Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Who the hell do you think you are giving out advice to people? Do you have a degree in psychology?
Wanta Know
Dear Wanta Know:
I have spell check, it’s “want to know” if you want to know. Even if you don’t! Yes I have a degree. My degree is in the field of hard knocks. And if I ever catch you writing to me again, I’ll give you a hard knock right in your ass! Just remember, not everyone who gives out advice is a psychotherapist! How many of those talk show hosts actually have a degree in helping people? Not many! Doesn't stop them, so it's not going to stop me!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Explain this one to me. I went to the grocery story. It’s one of those mega chains here in Chicago. Okay, I’ll admit it, it was Jewel Foods. They have a guarantee. If the items scans wrong it’s free. I’ve never really used it before, but I know about (as many people do not!). So, I’m at the checkout and the kid is ringing up my groceries. What happens next is almost comedic. I notice the tally jump from about 47 dollars to over $100. Know I know I didn’t buy that much. So I ask him how it happened. This 17 year-old cashier assures me it’s right and says the “roast beef” was $49.95. I say I didn’t have any roast beef. To make a long story short, a manager must go over and have the deli person put a different price on my coleslaw which rang up wrong. This takes about five minutes (what a waste of time!). So I mention to the manager about the guarantee and she says, “It wasn’t a scanner error, it was a human error, so you don’t get the item free.” What do you make of that? Aren’t all scanner errors human errors?
To Err is Human
Dear To Err is Human:
You’re right. I know, nobody EVER expected those words to come out of my mouth (which they literally didn’t since this is in print!--save this column it may never happen again.). If you could do it all over again, (do it all over the store!) I’d suggest you tell the 17 year-old, “How stupid can you be? Did you see anything remotely close to costing $49.95 in my order? Show me the inflatable sex doll--show it to me!” And I’d tell the manager, “Garbage in, garbage out. ALL scanner errors are human errors!” Then I’d escalate the issue to a higher manager. What’s the damned use of having a policy when there is NO way to use the policy? I wonder if this store has a sexual harassment policy that only applies to 12 year-old transvestites (we all know that 12 year-olds do NOT work). It certainly doesn’t sound like a jewel of a store. Find another place to shop!
Mr. Man-ners
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Mr. Man-ners (9): Psychology, Degrees, Hard Knocks, Grocery Store, Managers, Scanner Errors, Human Errors,
Friday, December 30, 2005
Mr. Man-ners (8): Smashed, Drunk, Tootsie Pop, Management, Scared of Change, God, Famous Singers, Cards, Christmas, Bible, Nude Beach, Michael Vale
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’ve got a question that relates to New Year’s Eve. How many drinks can one have before one is drunk?
Don’t Want to Get Smashed
Dear Don’t Want to Get Smashed:
This is a stupid question. It takes as many drinks to get drunk as it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Three. Doesn’t everyone know that?
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
My department is undergoing some major changes. The management hasn’t told us anything. They’ve just taken all our work away and given it to other people. Now they tell us we’ll all be doing something different for the new year. What do you make of this?
Scared of Change
Dear Scared of Change:
I’d say to fear for your job, except that most companies that take away work, would just fire you (right before Christmas)--that’s usually their Christmas gift to the laid off employees. I don’t know what to make of it. My suggestion is to go with the flow, until such time as the corporate toilet backs up all over you. Keep your eyes peeled for other jobs within or outside your company because God knows you may hate the new job. I’m assuming they haven’t changed your title or given you any kind of raise. That would be typical. No doubt they’ll expect more work for the same pay--get ready to jump ship like the other rats!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners
I’m in love with a famous singer. I’ve written him letters and sent cards and even sent him a Christmas gift. But so far, no word. What should I do next so he’ll notice me.
Hot for a Hot Shot
Dear Hot for a Hot Shot:
My theory is that he’s notices you already. He’s probably got a gaggle of security who have a picture of you, just in case you should show up at his door and stalk him. You’re NOT doing that, are you? I hope not, because if I were him I’d tell my security people to shoot first and ask questions later. How the hell can you be in love with someone you’ve never met? Get a life, stalk someone in your own socioeconomic bracket--this means NOT me!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I recently went to an art museum and was taken aback by how many of these so-called famous pieces of art are naked people. Can you explain to me why?
A Reverend
Dear A Reverend:
Don’t you read the Bible? Adam and Ever were naked! People are born naked. Plus, most of the famous art was created in Europe (as America was only born about 200 years ago--and they went through their Puritan phase--of “no nakedness” back then). Europeans have always walked around naked. That’s why they have nude beaches. I say if you don’t like the art in museums, if you don’t like nakedness, join a monastery (but don’t look at the art on the walls!).
Mr. Man-ners (Advocate for nakedness EVERYWHERE)
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m so sad. Did you hear the guy who said that famous line “Time to make the doughnuts” died this week. I really liked him. Now whose going to make the doughnuts.
The Sky is Falling
Dear The Sky is Falling:
The sky is NOT falling. I was also saddened to hear that Michael Vale died. But I have to say that people will still make doughnuts (and better than Dunkin’ Doughnuts I might add). It’s sad when good people die--but it’s worse when people who don’t know them take it on as their own grief. For God’s sake, get some psychological help! Otherwise you’ll end up like that stalker--except you’ll be throwing yourself into this poor man’s coffin. That would be the real crime.
Mr. Man-ners
I’ve got a question that relates to New Year’s Eve. How many drinks can one have before one is drunk?
Don’t Want to Get Smashed
Dear Don’t Want to Get Smashed:
This is a stupid question. It takes as many drinks to get drunk as it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Three. Doesn’t everyone know that?
