HYATTE'S GUIDE TO LIFE
- Chris Hyatte
In lieu of an official introduction and because I
badly need the practice, I shall open this column by telling you a
The Demon Dog
Somewhere suburban in the wee hours, young Ashley
woke up from a fitful dream that involved a pony named Halo that kept
taking her command to stop as a cue to go faster.
This was not necessarily a nightmare.
Blear-eyed and thirsty, she crawled out of bed
and tiptoed to the bathroom. Down
the hall, her father snored. It
was a comforting sound, one that she has heard since forever (which
would be six years and counting for Ashley - a bona-fide eternity for
any child). Well-practiced
at these late night water runs, Ashley shuffled to the bathroom in full
darkness with her eyes half-closed.
This was a routine with her; these mid-night water breaks (with
the occasional tinkle thrown in for good measure).
She enjoyed them; she liked the world when it was asleep, it made
her feel more alive.
She wouldn’t even need to turn on the lights.
Most children were afraid of the darkness, but not Ashley.
As far as she knew, she wasn’t afraid of anything.
Later in life she would recognize this as a perk of being raised
by two thoughtful, loving parents who loved each other as much as her
– but for the moment, such introspection was beyond her range, and her
In the bathroom and with cool tile under her
feet, she filled her cup – turning the cold water tap to just over a
drip so as to not disturb her parents (neither of whom knew about these
almost-nightly excursions for surely they would ruin it by leaving a
full cup of water on her bed-stand before lights out) - mid-way and
drank slowly but with purpose. She
was eager to get back to Halo and see where he wanted to take her.
It was only after she gently placed her cup back
in its holder when she looked into the mirror and saw a man she didn’t
know looking back at her.
“Hello,” said the man in her mirror.
Ashley was now fully awake and shocked.
She jumped back until she was against the glass shower door.
The feeling of rippled glass against her backside relieved her
somewhat, for it informed her that this stranger wasn’t behind her.
He was actually inside the mirror.
What was also of some comfort to her was that the
man in the mirror looked as surprised as she felt.
“You can see me?” he asked. “I’ve been saying hello to people like this without a
response for so long I didn’t think anyone could see me anymore.”
The man spoke in a funny accent, as if he was
making a point of pronouncing every letter.
He was dressed in a suit and tie.
He has brown hair and blue eyes and was clean-.
Ashley could see all of this - even with the lights out.
He seemed to be glowing.
“Why are you in my
mirror?” Ashley said. She
was no longer nervous. She
didn’t think he could go through the glass and if he could, he
wouldn’t be able to reach all away to the shower door, and even if he
could she knew how to run. Ashley was a remarkable girl in this respect.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, my dear,” said
the man. “I am just
taking a rest before heading back out.
Please don’t give me a moment’s worth of thought.
I’ll be gone before the sun returns.”
Ashley studied the man for a moment.
It was her nature to ask questions and she obviously had a
hundred more. She could
still hear her daddy snoring, which meant she was one good scream away
from bringing him into this situation if the man did try to reach for
her. “How can you be in
my mirror? Who are you? What is your name? Why
do you talk funny?”
The man blinked, then smiled. “Goodness love, you aren’t afraid?” He reached up with his hand and tapped the mirror.
“As well you shouldn’t be; for if I try to go through this
wall it would surely shatter into a jumble of pieces and I would be
whisked away forever. Even
if you did fret, you need not. You
can not touch me anymore than I can touch you.”
He put the tip of his finger against the glass.
“Come and see for yourself, if you like.”
She felt safer where she was.
Inquisitive as she may be, she still knew the rule about
strangers - especially the ones she found in her mirrors.
The man put his finger down. “I understand, love,” he said.
“Now, what was your question?”
“How can you be in my mirror? Who are you? What
is your name? Why do you
talk funny?” She
I’m a demon. I
have none. Why do you
“I don’t talk funny, you do.” Of all the answers, that was the one she zeroed in on; no
matter how inquisitive you are, a six-year old is still a six-year old.
