Are you ready for some real talk, gentle readers? No? Well, I hate that phrase so needless to say “real talk” doesn’t happen here. This week I’m going to do some quick answers to commonly asked questions. I’m like Dear Abby on speed, yo! Ready…GO!
Where my dogs at?
Most likely in the backyard, though judging from the way you phrased that, I would guess probably chained to a tree in the front yard. Seriously, implicit in the word “where” is the notion of location. Ending the question with “at” is repetitious.
My dad asks every time I have a conversation with him:
You know what happens when you assume, right?
I don’t know, Dad. An angel gets his wings, right? That’s what happens, right? No? Well then why don’t you just say that stupid little phrase that you’re dying to say? Go right ahead, old mustachioed man. Go right on ahead.
There is no good way to ask for a blowjob, is there?
Oh, gentle David. Sure there is. And by that I mean there really isn’t. Us ladies don’t really like to be told to do it. It’s not that we mind doing it, it’s just kind of inconvenient and hurts the jaw a little. I can’t say that there’s a good way to ask. I think you are more likely to get a blowjob if you do helpful things to please your lady. That, or have your birthday more often.
Where’s the best place to get weed?
Will the Thunder win the championship?
Well, I can’t say for sure, but I have a good feeling. I really love those guys. Such hardworking and nice guys. If I could, I would totally invite Serge Ibaka to come have drinks because he seems like such a great dude. Or maybe I’m just obsessed with a dude who makes trilingual posts on Twitter.
How do I make my neighbor’s dog stop using my front yard as a bathroom?
That’s easy, gentle Tammi. You just have to catch the dog and sell him at the Old Paris Flea Market. That dog will be gone in a matter of minutes, especially if he doesn’t have worms or parvo like all the other dogs at the flea market.
My allergies this time of year always give me sinus infections. What should I do?
Some people swear by the neti pot. I swear by the neti pot full of vodka that I don’t put in my nose, just in my Kool-Aid. When that mixes with the Benadryl, I don’t care what’s going on.
That’s all for this week, gentle readers. Catch you later. Send me your burning questions on Twitter to @GentleMarisa or email me at GentleMarisa@gmail.com.
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