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
My department is undergoing some major changes. The management hasn’t told us anything. They’ve just taken all our work away and given it to other people. Now they tell us we’ll all be doing something different for the new year. What do you make of this?
Scared of Change
Dear Scared of Change:
I’d say to fear for your job, except that most companies that take away work, would just fire you (right before Christmas)--that’s usually their Christmas gift to the laid off employees. I don’t know what to make of it. My suggestion is to go with the flow, until such time as the corporate toilet backs up all over you. Keep your eyes peeled for other jobs within or outside your company because God knows you may hate the new job. I’m assuming they haven’t changed your title or given you any kind of raise. That would be typical. No doubt they’ll expect more work for the same pay--get ready to jump ship like the other rats!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners
I’m in love with a famous singer. I’ve written him letters and sent cards and even sent him a Christmas gift. But so far, no word. What should I do next so he’ll notice me.
Hot for a Hot Shot
Dear Hot for a Hot Shot:
My theory is that he’s notices you already. He’s probably got a gaggle of security who have a picture of you, just in case you should show up at his door and stalk him. You’re NOT doing that, are you? I hope not, because if I were him I’d tell my security people to shoot first and ask questions later. How the hell can you be in love with someone you’ve never met? Get a life, stalk someone in your own socioeconomic bracket--this means NOT me!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I recently went to an art museum and was taken aback by how many of these so-called famous pieces of art are naked people. Can you explain to me why?
A Reverend
Dear A Reverend:
Don’t you read the Bible? Adam and Ever were naked! People are born naked. Plus, most of the famous art was created in Europe (as America was only born about 200 years ago--and they went through their Puritan phase--of “no nakedness” back then). Europeans have always walked around naked. That’s why they have nude beaches. I say if you don’t like the art in museums, if you don’t like nakedness, join a monastery (but don’t look at the art on the walls!).
Mr. Man-ners (Advocate for nakedness EVERYWHERE)
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m so sad. Did you hear the guy who said that famous line “Time to make the doughnuts” died this week. I really liked him. Now whose going to make the doughnuts.
The Sky is Falling
Dear The Sky is Falling:
The sky is NOT falling. I was also saddened to hear that Michael Vale died. But I have to say that people will still make doughnuts (and better than Dunkin’ Doughnuts I might add). It’s sad when good people die--but it’s worse when people who don’t know them take it on as their own grief. For God’s sake, get some psychological help! Otherwise you’ll end up like that stalker--except you’ll be throwing yourself into this poor man’s coffin. That would be the real crime.
Mr. Man-ners
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Mr. Man-ners (7): Christmas Sales & Jingle Bells & The Grinch, Holidays & Bosses & Shit, Gifts & Cards, Christ & Materialism
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Can you explain to me why companies can have massive sales after Christmas, but not before? Doesn’t it all end up in the same pot?
Not a Grinch
Dear Not a Grinch:
If you're not a Grinch--are you a Who? Who cares? The answer is that these companies have you by the jingle bells before and you have them by the chestnuts after. People want to give gifts on Christmas--so they’re willing to pay too much money for items. My suggestion is to bring your gift recipient (and the gift) back to the store the day (or the week) after Christmas and return and repurchase your gift. Make sure you bring along the credit card you purchased the gift with. Any savings you get will go back on the credit card (and you can give this money to the gift receiver as a bonus--this way you won’t look cheap!). By doing this with EVERY gift you give you’ll teach these retailers a valuable lesson!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
With the holidays coming up, I’ve noticed lots of people taking time off from work. But I don’t have any vacation time left. Why do some bosses insist you follow the company rules for time off--then go ahead and do as they please. It’s not fair.
An Employee
Dear An Employee:
Whey you get to be the boss you’ll understand. They have all the power. They get to squeeze your jingle bells whenever they like. Boss stands for Better Off Sack of Shit. They have bosses too you know.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m tired of getting gifts I have to return. The hair nose trimmer that trims your sideburns and the hangers for your intimates. Who came up with such stupid items and why do people buy them for me?
Perplexed About What to do Next
Dear Perplexed About What to do Next:
Quit your bitching. People in third would countries could use those batteries in your nose trimmer to run their electricity for a year. They think the items you got are to die for. Literally. Give your gift giver a list--naming specific gift cards and suggest “No guessing.” Just be glad you’re still getting thoughtful (as in not a lump of coal) gifts. You could be getting something worse (for instance, I’d give you a good kick in the ass for not being grateful).
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
This is the Christmas season, a time to celebrate Christ’s birth--people should not be so materialistic. They should donate all the money they plan to spend on gifts to church.
Just An Idea
Dear Just An Idea:
I’ve got an idea--why don’t all the churches give all their money to the poor and needy like they’re supposed to do? And wasn’t Christ materialistic? I mean, look at all the gifts he got on his birthday. Did he give any of them back? No! Next time you get an idea--think about it. Ideas are like shit--some stink and some don’t. Yours stinks! Sure it feels great coming out--but that doesn’t mean you have to share it with the whole world.
Mr. Man-ners
Can you explain to me why companies can have massive sales after Christmas, but not before? Doesn’t it all end up in the same pot?
Not a Grinch
Dear Not a Grinch:
If you're not a Grinch--are you a Who? Who cares? The answer is that these companies have you by the jingle bells before and you have them by the chestnuts after. People want to give gifts on Christmas--so they’re willing to pay too much money for items. My suggestion is to bring your gift recipient (and the gift) back to the store the day (or the week) after Christmas and return and repurchase your gift. Make sure you bring along the credit card you purchased the gift with. Any savings you get will go back on the credit card (and you can give this money to the gift receiver as a bonus--this way you won’t look cheap!). By doing this with EVERY gift you give you’ll teach these retailers a valuable lesson!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
With the holidays coming up, I’ve noticed lots of people taking time off from work. But I don’t have any vacation time left. Why do some bosses insist you follow the company rules for time off--then go ahead and do as they please. It’s not fair.
