A bit of advice.....

A lot of people ask me for advice. Why? Because I’m one wise motherfucker, that’s why.
Unfortunately, due to the inordinate amount of requests for my time, attention, and guidance that I receive on a daily basis, I’ve discovered I have to go the way of so many other brilliant, American institutions—subcontracting my customer service.
Now don’t worry, your emails won’t be processed by someone in New Delhi or a 3rd grader on break from his lacing job at the Nike factory. I’ve got an even cheaper domestic option. My cat, Lucky.



We’re pretty sure he’s mildly retarded, if, in fact, retardation exists for his species. But for a retarded cat, he’s got quite a unique perspective on things, and when it comes to dispensing advice, he’s, dare I say, precocious.
Got troubles, trials, tribulations or anything else on your mind that you need help with?
Ask Lucky.


Dear Lucky,

I consider myself pretty smart (IQ tested around 135), yet I'm having no luck finding a job. Am I too smart for my own good? Am I just unlucky? Does my brilliance intimidate my potential employers? Or am I just an arrogant wanker?

Niggity Nico,
Orlando by way of Birmingham


Dear Niggity Nico,
I’m sorry to hear of your quandary. Usually when things like that are weighing on my pea brain, I’ll just go over and hop on top of the scratching post, then reach underneath the platform and scratch the rope upside down. Sure, sometimes I end up losing my balance and falling face first from 4 feet high, but after that, I can just go back and lay in the pile of hair I’ve made on the sofa and go to sleep for several hours.
You’re welcome.



Hey Lucky,

What's the secret to life, the universe, and everything?

Cheers,
Arthur Dent


Dear Arthur,

The secret to life is the art of grooming one’s self while making the most god-awfully loud and obnoxious slurping noises possible while people are trying to watch television. Then I can get a nice squirt from the squirt gun and not have to groom myself anymore.

The secret to the universe is to scarf all your breakfast as fast as possible, not even making an attempt to chew even a single morsel.
Then go find an article of clothing, a shoe, or just a part of the carpet that isn’t stained yet and puke your fucking guts out allllllll over it. Make sure to preface the purge by making really gross, wet hacking noises, just enough to get someone to come running from the other room to try to grab you and throw you on the tile only to proceed with the barfing, right as they reach you.

The secret to everything else is to lick where your nuts used to be. A lot.



Dear Lucky,

My wife says that my feet stink. I can't argue much - they pretty much do. It's so bad lately that she won't even touch them when we sit on the couch to watch The Wheel and give me a foot massage like she used to back in the olden days. I really gots no issue with that in and of itself - I mean, I prolly wouldn't touch her feet, either, if they stunk this bad. I mean these suckers STINK. So anyways, to make her happy (and to get my feet rubbed again,) I went out and got me this powder stuff to put in my shoes, and to be honest with you, it didn't work all that well. You know the stuff - Gold Bond or whatever they call it? Waste of money. Anyway, I used it for like ten days and nothing. I mean not a thing - they still stunk to high heaven. So then I got me these little colored balls that are supposed to absorb all the sweat and stink from the shoes. I used them last month and they kinda worked okay. My wife was pleased with the improvement, but was still afraid to touch my feet. I was at a loss. So then I told my buddy at work about the problem and he told me that I gotta wear socks. He tells me that if I wear socks each day, the stink will go away after a while - oh, and to keep using the little colored balls, cause those seem to be working somehow. So I tried his advice and for a couple days it worked wonderfully. Not a stink to be smelled. But then after about four days, my shoes started to stink again - which of course, meant my feet started to stink again. But this time is was even worse. Like rancid pork chops or something. I was puzzled. I didn't know what to do. So I go back to my buddy at work and tell him that it worked for a while then it stopped working. He tells me this time that I'm supposed to put on a new pair of socks each and everyday and to toss the dirty ones in the hamper when I'm done with them. (Like he couldn't've told me this information the first time, sheesh.) Anyway, so I tried his miracle method and like magic, it's working to this day. My wife's pleased. I'm pleased. Even the dog is happy now. Hell, last night, I gots me like a fifteen minute foot rub! (from the old lady, not the dog.) I couldn't've been happier. But of course, that's not exactly why I'm writing you. What this series of events has gots me thinking is this; Do you think maybe Brad Pitt's feet stink, too? and maybe that's why him and Jennifer split up? Cause if it is, he should think about changin' his socks more.

Sonny
Carson City, Nevada.

Dear Sonny,

You know what really stinks? When I go to the litter box and take a big dump then try to bury everything else in the laundry room—the washer, the hot water heater, the floor outside the litter box, the door—EXCEPT my steaming, stinking turd. Now THAT stinks. For full effect, don’t even take a shit in the actual sand. Perch yourself up on the corner of the box and drop that guy right over the side onto the laundry room floor. No one will even remember what stinky feet smell like.
Brad could get Jennifer back if he’d just go sit by the front door and cry like a little bitch, real loudly for about 20 minutes for no reason. It really seems to please the people I live with.