Sir, I was walking through the park last Tuesday in my best pinstripe suit, eating my last package of Fun Dip, when I got a phone call from my “ex.” I found this strange, since I am no longer allowed within three miles of her apartment (something about abuse being illegal – I don’t know). Anyway, she must have been a bit “tipsy,” if you know what I mean, because she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Or maybe the fans sitting next to her at the Sox game were being too loud. The she-devil stole my season tickets when she found out I was stealing cable – that was about one week before she left me. Anyway, I couldn’t understand much of what she was saying, but I did catch one part of her, shall we say, inebriated rant. “Lyle,” she said to me. “I had a revelation tonight, and I realized you need to know what’s wrong with you.” “My name isn’t Lyle,” I told her, “but I –” She cut me off. “I know I’ve been away for a long time, and I hate you and all, but here’s some advice –” But the call dropped before I could ask how the game went, or hear her words of wisdom. I hate Verizon. I cried that sad Tuesday night. Not because Daisuke Matsuzaka is already turning out to be the biggest bust I’ve ever seen. And no, I did not cry because I had run out of pigs’ feet in my refrigerator. I cried because I had no idea how to lead a less, dare I use the term, “shabby” lifestyle. My apologies for this meaningless banter, but I wish to comment on your newspaper’s blatant disregard to fellows like me. You need an advice column, to which my people can send our questions. I want to know how to dress each morning so I don’t get fired from the power plant for “gross taste in clothing.” I want to openly ask some cheesy advice columnist why women would rather walk in the middle of the street than anywhere near me, even if that street is a highway. And I want her (yes, always a woman) to answer honestly. Ladies, I know I don’t deserve this. I know we, my brothers and I, have never done anything for the rest of you. So why give us guys advice – why help us? To you I say only this: we, the lonely, the slightly perverted, and the painfully dull and awkward, are people too. We can learn, and we can change – for the better. If we could have one sliver of hope granted to us in the form of a column on page six of your newspaper, I believe this world we live in could become a better place. Well, it’s been known to happen. On occasion. Anyway, please consider adding an advice column to this piece of junk paper you run, if only for the men like me who need some way to conquer themselves and win their inner struggles. I’ve seen dozens of psychologists and behavioral analysts, but they all say things like “stop being awkward” and “get your hand off of my knee.” I’m sick and tired of the life I lead, and only an Ask Abby contemporary can get me going in the right direction. –Bruce Mansfield P.S I don’t know about you, but that Lindsey Lohan just gets hotter everyday. Like, it’s not even a joke anymore. I love the red-heads. by Eli Grober