“I suppose I do, at that,” the man agreed.
“It’s been so long since I conversed with anyone.”
He stopped and looked at Ashley with a smile.
“You speak perfectly, lass.
I must sound like a fool. My
“What is your name?”
She didn’t recall getting an answer to that one.
“I don’t have one, little one,” he said.
“What is yours?”
It is a true delight to speak with you, young Ashley.”
“Why don’t you have a name?” She asked.
“I am a demon.
We don’t get to have names.”
“He doesn’t allow it.
We are his dogs.”
The man in the mirror clucked his tongue.
“No, no dear Ashley. We
shouldn’t mention his name aloud.
That is the sort of attention we do not want to raise.”
Ashley seemed to consider the weight of this
statement. Finally, she
said, “You don’t look like a dog.”
“I am a dog after a fashion, young miss,” he
said. “Demons are dogs
from hell. Utterly
different from the bow wow shaggy kind that lick themselves and nuzzle
your footsies with their cold noses.”
If Ashley’s upbringing had one fault so far,
(and some might question just how faulty this is), it was the absence of
church in her life. Although
technically Catholic, Ashley’s parents - and thus Ashley herself –
chose to sleep in on Sunday mornings.
Her frame of reference towards Hell, as it stood, was reduced to
its simplest terms.
“You are a dog of hell?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But isn’t hell where bad guys go when they
“It’s a bit more complicated, but yes.”
“And good people go to heaven? To be with God?”
“More or less, yes.”
“Why is it more or less?”
“It’s mostly politics, but pure hearts are a
“What kind of politics?
Daddy says all politics is about is scum and payoffs.”
The man snorted and smirked. “You’re father has no idea how bloody spot-on he is.”
Ashley recognized the gesture. “Why did you do that?”
“My daddy does that every time mommy sez
she’s going out into our garden.”
“Yeah, then he tells people that the only thing
growing out there is…” she looked around with deliberation, then
leaned forward a bit and whispered, “her ass.”
The man smiled.
“You are a very special girl, you know that?”
Ashley shook her head.
“Well you are,” the man said.
“Why did you have to go to hell? Were you bad when you died?”
“I can’t remember, love.”
“Demon Dogs from hell such as myself aren’t
allowed to remember anything.”
“We just aren’t,” the man said. “All I remember is asking someone for a favor once and I
ended up signing something and suddenly here I am, a demon dog from
Ashley stared at the man.
To her, this whole conversation had taken a storybook quality.
She was thinking of a good question to turn the page with.
The man turned it for her. “If it helps, I’m afraid I am not a very good Demon.”
if I actually possessed a heart, it would be safe to say that it
wasn’t into the job.”
The man stared at his interrogator, trying to
decide whether she was simply patronizing him.
“You are a strange one, Ashley.
Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Why am I strange?”
“Most people would be terrified when
confronting a demon dog from hell - especially children.”
Ashley cocked her head.
All of her fear was gone, despite what she was learning about her
visitor with the strange accent that she would later identify as
British. “I told you, you
don’t look like a dog, and even if you did, I like dogs.”
“Which is why I am a bloody disgrace in my
job,” the man said.
“What do demon dogs from hell do?”
“We try to get grown-ups to do bad things.”
“Because we are demon dogs from hell and
that’s what our master wants.”
“Who is your master?”
Ashley honestly did not know.
“Oh no, we mustn’t invoke his name,” the
man said. “In fact, I
think it would be wise if I left.”
“Why can’t you invoke his name?” Ashley had no idea what the word “invoke” meant, but it
sounded like a very big-girl word to use.
“Because he’ll hear and look in on us.”
Ashley said. “You
aren’t allowed to talk to me?”
“I… it’s… the thing of it is… err…oh
bollocks,” the man stammered, officially flustered by a six-year old.
“And you are a delightful lass,” the man
said, “but I must go before I get you in trouble.”