An Employee
Dear An Employee:
Whey you get to be the boss you’ll understand. They have all the power. They get to squeeze your jingle bells whenever they like. Boss stands for Better Off Sack of Shit. They have bosses too you know.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m tired of getting gifts I have to return. The hair nose trimmer that trims your sideburns and the hangers for your intimates. Who came up with such stupid items and why do people buy them for me?
Perplexed About What to do Next
Dear Perplexed About What to do Next:
Quit your bitching. People in third would countries could use those batteries in your nose trimmer to run their electricity for a year. They think the items you got are to die for. Literally. Give your gift giver a list--naming specific gift cards and suggest “No guessing.” Just be glad you’re still getting thoughtful (as in not a lump of coal) gifts. You could be getting something worse (for instance, I’d give you a good kick in the ass for not being grateful).
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
This is the Christmas season, a time to celebrate Christ’s birth--people should not be so materialistic. They should donate all the money they plan to spend on gifts to church.
Just An Idea
Dear Just An Idea:
I’ve got an idea--why don’t all the churches give all their money to the poor and needy like they’re supposed to do? And wasn’t Christ materialistic? I mean, look at all the gifts he got on his birthday. Did he give any of them back? No! Next time you get an idea--think about it. Ideas are like shit--some stink and some don’t. Yours stinks! Sure it feels great coming out--but that doesn’t mean you have to share it with the whole world.
Mr. Man-ners
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
My Decor
This is what my apartment would look like if I were a fish who lived in a cartoon!
Anyhow, I thought it looked pretty cool. It's what came out when I was playing with some features on my new Kodak camera that I got for Christmas!
If only the whites were that white and the brights were that bright--well I'd live in a cartoon! Which doesn't sound that bad right about now.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Mr. Man-ners (6): Planned Obsolescence & Christmas, Schmuck, Music, Roaches & Beatles, Brendan Benson, The Beatles, Makeup & Shit
Dear Mr. Man-ners: What is “planned obsolescence” and how does it apply to me?”Not in the Know
Dear Not in the Know:
Okay. I’m not a dictionary. But I know the answer to this one! Planned obsolescence (no quotes) is when you buy a small Christmas tree that's supposed to last through Christmas and it dies a week before. Or when you buy those "new" tiny Poinsettias plants as gifts, but they only last 4 days (not even the requisite 12 days of Christmas). This way the manufacturer’s can make you buy more of their product before it obsolescent. Obsolescent is Greek for “wasting money on garbage.” My suggestion is that if a sales person EVER mentions this to you, while you’re purchasing something, don’t buy it! And don’t buy those living Christmas trees or baby Poinsettias—take it from a Schmuck who did (Schmuck is Yiddish for “idiot”).
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why do some musical groups make it and some don’t. I mean, I don’t think the Beatles were all that. Yet they are touted as the best group ever. What do you think?
Beatles are Just Roaches
Dear Beatles are Just Roaches:
Oddly enough, I agree. But that doesn’t give you the right to make such statements—you’re a schmuck! Now I’m going to get nasty letters from fans. Thanks a lot! Anyhow, to answer your question schmuck, I don’t know. All I know is that there are some phenomenal musicians who don’t make it past first base (no NOT kissing! I mean past the point where they record their own CD). Sometimes labels don’t care if you’re talented—I mean, have you ever heard Anita Baker sing live? Without a studio mixing machine behind her, she’s not all that. Anyhow, you know what they say about opinions (everyone has one, but Mr. Man-ners is always right!). While I’m not in love with the Beatles (please, no letters! Mr. Postman, don’t send me a letter), I do love Brendan Benson’s album Lapaco (I’d say he’s on par with the Beatles without all the drama and some of the drugs--though I can't be sure) and I love Mark McGuinn (if he’d been smart he would have lost the French Beret, I mean that’s why I suspect his terrific debut self-titled album didn’t sell well to the country audience. Who’s ever heard of French country? I have! But it’s all about wine—not beer swigging cowboys). Unfortunately, they may need to do a "Whatever happened to" about these two great singers someday (and that would be a shame). Yet, the Beatles just keep making money (even while they’re dead, they just keep going and going). So, Beatles are Just Roaches, that’s my answer, take it or leave it schmuck.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
What is the fascination with makeup? Women try it on in the store. They get into car accidents because of it. What’s up with that?
Au Natural
Dear Au Natural:
I doubt you walk around naked all the time. Women love the attention they get when they look pretty. But I’m with you. Many women look better without the play-dough they put on their faces. If they only knew the secret ingredient in these cosmetics. Okay, I’ll tell you what it is. It’s shit! A recent study proved that there is more excrement in department store makeup testers than anywhere else (I’m NOT making this up!). My guess would be it's even more shit than in the New York sewers. What’s up with that? And they say men don’t wash their hands!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Not in the Know:
Okay. I’m not a dictionary. But I know the answer to this one! Planned obsolescence (no quotes) is when you buy a small Christmas tree that's supposed to last through Christmas and it dies a week before. Or when you buy those "new" tiny Poinsettias plants as gifts, but they only last 4 days (not even the requisite 12 days of Christmas). This way the manufacturer’s can make you buy more of their product before it obsolescent. Obsolescent is Greek for “wasting money on garbage.” My suggestion is that if a sales person EVER mentions this to you, while you’re purchasing something, don’t buy it! And don’t buy those living Christmas trees or baby Poinsettias—take it from a Schmuck who did (Schmuck is Yiddish for “idiot”).
