Mr. Man-ners (18): Advice, God-Like, Quiting Your Job, Periods, Sarcasm, Junk Mail, Bills, Being Human, Misogynist, Lesbians, Artist, Pollution

Dear Mr. Man-ners:
How can you give advice on everything?
Want to Know

Dear Want to Know:
Well, because I’m a God-like entity who is omniscient. How come YOU have time to ask me such stupid-ass questions? Get a life! Leave mine alone.
Mr. Man-ners

Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I wrote before and you told me to quit my job. Now the women in my office are worse. I decided to respond back to their negativity with the line “You‘re talking about periods, again? And me without my uterus.” Now they’re threatening to go to personnel and slap me with a sexual harassment charge. What now?
Sole Man

Dear Sole Man:
I guess you do have some soul. A man after my own sarcastic heart! My suggestion. Tape everything they say (use a wire) and threaten that if they go to management, you will also. This should give you enough of an edge to quit and find a new job (LIKE I SUGGESTED TO BEGIN WITH). As an aside, I’ll have to use that “And me without my uterus,” line. It’s a good one!
Mr. Man-ners

Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I just got my mail. How come every day, every month, every year, all I get are bills and junk mail?
Tired of Junk

Dear Tired of Junk:
So am I. In my mail--meaning your lame-ass letter! The reason you get junk and bills is because you are on a list--it’s called the human race! You idiot. What, were you expecting? A love letter from Halle Berry? Dream on! (no wet dreams for God’s sake.) Get real. Get a life. Get out of my hair! And my mail box!
Mr. Man-ners

Dear Mr. Man-ners:
Are you a misogynist?
A Woman

Dear A Woman:
No! I love women. I love the way they cook. I love the way they clean. I love the way they spread their legs for my hard throbbing cock!! I just don’t love the way they harp, gossip, or nag. So, I could never live with one. Been there, done that! Are you a sicko feminist lesbian who hates men? (before you answer, do you, or have you ever, owned a cat?). See--you ARE a lesbian! And I bet you have a toaster oven from your initiation (think Ellen Degeneres).
Mr. Man-ners

Dear Mr. Man-ners:
I’m an artist. I paint. I sculpt. I draw. So, one day while looking for a job, a prospective employer suggested I pollute my art. He said I could do graphic arts on the computer. It’s not that I couldn’t learn it, but how can I commercialize something that’s part of me?
Artist

Dear Artist:
You’re full of shit--I mean pollution! Art doesn’t pay the bills. It doesn’t keep you warm at night or keep the raindrops off your head or pay for those condoms you must use with your girlfriend. Get over yourself. Become a prostitute like the rest of us. Sell your wares and accept money for them. You’re not DaVinci! Sell your soul to make a living, like the rest of us schucks out here in the real world (unless your fantasy world pays the bills!).
Mr. Man-ners

• Two short horror stories of mine will be published in
  anthologies in February/March 2006. One is a cowritten piece in
  DeathGrip: Exit Laughing (hellboundbooks.com/dgrip4.html) and the second
  is in Twisted Cat Tales (store.yahoo.com/shocklines/bnewadtoador.html).
  PREORDER these books today!