It was then when Ashley thought she smelled
something. She wrinkled her
nose. The man watched her
and sniffed deeply.
“Do you smell that too?”
“Oh bollocks,” the man said. “What do you smell, Ashley?”
Ashley inhaled with concentration.
The odor was stronger. “Like
mommy is burning waffles again.”
She knew this couldn’t be possible.
There was no way her mother could have gotten down to the kitchen
without passing the bathroom and spotting her child speaking with a
demon dog from hell in the mirror.
“Oh piss,” the man said.
“He’s looking this way.
If he comes…” he stopped and started to bite his fingernails.
Ashley noticed how long they were.
“You should trim those nails,” she said,
having picked-up on none of the danger that the man was clearly sensing.
“Mommy cuts mine once a week.”
She raised her fingers to show off her neat nails, painted in
lavender with tiny sparkles. “See.”
“Yes, yes, lovely, lovely,” the man said.
He was skittishly looking around.
“I have to go now, my child.”
“Because if he catches me, we are both in
trouble.” Sweat ran down
Ashley could still hear her father snoring.
She knew from last Christmas that it took a lot more than quiet
chatter and the (getting stronger by the minute, now that she thought of
it) smell of burnt waffles to wake him up.
“Hush child,” the man said. “You have to run off to bed and get to sleep as fast as possible. He will find us soon and if he sees just how special you are…” he paused, seeming to realize that telling Ashley just what might happen would surely keep her awake and fully open to examination. “Just go.”
Ashley crossed her arms in defiance.
She was not through just yet.
“Why is it so stinky here?”
“Oy,” the man groaned.
“Some bloody demon dog I am.
I can’t even scare a toddler back into bed!”
He nervously fiddled with his tie.
“Why are you doing that with your tie?”
“It’s a habit, back when there wasn’t ties,
I use to tug at my ears. Ezzretch
always likes to mock me for it, the bastard.”
“Who is Ezz Rich?”
“Another demon,” the man said, then -
realizing his mistake - he slapped his head.
“Oh stupid, stupid STUPID!!”
“I thought demons didn’t have names?”
“Some do, okay!”
The man looked behind him into the darkness (Ashley had failed to
see that her mirror no longer reflected herself or anything in the
bathroom anymore. Understandably,
she was too pre-occupied with what she did see to properly notice).
“He knows where I am. He’ll
be here any moment.” The
man swiveled back and looked at Ashley,
“Lass, I can’t allow you to meet him.
I’m a horrible demon. The
bloody worst ever, but I don’t care.
Do you know what angels are?”
“Sure,” Ashley beamed, happy to recognize the
subject. “Daddy said he
lost a bundle betting against them in the series!”
She wrinkled her nose again.
“Someone is burning a lot of waffles.”
She glanced at her parent’s closed bedroom. She didn’t think even her father could sleep through this
“No, not those wanks,” the man shouted.
The room had gotten noticeably colder.
“Blast,” the man hissed.
I have to scoot, love. You’re
on your own, I’m afraid. Try
not to be afraid. He
Both Ashley and the man both heard it, a low,
roar that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Ashley’s ears felt hot even as the room was now cold enough to
make her shiver.
And she watched the man in the mirror fold
himself inside out, collapsing himself into a tiny ball before
vanishing. The room filled
And he came.
Ashley felt him pass through and in her.
It felt like someone was breathing, hot and disgusting, through
her skin and on her bones. She
felt hands touch and not touch her face, caressing her without the true
sensation of skin on skin. These
invisible hands moved down her body.
About a year ago, when she was just a baby, she went to Bermuda
with her parents and they all went snorkeling.
Although she stayed in the boat with Aunt Sheryl for most of the
time, she still got to wade in the ocean with her little wetsuit, her
little goggles, and a little snorkel in her mouth.
She liked the ocean, but she especially liked how the wet suit
let her feel the water without getting her all wet.