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why do some musical groups make it and some don’t. I mean, I don’t think the Beatles were all that. Yet they are touted as the best group ever. What do you think?
Beatles are Just Roaches
Dear Beatles are Just Roaches:
Oddly enough, I agree. But that doesn’t give you the right to make such statements—you’re a schmuck! Now I’m going to get nasty letters from fans. Thanks a lot! Anyhow, to answer your question schmuck, I don’t know. All I know is that there are some phenomenal musicians who don’t make it past first base (no NOT kissing! I mean past the point where they record their own CD). Sometimes labels don’t care if you’re talented—I mean, have you ever heard Anita Baker sing live? Without a studio mixing machine behind her, she’s not all that. Anyhow, you know what they say about opinions (everyone has one, but Mr. Man-ners is always right!). While I’m not in love with the Beatles (please, no letters! Mr. Postman, don’t send me a letter), I do love Brendan Benson’s album Lapaco (I’d say he’s on par with the Beatles without all the drama and some of the drugs--though I can't be sure) and I love Mark McGuinn (if he’d been smart he would have lost the French Beret, I mean that’s why I suspect his terrific debut self-titled album didn’t sell well to the country audience. Who’s ever heard of French country? I have! But it’s all about wine—not beer swigging cowboys). Unfortunately, they may need to do a "Whatever happened to" about these two great singers someday (and that would be a shame). Yet, the Beatles just keep making money (even while they’re dead, they just keep going and going). So, Beatles are Just Roaches, that’s my answer, take it or leave it schmuck.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
What is the fascination with makeup? Women try it on in the store. They get into car accidents because of it. What’s up with that?
Au Natural
Dear Au Natural:
I doubt you walk around naked all the time. Women love the attention they get when they look pretty. But I’m with you. Many women look better without the play-dough they put on their faces. If they only knew the secret ingredient in these cosmetics. Okay, I’ll tell you what it is. It’s shit! A recent study proved that there is more excrement in department store makeup testers than anywhere else (I’m NOT making this up!). My guess would be it's even more shit than in the New York sewers. What’s up with that? And they say men don’t wash their hands!
Mr. Man-ners
Monday, December 19, 2005
Mr. Man-ners (5): Christmas, Gifts, Fruitcakes, The Grinch, the Perfect Gift, Pregnant, Cheating, Marriage, Immaculate Conception, Paternity Test
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I don’t have much money and what with Christmas right around the corner, I don’t know what to do. Any suggestions?
Poor in Money Only
Dear Poor in Money Only:
It’s not all about gifts. You had that much right. You have the spirit! Or maybe you just drank some spirits! You can give something from the heart (no, not your cholesterol!). You could crochet a hat. Knit a sweater. Make some cookies. Bake a cake. That’s what the song “Hard candy Christmas” is all about. Sometimes these gifts are the most cherished/remembered (unless, of course, it’s a fruitcake). Don’t be a fruitcake and give a fruitcake.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
By the time Christmas rolls around I’ve lost the Christmas spirit. What should I do?
Grinch Don’t Wannabe
Dear Grinch Don’t Wannabe:
Christmas? Is that coming up? Is that why everyone’s asking me questions about Christmas? Damn and I though that had already passed. What should you do? Get in line with the rest of us. Unless you’re the scrooge with all his Christmas spirits, you’re normal. And if you’ve seen spirits (and not in the bottle!) have your head checked! Get used to it—as you get older certain things happen, your hair falls out, your need glasses, your teeth rot, your body droops (your penis stops working, unless you have a pump installed—or so I’ve been told). And Christmas becomes a chore. Try to make it easier on yourself—buy gifts that are easily regifted—at least this way, if the person doesn’t like it, they don’t have to return it. That’s my theory—if I can’t find someone the perfect gift—at least I can find them the perfect regift (fruit cakes are not gifts, they are bricks in the from of a cake—when you want to send the very worst gift, send a fruit cake—I’m even considering a company that specializes in gifts for people you hate, which sells fruitcakes and other unthoughtful things). Hey, giving the gift that’s regiftable works for me! And it can work for you too.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’ve got a problem. I’m pregnant and married. The problem: I don’t think it’s my husband’s baby. What should I do? Should I tell him or not? Or should I tell him it was an immaculate conception, since Christmas is right around the corner?
Torn
Dear Torn:
You should be torn in two. While I’m not saying this to be mean (who am I kidding?) I think the problem is you! First off, I don’t really care about your marriage, because at some point, whether you tell him or not, he will find out. Then the marriage is over. What I am concerned about is your child. Second off (isn’t this what comes after first off?), most husbands aren’t stupid enough to fall for the immaculate conception line (as did Joseph when Mary had Jesus). But I don’t really care about your husband or you. The person who matters most is your child. Doesn’t he/she have a right to know his real father? And if that’s not enough for you—doesn’t he/she have a right to know about his/her medical history? Find out whose kid it is. Then make sure he/she doesn’t suffer because you didn’t know how to open a condom container (that’s what teeth are for!).
Mr. Man-ners
I don’t have much money and what with Christmas right around the corner, I don’t know what to do. Any suggestions?
Poor in Money Only
Dear Poor in Money Only:
It’s not all about gifts. You had that much right. You have the spirit! Or maybe you just drank some spirits! You can give something from the heart (no, not your cholesterol!). You could crochet a hat. Knit a sweater. Make some cookies. Bake a cake. That’s what the song “Hard candy Christmas” is all about. Sometimes these gifts are the most cherished/remembered (unless, of course, it’s a fruitcake). Don’t be a fruitcake and give a fruitcake.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
By the time Christmas rolls around I’ve lost the Christmas spirit. What should I do?
