious, then heartbreaking, then heartwarming results) Of course your boss is torturing you. Just go into his office and apologize profusely. Tell him that you were actually talking about another co-worker- some one who was also in the break room- and that you were too chicken to out yourself. Tell him you have learned your lesson, and thank him for his patience. Then really try to learn your lesson.

Sincerely,
Poor Lucky Me

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Monday, February 23rd

March 1, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,
I want a new job but fear that the problem is that I don’t want any job. Could this be? I’m pretty smart and normal.
Worried,

Very Worried

Dear Very Worried,
I get this question often, and want to assure you that there is nothing wrong with you. I do believe you are both smart and normal…and in fact you are just too good for the work-a-day world. Dear Very Worried, doth a bird not cry when it’s wings are clipped, when it is sentenced to a life of droll flightlessness? That bird, my friend, is like you.

You don’t have to worry though, this is America! You don’t have to work, there are tons of other things you can do. You could go on welfare, or become a religious devotee, you could get on a reality tv show, you could beg. Really you can do anything you want in this grand country. In fact I recently saw two homeless people of unidentifiable gender making out in the park near my home. Romance might be on the horizon for you! This is very exciting.

Best to you,
Poor Lucky Me

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Friday, February 20th

March 1, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,
I am beginning to think that Roland Burris is for real. Could that be? All along I thought he was doing a performance art piece- like pointing out the hypocrisy and idiocy of politics. But it may be in fact that he is just a hypocritical idiot. What do you think?

Signed,
Hopeful About My Own Success in Politics Now

Dear Hopeful,
Hell yea Roland Burris is for real. He’s so for real he has built himself a mausoleum with the words “Trail Blazer” above a growing list of accomplishments. I don’t know if he’ll end up putting “disgraced by desperate attempt to grab power during a political shit storm through an association with one of Illinois most impressive scum bags” I think that’s a little long for a mausoleum inscription.

He’s definitely an idiot, but I don’t think he’s hypocritical. It’s more likely that he believes his own bullshit, which is the most dangerous kind of idiot. This turn in Burris’ fate is unfortunate, because leading up to this point he had an impressive career. He was a man to look up to. But I think it’s fair to be suspicious of anyone who starts listing their own accomplishments in stone. Like a Pharaoh for god’s sake. Not to beat a dead horse, but wasn’t there anyone who said “Ah- Roland, you are really going to look like a self aggrandizing ego maniac if you carve your accomplishments into your mausoleum pre-mortem.”? He should have been friends with me, I would have set him straight.

Sincerely,
Poor Lucky Me

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Thursday, February 19th

March 1, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dear Poor Lucky Me,
I work with a guy who keeps using “Happy Ending” as his big joke. I laughed the first 900,774,711,323,000,129 times he used it, but man, I can’t keep this up. Here are some examples (all “jokes” are accompanied by a sharp elbow thrust into the nearest warm body):
“I wish this meeting had a happy ending”
“I’d work on this more enthusiastically if I knew it came with a happy ending!”
“It’s not cheating if you call it a happy ending!”

Short of spitting in this guy’s face or doing a round-house kick to his knees, I don’t know how to stop this. I’m offended at the sloppiness and frequency of this joke. And as a happy ending enthusiast, I feel slightly embarrassed.

Signed,
Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,
Your colleague’s jokes are the comedy equivalent to water-boarding, and I don’t make torture jokes lightly. Unless I don’t have anything else to make jokes about. But in this case, the analogy is apt. Anyway, even reading those “jokes” made me punch my computer in fury, and now the I.T. guy is all annoyed at me. He was also really annoyed when I spilled a Slim Fast martini on my laptop though, so you know he’s completely unreasonable.

First of all, immediately stop laughing at the happy ending joke. In fact, when he says “happy ending” stop smiling, talking, and making eye contact. When he makes any other joke, scream laughing like he’s Billy Crystal. Next, when he elbows you scream “Ow” then fall to the floor rolling from side to side and moaning. If he (or anyone) ask what’s wrong just mumble incoherently for a minute or so, then walk around with an ice pack on the offended area for the next hour. Glare at the co-worker as often as possible. The final piece to the puzzle should come after a week of not laughing and faking injury:

Anytime he starts a joke that you know is going to end in “happy ending” start talking loudly over him. If he talks louder, you talk louder. If he gets annoyed, pull him aside and say your just trying to save his ass because you overheard some grumblings from H.R.

Unfortunately, you can count on him coming up with some equally stupid and offensive joke, but at least you can go back to getting hand jobs without embarrassment.

Sincerely,
Poor Lucky Me

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