This reminded her of the wet suit.
Someone was trying very hard to touch her, she could feel his
hands, but she had on an invisible wetsuit that kept her dry.
There was a pair of fireballs in the mirror now.
Orange fire that surrounded two tiny, angry red dots.
They studied her.
Ashley’s mouth went dry.
She started to feel sick. Like
she just ate Chinese food and birthday cake at once. She wanted to throw up.
With something that isn’t exactly courage,
Ashley looked at the fireballs and said, “Why don’t you let your
demon dogs have names?”
That sense she had of being in the water with a
wetsuit intensified. She
felt huge waves wash over her, trying to probe her deeply, trying to
drown her. The smell of
burnt waffles was unbearable. She
heard a loud buzzing sound in her ears.
She was about to scream for her parents (not that a big girl like
Ashley was scared, mind you, she just knew when it was time to call in the
Calvary) when a sudden feeling of calm overtook her. She looked the fireballs right in their dual centers for a
moment, then opened her mouth and said something.
The fireballs looked back. She heard a scream, one of outrage. She closed her eyes and waited.
And then it was over.
She opened her eyes and everything was back to normal.
The burnt waffles, the fireballs, the non-hands crawling over
her, the cold, the heat on her ears.
All gone. Ashley
walked forward and filled her cup with more water. She
was very thirsty. The water
tasted cold and clean and great.
She was about to leave when the man appeared in
the mirror again. “Hello,
Ashley. Are you okay?”
She didn’t jump back this time. “Where did you go?”
The man adjusted his tie.
“Oh, just ducked behind a corner and hid under some corpses
buried in an Himalayan avalanche some time back.”
He tipped her a wink; “It’s the old pretend to run fast then
stop and hide so he runs right by you trick.
He’ll be halfway to bloody Valhalla before he comes back.”
“Who is Val Halla?”
The only Val she knew was Kilmer from the movies.
“Nevermind, love,” the man said. “What happened? Why
aren’t you in a coma or at least having seizures?”
Ashley told him what happened. The whole incident didn’t last as long as the time she took
to tell it, but the man listened patiently and smiled at the right
times. He especially
enjoyed the wetsuit analogy.
“Why weren’t you scared?” he asked.
“Because I’m a good girl and like you said, good people go to
heaven. If I was a bad girl
who did mean things, I would have worried, but I don’t do mean
The man nodded, more to himself than to her, as if he just figured something out.
Just as she was going to tell him what she told
Mr. Touchy-Feely (her name for him, rightly assuming that the
not-mentioning-his-real-name rule still applied) to send him off, the
man in the mirror cut her off, “No, no, no, don’t say it or I’ll
be sent away too.”
“It’s a long story, young one; essentially,
you had someone watching you.”
“I know, he was really gross.”
“No, no. Well,
yes, he is really a gross bloke, but I mean you had someone else
watching you. Probably
Serenity; that chap excels at soothing young souls.”
He sniffed the air about him.
“Aye, Serenity was here a’ight.
“Who is Serenity?”
“A arrogant wanker, to be sure,” the man
groused. “But one of His special mates. That
boy has some power, girl. You
are blessed to have him.”
Ashley didn’t need to ask who “Him” was. Something
in her recognized the difference in the man’s tone when talking about
him and talking about “Him”.
“Anyway,” the man said.
“It seems that you are due for some very special things,
m’dear. It would be daft
of me to think that He
wasn’t keeping a special eye on you.”
Ashley didn’t know what to say. She was suddenly very tired.
The demon dog from hell smiled at her and said,
“Well, I’m off. Maybe
I’ll corral some sharks into Los Angeles waters and pinch their snouts
with the scent of blood. Some
Pacific carnage might ease the Boss off my arse right and proper.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Ashley asked.
“Because I’m a demon dog from hell, love.
It comes with the territory.”
“Can’t you quit?”
The man stared at her for a while, as if it was a
question he never considered before - although it was right there
staring at him the whole time.