Grinch Don’t Wannabe
Dear Grinch Don’t Wannabe:
Christmas? Is that coming up? Is that why everyone’s asking me questions about Christmas? Damn and I though that had already passed. What should you do? Get in line with the rest of us. Unless you’re the scrooge with all his Christmas spirits, you’re normal. And if you’ve seen spirits (and not in the bottle!) have your head checked! Get used to it—as you get older certain things happen, your hair falls out, your need glasses, your teeth rot, your body droops (your penis stops working, unless you have a pump installed—or so I’ve been told). And Christmas becomes a chore. Try to make it easier on yourself—buy gifts that are easily regifted—at least this way, if the person doesn’t like it, they don’t have to return it. That’s my theory—if I can’t find someone the perfect gift—at least I can find them the perfect regift (fruit cakes are not gifts, they are bricks in the from of a cake—when you want to send the very worst gift, send a fruit cake—I’m even considering a company that specializes in gifts for people you hate, which sells fruitcakes and other unthoughtful things). Hey, giving the gift that’s regiftable works for me! And it can work for you too.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’ve got a problem. I’m pregnant and married. The problem: I don’t think it’s my husband’s baby. What should I do? Should I tell him or not? Or should I tell him it was an immaculate conception, since Christmas is right around the corner?
Torn
Dear Torn:
You should be torn in two. While I’m not saying this to be mean (who am I kidding?) I think the problem is you! First off, I don’t really care about your marriage, because at some point, whether you tell him or not, he will find out. Then the marriage is over. What I am concerned about is your child. Second off (isn’t this what comes after first off?), most husbands aren’t stupid enough to fall for the immaculate conception line (as did Joseph when Mary had Jesus). But I don’t really care about your husband or you. The person who matters most is your child. Doesn’t he/she have a right to know his real father? And if that’s not enough for you—doesn’t he/she have a right to know about his/her medical history? Find out whose kid it is. Then make sure he/she doesn’t suffer because you didn’t know how to open a condom container (that’s what teeth are for!).
Mr. Man-ners
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Mr. Man-ners (4): Doubts & Rabbies, Being Regular & Shit, Loving Yourself & 411, Nerds & Readership
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m fraught with doubt. It all has to do with work. A coworker and I used to be friends, now she just blows me off whenever I ask to do anything with her. What should I do?
Help!
Dear Help!:
You are not fraught, you are frothy. Meaning you have rabbies. Are you mad or what? Who cares about this coworker? Was she really “blowing” YOU? If so, that explains a lot. Either let it go, or get yourself some “Help!”
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why are you so unkind to your readers? Regular and irregular? They have problems, why don’t you see that? All they want is a forum to be heard.
Trying to Get Through to You
Dear Trying to Get Through to You:
Okay, I agree, my readers have problems. But they’re full of shit (at least the irregular ones). I just don’t care. Don’t you get it. I don’t care. Did you hear me? I don’t care! Get this through your muddled mind—I DON’T care!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
How did you come up with that name? You have no manners, whatsoever?
Bet You Won’t Print This
Dear Bet You Won’t Print This:
How did I come up with my name? The same way you came up with yours—I picked it out of a shit pile. And you know what else, I don’t care what you think. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Your columns use to be much nicer. Still, I understand that you are under a lot of stress what with you kissing your own ass and everything. It must be hard to love yourself that much.
I’ve Got Your Number
Dear I’ve Got Your Number:
Well, you were so stupid, now I’ve got your number too. It’s really dumb to send hate mail, give an address and have your phone number listed with 411. Don’t worry, I NEVER get mad, I ONLY get even. And it’s really not that hard to love yourself that much—my hand is my best friend. Bet yours falls asleep when you're masturbating! Remember: Love yourself first.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man NERD:
What a NERD. You can’t get people to listen to you in any other forum, so you use the paper. Bet you’ll never have a book published or be on David Letterman. Get a life—stop being a “dumbass” (to quote you).
Know You’ll Never Make It
Dear Know You’ll Never Make It:
First off, learn how to spell. It’s Man-ners. I may be a nerd and a dumbass, but at least I get paid to be these things. Plus, who cares about books and David Letterman. It never stopped Oprah from being a success. I’ve got a life—but obviously, you don’t: Not if you spend all your time evaluating mine. I have a readership of 20,000 per week—which is about as much shit as you're full of.
Mr. Man-ners
I’m fraught with doubt. It all has to do with work. A coworker and I used to be friends, now she just blows me off whenever I ask to do anything with her. What should I do?
Help!
Dear Help!:
You are not fraught, you are frothy. Meaning you have rabbies. Are you mad or what? Who cares about this coworker? Was she really “blowing” YOU? If so, that explains a lot. Either let it go, or get yourself some “Help!”
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why are you so unkind to your readers? Regular and irregular? They have problems, why don’t you see that? All they want is a forum to be heard.
Trying to Get Through to You
Dear Trying to Get Through to You:
Okay, I agree, my readers have problems. But they’re full of shit (at least the irregular ones). I just don’t care. Don’t you get it. I don’t care. Did you hear me? I don’t care! Get this through your muddled mind—I DON’T care!
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
How did you come up with that name? You have no manners, whatsoever?
Bet You Won’t Print This
Dear Bet You Won’t Print This:
How did I come up with my name? The same way you came up with yours—I picked it out of a shit pile. And you know what else, I don’t care what you think. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Your columns use to be much nicer. Still, I understand that you are under a lot of stress what with you kissing your own ass and everything. It must be hard to love yourself that much.