“Well, can’t you?”
“No, I can’t,” he answered with no
“I don’t know.
Just because.” He
fiddled with his tie again, then pulled at his ears.
Some habits die a lot harder than others.
“How come angels and some demons get to have
names and others don’t?”
“All angels have names: names and wings and
perfect teeth. And do those
bloody gits love to show all three off.
Cocky tossers.” He
sighed, “I must go, lass. I
think he shant be bugging you for some time.”
He tilted his head upwards and cocked it, as if he was listening
to something faint. “Yes,
you have now become protected. It’s
a wonder they have allowed me to stay even for this long.”
“Who are they?”
Now Ashley was just asking questions to watch him fidget.
He was a funny demon dog.
see soon enough. Not for a
long time, I should think.”
“Will you come and visit me again?”
But we will meet again.” He
was about to mention that he didn’t think they would be so friendly
with each other next time, but chose not to.
Can I tell you a secret that you won’t understand today and
won’t remember tomorrow?”
The man leaned forward until his nose almost
pressed against his side of the mirror. “Sometimes an angel lose a
fight and are scattered into a million pieces all across time. Bits of them end up in the eggs of women today, a billion
years ago, and everywhere in between.
It’s a bloody migraine trying to piece them all together again
and takes those feathered sods bloody infinity to sort it out proper.”
She didn’t understand but wasn’t about to let him know that.
“Long time ago, one of the toughest angels He
had walked into a big ambush just east of downtown Eden.
He only managed to kick out one jowl before we tore him apart and
spread him across mortal existence.”
He rubbed his own jowl thoughtfully, “Still hurts when I chew,
“Why do you fight?”
Ashley asked. It was
the best her tired mind could come up with.
“Long story and none of my business,” he
answered. “Anywhoo, it
wouldn’t surprise me if those clods finally arranged all his little
bits and pieces to come back together into one.”
He smiled at Ashley. “No,
after tonight, this wouldn’t shock me one bit.”
“What was this angel’s name?”
The man in the mirror told her.
Ashley yawned again and the man took the cue.
“Must go, Ashley. It has been an utter blast meeting you.”
“You need a name,” she said.
“Demon dog, spawned from the unholy pits of
hell’s arse. Remember?”
“But you’re a bad demon, you said so
yourself.” She put her
hands to her hips, just as her mother does when she’s about to give an
Your name should be Muffin.”
“I like Muffin,” she said. “Goodbye Muffin. Thank
Muffin the Demon Dog from Hell twiddled his tie
nervously and then tugged at his ears.
“Bloody Muffin. I
kin already hear Ezzretch and Beetel’s laughter.”
“I could think of another name, if you want.”
“No, it’s too late now.
Bloody Serenity already got the word out.
It appears, love, that we have an audience.
I must go before he hears the laughter and makes a U-turn.”
“Goodbye Muffin, don’t do mean things to
people.” Ashley giggled.
“I usually don’t, no matter how bloody hard I try,” Muffin said. “Farewell, young Ashley. Until we meet again.” He tapped on the mirror twice and then folded himself inside out again, until he curled up into nothing.
And Ashley was alone again.
She was riding Halo in her dream.
Halo was a giant horse that never once threatened to buckle her
off. Halo ran hard and fast
and Ashley didn’t say stop once.
She wanted to go where he was taking her. She had all the time in the world.
They came across a fork in the road and Halo
stopped. Both splits were
virtually identical except for the old woman that stood to the side of
the left split with a wagon filled with gorgeous red apples.
On the right split, there was nothing but path.
“Fill yer tummy with some goodness, dear?”
the old woman said as she held up a fat one, bright and red.
“Free to fair maidens and gallant steeds!”
Halo grunted loudly and took several steps back.
Ashley ran her hand along his back and whispered soothing
re-assurances in his ear.
“Come Ashley,” the old woman said.
“Who doesn’t have room for a sweet fruit?”
Ashley was hungry, even in her dream she felt her
stomach rumble. She smiled
and reached forward for the fruit.
Then she pulled back before the old woman could
put the apple in her hand. Through
no outside encouragement other than an innate sense that she should, she
said to the old woman the same thing she told the thing with the
fireballs for eyes: “God loves me.”
The old woman dropped the apple and her smile.
Her face twisted into a snarl.
“You’re not bright enough to outwit me, starchild.
I sent you into scores of these insect eggs before and I shall do
it again. Make no mistake.”
“Muffin is more of a warrior than you’ll ever
be, poopyface,” Ashley told the old hag, hardly believing the words
coming out of her mouth. “And
Atheshla is rising again to make you suffer.”
The old beast kicked her apple wagon on its side.
Red, delicious balls scattered and bounced across the path and
into the dark greenery. “That
dog will be taught lessons you couldn’t imagine, foolish thing.”
She narrowed her black eyes at Ashley, “And so shall you.”
“We’ll see, won’t we, dumbo.” Ashley laughed. She
kicked at Halo’s sides and directed him down the right split.
The Old Beast cursed and spit and yelled at her, but she didn’t
look back. She never looked
back. Even after she forgot
all about that one evening right up until she died an old, happy woman
and Muffin was waiting for her at the end of the tunnel, she never
Ashley always was more interested in what lied
ahead, even in her dreams.
Just over 4200 words, for those who care.
And we still have some questions that need
Lucky monkeys, one day you’ll realize how damn
good it is to have someone with the blazing talent of me around.
We open with a question that I think everyone can relate to: the deal on long distance relationships.
First of all,
what the hell is a 24-year-old little snot doing with his own house?
Jesus, wait ‘til 30 like the rest of us.
seriously. Really, truly,
do both. Yes, you may have
that cybercake and eat it too. Yes
Here is the
cool thing: Keep the online thing going because the only thing she can
do is stroke that low riding ego of yours. Feeling down? Talk
to the Internet chick. Girls
look at you and puke on your shoes in disgust?
Talk to the Internet chick.
You climax already and the girl you’re on top of says, “Ready
when you are, Chummly.” Go
talk to the Internet Girl. That’s
what she’s there for, to make you feel important and loved and
if you hook up with some of that local thang, how will she know?
It’s not like she can wait in front of your house.
yes. 100% absotively keep
the Net chick around. She’ll
help build your confidence, gibe you someone close that you can chat
with all night long, give you someone to spill your deepest, darkest
secrets to, AND there is always the chance that she just may fall so
deeply in love with you that Cinci starts looking real good to her.
It’s happened before.
the best part… if you get sick of her, it’s so EASY to dump her and
keep her dumped.
all means, keep her in your life. There
is absolutely no downside to this (unless she is clinically psychotic,
then it’s your ass.)
these columns I said No Wrestling Questions, but this one is non-rasslin
enough to make it in:
First of all,
you should by all means recoop, or, as those hoity-toity snobs from
If this is free labor on your part, then why go risk something
serious for a business that won’t even spring for a Hospital visit?
all, since when is 30 old enough to retire?
I mean, there are certain freaks of nature - like the owner of
this website - who can afford to call it quits by 30, but a wrestler,
especially one who’s been at it less than five years.
Why, a man is just beginning to understand shit by the time he
hits 30. He’s also at his
strongest. Why is he
pussying out? Tell him to
stop acting like an old geezer. He’s
still young enough to hit on some 19 year-olds and not hear: “Dude,
you are, like, my DAD’S age!”
Third of all,
you have a much better chance at recooping in a tag team situation then
when flying solo. Less time
in the ring = more time to heal, et al.
thing is, you aren’t getting paid for this and you know damn well that
you never will make this a real “living”.