I’ve Got Your Number
Dear I’ve Got Your Number:
Well, you were so stupid, now I’ve got your number too. It’s really dumb to send hate mail, give an address and have your phone number listed with 411. Don’t worry, I NEVER get mad, I ONLY get even. And it’s really not that hard to love yourself that much—my hand is my best friend. Bet yours falls asleep when you're masturbating! Remember: Love yourself first.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man NERD:
What a NERD. You can’t get people to listen to you in any other forum, so you use the paper. Bet you’ll never have a book published or be on David Letterman. Get a life—stop being a “dumbass” (to quote you).
Know You’ll Never Make It
Dear Know You’ll Never Make It:
First off, learn how to spell. It’s Man-ners. I may be a nerd and a dumbass, but at least I get paid to be these things. Plus, who cares about books and David Letterman. It never stopped Oprah from being a success. I’ve got a life—but obviously, you don’t: Not if you spend all your time evaluating mine. I have a readership of 20,000 per week—which is about as much shit as you're full of.
Mr. Man-ners
Sunday, December 04, 2005
On Hiatus
Hi all:
My computer had to go into the doctor (the computer shop)....so I'm going to be writing blog entries sporadically until it comes back (hopefully, all rested and well!). Still, there is lots to read on my blog. Read about being rear-ended, or about well-hung art. Or you can read my series on Men's Room Etiquette. Then give me some feedback. I will be checking my blog when I can. I'd love to hear what my reader's think.
Hopefully, the repairs will only take a week or two. I'll try to keep my fatithful readers updated.
My computer had to go into the doctor (the computer shop)....so I'm going to be writing blog entries sporadically until it comes back (hopefully, all rested and well!). Still, there is lots to read on my blog. Read about being rear-ended, or about well-hung art. Or you can read my series on Men's Room Etiquette. Then give me some feedback. I will be checking my blog when I can. I'd love to hear what my reader's think.
Hopefully, the repairs will only take a week or two. I'll try to keep my fatithful readers updated.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Rear-Ended Again (Part 2 of 2)
(This is a serialized story, please read yesterday’s story for the 1st installment of this article):
Yet statistics state that there are “fewer” accidents further away from Chicago. The actuarial (Greek for actual burial) tables, or statistical charts (which are ALSO Greek to me) prove this out. That’s why insurance premiums are cheaper out here
I don’t believe it. When I was living just one suburb from Chicago I paid more for my insurance premiums and only had two accidents (not my fault) in 5 years while traveling a lot more in Chicago. The ratio where I now live is MUCH higher. 12:1, if one equals a year. Over a lifetime, that could be millions of accidents (if you lived thousands of years—see, I can do basic math). Still, I’m paying less money to be in more accidents. Sounds good on the surface—but I have to pay the deductibles (Greek for “duck” “de” “bill” because it’s too high).
Why do people pay less in premiums in the further-out suburbs—yet the driver’s all seem to be worse? The two driver’s who rear-ended me lived at least two suburbs from Chicago (I thought lower insurance rates were based on suburban driver’s being safer—but obviously “Bumper Cars” is a required course in suburban driver education courses).
The only way this makes sense is that if I had 12 accidents a year, over a period of a five year, I’d likely be in some serious ones and would die young thus allowing my car insurance company to take and take and take—premium after premium after premium—without ever having to give anything back—since it was always the other insurance company’s liability). My insurance company (and many others) would get rich (aren’t they already?). This sounds like I’d be getting rear-ended again—this time using the “f” word. Is that how these “tables” are figured out?
Is this how this math makes sense for car insurance companies? It’s the only reason I can figure why liability insurance premiums are cheaper two suburbs outside of Chicago, while there seems to be more bad drivers there. Or perhaps these “tables” were created when a statistician was driving her car from her home in the suburbs while also reading over her statistics report. As she was applying her mascara “the car in front inappropriately yielded the right of way to an emergency vehicle” so she rear-ended this Chicago driver. Some of her makeup (black eye shadow or lipstick—because we all know that insurance statisticians are succubus’s, sucking the life out of potential claimants) smudged over the # of accidents for suburban drivers (making it appear to be “0” instead of “12” per year). This report was due at an early morning meeting to which this female statistician was late to now, so after this accident she speeding while reading. In additions she decided to call her boss and tell him she would be late. Patting her head while rubbing her tummy was too difficult (plus she still had to finish her makeup) so she rear-ended another Chicago driver (“their fault” once again, “because they were yielding the right of way when they braked at a stop sign,” so she claimed). Thus, we have our current insurance rates. Not based in reality—but based on a smudgy report—phoned in by an upset statistician who still blames Chicago drivers for yielding the right of way inappropriately (meaning they didn’t yield it to her!).
END
Yet statistics state that there are “fewer” accidents further away from Chicago. The actuarial (Greek for actual burial) tables, or statistical charts (which are ALSO Greek to me) prove this out. That’s why insurance premiums are cheaper out here
I don’t believe it. When I was living just one suburb from Chicago I paid more for my insurance premiums and only had two accidents (not my fault) in 5 years while traveling a lot more in Chicago. The ratio where I now live is MUCH higher. 12:1, if one equals a year. Over a lifetime, that could be millions of accidents (if you lived thousands of years—see, I can do basic math). Still, I’m paying less money to be in more accidents. Sounds good on the surface—but I have to pay the deductibles (Greek for “duck” “de” “bill” because it’s too high).
Why do people pay less in premiums in the further-out suburbs—yet the driver’s all seem to be worse? The two driver’s who rear-ended me lived at least two suburbs from Chicago (I thought lower insurance rates were based on suburban driver’s being safer—but obviously “Bumper Cars” is a required course in suburban driver education courses).
The only way this makes sense is that if I had 12 accidents a year, over a period of a five year, I’d likely be in some serious ones and would die young thus allowing my car insurance company to take and take and take—premium after premium after premium—without ever having to give anything back—since it was always the other insurance company’s liability). My insurance company (and many others) would get rich (aren’t they already?). This sounds like I’d be getting rear-ended again—this time using the “f” word. Is that how these “tables” are figured out?
Is this how this math makes sense for car insurance companies? It’s the only reason I can figure why liability insurance premiums are cheaper two suburbs outside of Chicago, while there seems to be more bad drivers there. Or perhaps these “tables” were created when a statistician was driving her car from her home in the suburbs while also reading over her statistics report. As she was applying her mascara “the car in front inappropriately yielded the right of way to an emergency vehicle” so she rear-ended this Chicago driver. Some of her makeup (black eye shadow or lipstick—because we all know that insurance statisticians are succubus’s, sucking the life out of potential claimants) smudged over the # of accidents for suburban drivers (making it appear to be “0” instead of “12” per year). This report was due at an early morning meeting to which this female statistician was late to now, so after this accident she speeding while reading. In additions she decided to call her boss and tell him she would be late. Patting her head while rubbing her tummy was too difficult (plus she still had to finish her makeup) so she rear-ended another Chicago driver (“their fault” once again, “because they were yielding the right of way when they braked at a stop sign,” so she claimed). Thus, we have our current insurance rates. Not based in reality—but based on a smudgy report—phoned in by an upset statistician who still blames Chicago drivers for yielding the right of way inappropriately (meaning they didn’t yield it to her!).
END
Friday, December 02, 2005
Rear-Ended Again (Part 1 of 2)
How do car insurance companies figure out insurance premiums? What causes rates to be high or low? Accidents. But what causes the most car accidents? Cell phones? No. Well, partially. However, women putting on their makeup cause 10x as many accidents as men putting on their makeup. Okay, so I’m not sure about this, but I’m sure women’s makeup companies have majority stock ownership in several car insurance companies.
About four months ago, I found out why car insurance premiums keep going up. I was turning and a car rear-ended me (it wasn’t her fault, she was rear ended too—by what I suspect was a businessman with a cell phone surgically connected to his ear). Still, today, a pristine morning, I was not expecting to be rear ended again. Not so soon. I was still recovering from the rear-ending before. I know it sounds dirty, but it’s not nearly that fun!
Again, I was minding my own business. I was stopped behind a car turning at a stop sign. And wham! (No “bam, thank you ma’am”—don’t we all want to be thanked when we’re rear ended—because it’s the right/polite thing to do.) This time I knew the bumper I had just had painted was hit hard enough to do some damage (maybe not a great deal, but enough so I should at least get a goodnight kiss—meaning over $200). I pulled onto the side street and looked at my car—sure enough, there were the telltale scrapes and scratches from unsafe sex—err, I mean from being rear-ended. If only they made condoms for car bumpers (of course maybe bras work just as well—any bodily fluid barrier would make it safer). I was upset—but not nearly as rattled as when I was rear ended the first time—when it was a virgin and had a perfect rear-end. This time I knew my car didn’t deserve to be raped this way—in the rear end—because it had already been man handled four months ago.
This time the woman, who hit me, was at fault. I suspected the woman, who didn’t seem to slow down while rear ending me (maybe she was horny, or her car was), had been busy doing something else. Like her makeup. Or on the cell phone. Or conducting a full symphonic orchestra (it made as much sense as anything else that would distract you while driving a two-ton machine!). We exchanged info—and I kept wondering: Is my rear end ever going to be the same? Or will it be disfigured? Actually, I wondered if my insurance rates would go up. Two accidents in four months. I’d moved “two suburbs outside of Chicago” so my insurance premiums would go down (actually, now I knew, I really moved so I could have two accidents).
(This is a serialized story, please read tomorrow for the second installment of this article)
About four months ago, I found out why car insurance premiums keep going up. I was turning and a car rear-ended me (it wasn’t her fault, she was rear ended too—by what I suspect was a businessman with a cell phone surgically connected to his ear). Still, today, a pristine morning, I was not expecting to be rear ended again. Not so soon. I was still recovering from the rear-ending before. I know it sounds dirty, but it’s not nearly that fun!
Again, I was minding my own business. I was stopped behind a car turning at a stop sign. And wham! (No “bam, thank you ma’am”—don’t we all want to be thanked when we’re rear ended—because it’s the right/polite thing to do.) This time I knew the bumper I had just had painted was hit hard enough to do some damage (maybe not a great deal, but enough so I should at least get a goodnight kiss—meaning over $200). I pulled onto the side street and looked at my car—sure enough, there were the telltale scrapes and scratches from unsafe sex—err, I mean from being rear-ended. If only they made condoms for car bumpers (of course maybe bras work just as well—any bodily fluid barrier would make it safer). I was upset—but not nearly as rattled as when I was rear ended the first time—when it was a virgin and had a perfect rear-end. This time I knew my car didn’t deserve to be raped this way—in the rear end—because it had already been man handled four months ago.
This time the woman, who hit me, was at fault. I suspected the woman, who didn’t seem to slow down while rear ending me (maybe she was horny, or her car was), had been busy doing something else. Like her makeup. Or on the cell phone. Or conducting a full symphonic orchestra (it made as much sense as anything else that would distract you while driving a two-ton machine!). We exchanged info—and I kept wondering: Is my rear end ever going to be the same? Or will it be disfigured? Actually, I wondered if my insurance rates would go up. Two accidents in four months. I’d moved “two suburbs outside of Chicago” so my insurance premiums would go down (actually, now I knew, I really moved so I could have two accidents).
(This is a serialized story, please read tomorrow for the second installment of this article)
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Mr Man-ners (3): Beauty, Gay, Sex Change, Lorena Bobbitt, Eunich, Male Horses, Periods, Kathy Bates, College, Hyphens, Hymens, God,
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Is it okay for a man and a woman to be friends? I mean, I’ve got a male friend and he’s never even tried to initiate sexual contact.
Beautiful & Perplexed
Dear Beautiful & Perplexed:
The guy is either:
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why do male horses always get so agitated and horny when I’m around?
A Woman Who Wants to Know
Dear A Woman Who Wants to Know:
Is this Aunt Flow? Let’s just say it’s not your inner or outer beauty: I’m sure this only happens once a month. 'Nuff said.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m a regular reader. You’re always so mean to people. I’m not going to ask why, because I know people are full of *bleep*. Just wanted to say, keep up the good work.
Your Biggest Fan
Dear Your Biggest Fan:
Now I’m scared. I pray you don’t look or act like Kathy Bates. In addition, who said you could swear in my column? I’m the only ass-hole who can swear here. Please read Dear Abby from now on and see if she prints your “shit.”
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m thinking of going back to finish my college education (it’s a dream), but my husband of 20 years doesn’t want me to. What can I do?
School At Your Age?
Dear School At Your Age:
Perhaps your husband is right. If you’re stupid enough to be married 20 years to a creep who won’t let you fulfill your lifelong dream, maybe you’re too stupid for college. On the other hand, if you’re smart enough to divorce your dumbass husband, take him to the cleaners for alimony, then maybe you’re smart enough to go back to school.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why on Earth do you spell your name with a hyphen?
A Curious Reader
Dear A Curious Reader:
It’s none of your business why I do what I do. Why on earth are you curious? Does this mean you’re bi-curious or what?
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. NO Man-ners:
You are really the rudest columnist I’ve ever read. Why can’t you just be nice? That’s what God preaches.
Full of Manners
Dear Full of Manners:
You’re full of something. First, God doesn’t preach, men do. How dumb can you be, God’s been dead for years. Second, if you don’t like what I write, don’t read it. Let me tell you this: I’ve only been nice twice in my life. And both of the bitches turned on me. Now they’re dead. Okay, so I just wish they were dead. Go read your damned Bible if you want something nice. Moreover, if God were so nice, why did he create evil preachers who steal the life savings from their parishioners?
Mr. Man-ners
CONFIDENTIAL to Wants to Know in Hell:
If he treats you that way, you are morally obligated to do something nasty back. Just make sure there are no marks when they find the body. I’ve heard that putting oranges in a sack and using them to beat someone causes only internal bruises. Hey, if you use this one, let me know if it works.
Mr. Man-ners
Is it okay for a man and a woman to be friends? I mean, I’ve got a male friend and he’s never even tried to initiate sexual contact.
Beautiful & Perplexed
Dear Beautiful & Perplexed:
The guy is either:
- Gay
- A sex change.
- Married to a woman like Lorena Bobbitt—and scared to do anything, for fear she might turn him into…
- A eunuch.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why do male horses always get so agitated and horny when I’m around?
A Woman Who Wants to Know
Dear A Woman Who Wants to Know:
Is this Aunt Flow? Let’s just say it’s not your inner or outer beauty: I’m sure this only happens once a month. 'Nuff said.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m a regular reader. You’re always so mean to people. I’m not going to ask why, because I know people are full of *bleep*. Just wanted to say, keep up the good work.
Your Biggest Fan
Dear Your Biggest Fan:
Now I’m scared. I pray you don’t look or act like Kathy Bates. In addition, who said you could swear in my column? I’m the only ass-hole who can swear here. Please read Dear Abby from now on and see if she prints your “shit.”
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m thinking of going back to finish my college education (it’s a dream), but my husband of 20 years doesn’t want me to. What can I do?
School At Your Age?
Dear School At Your Age:
Perhaps your husband is right. If you’re stupid enough to be married 20 years to a creep who won’t let you fulfill your lifelong dream, maybe you’re too stupid for college. On the other hand, if you’re smart enough to divorce your dumbass husband, take him to the cleaners for alimony, then maybe you’re smart enough to go back to school.
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Why on Earth do you spell your name with a hyphen?
A Curious Reader
Dear A Curious Reader:
It’s none of your business why I do what I do. Why on earth are you curious? Does this mean you’re bi-curious or what?
Mr. Man-ners
Dear Mr. NO Man-ners:
You are really the rudest columnist I’ve ever read. Why can’t you just be nice? That’s what God preaches.
Full of Manners
Dear Full of Manners:
You’re full of something. First, God doesn’t preach, men do. How dumb can you be, God’s been dead for years. Second, if you don’t like what I write, don’t read it. Let me tell you this: I’ve only been nice twice in my life. And both of the bitches turned on me. Now they’re dead. Okay, so I just wish they were dead. Go read your damned Bible if you want something nice. Moreover, if God were so nice, why did he create evil preachers who steal the life savings from their parishioners?
Mr. Man-ners
CONFIDENTIAL to Wants to Know in Hell:
If he treats you that way, you are morally obligated to do something nasty back. Just make sure there are no marks when they find the body. I’ve heard that putting oranges in a sack and using them to beat someone causes only internal bruises. Hey, if you use this one, let me know if it works.
Mr. Man-ners
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