Good for you to show a little common sense.
the… heh… old man until he calls it quits and maybe, the promoter of
this Indy fed will have the initiative to turn you flying solo into a
real, honest-to-goodness push. The
whole, “Young stud on his own” gimmick is always good for a healthy
shove or two.
someone who is looking at the big picture and doesn’t like what he
You know, a
lot of people base their looks on what they see on television.
Actors, actresses, models, and pop stars are all eyepoppingly
gorgeous and regular dickheads watch them and think:
“I ain’t them, so I’m ugly.”
bullshit. You are not ugly.
The people on TV, with the exception of Dennis Franz and Jerry
Orbach, are just insanely beautiful, and they have the plastic
surgery/health spar bills to prove it.
assume for the moment that you indeed are butt ugly.
What do you do then?
very best. Just do your
very best. Shop at the
right stores, buy the right clothes, discover contact lenses, discover
the GYM, discover tanning booths and TAKE PRIDE IN YOURSELF!!
the funny thing, you can be Grand Poobah of the 90th Level, All-Seeing
Wizards Piss Their Pants In Your Presence, Dungeons & Dragons Master
Player and, if you have pride in yourself, you’ll get girls.
Don’t ask me ho (well, do, ‘cause it’s my column and
answering things is sort of the whole purpose here), but they can sense
when you have pride in yourself, and they sort of like it.
guys rarely have pride in themselves.
Guys who dress like they’ve never shopped for anything outside
of a sporting goods store in their life rarely have pride in themselves.
Guys who place a bowl around their heads and cut anything
sticking out rarely have pride in themselves.
there you go. That should
get you started.
and how low should you set your standards?
As low as you can possibly go without being repulsed.
I would never
call anyone an idealistic moron after reading only 66 words before the
moron in question goes ahead and assumes that I will.
I would call
you ideological for thinking that you have a plan to change the thinking
of EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I hope, for your sake, you’ve accounted for those billions
who do not speak English.
call you a moron because you refuse to speak in nothing but the vaguest
possible terms. Explain to
me exactly how you plan on changing the world and THEN I’ll decide
whether you are a moron or not.
however, call you a liar. It
took you MUCH longer than two minutes to write this e-mail.
So no, you
are not an ideological moron, but you are an ideological fibber.
Only because “liar” is too strong a word for situations like
Oh, and some
of the greatest people in history were ideological.
Some of the biggest idiots in history were too.
Which one are you?
this three times and still have no clue if you like this girl.
That sort of makes a difference in what you should do here.
is one of those letters where I know I’m not getting the full story,
and I really should have finer details to properly advise, but I still
have a strong gut instinct here, so I’ll just go with it and let you
do what you want with the info.
girl likes you, okay. She
is into you. She is
strongly attracted to you. She
wouldn’t show up at your friend’s house after re-meeting her for the
first time in a while if she didn’t.
she told you to go to the concert with the cutie, it was to show you
just how NOT attracted she is to you.
She was just trying to convince herself, to deny herself any
feelings she has towards you. She
trying to hook you up with her friends is just another way of trying to
make sure you know that she doesn’t have feelings for you beyond
what you’ve said, when SHE makes noises about you seeing other girls,
it’s cool, but when YOU make noises about seeing other girls, it’s
not cool. It’s something
she can’t control. See
likes you. Now do whatever
you want to her with that information, whether it be reciprocate,
reject, or fuck her until she shits the bed; just remember that you are
dealing with a real person with real feelings.
How this effects your thinking pretty much defines the type of
man you are.
and dummy, ever consider just going up top her and saying, “So
what’s the story here?” She
may shock you and actually tell the truth.
This next one is from someone VERY nervous about my promise of total anonymity, for pretty good reasons. He’s wondering if hell is coming for him. Oh yes, brother, oh yes indeed:
a fucking chance in hell. You
dump the girl and you’ll go through a LOT of drama.
There is no escaping this.
ONLY chance I see here is if you arrange it so she catches you fucking
another guy… that’s right, go gay and watch her run like hell.
fuck another GIRL. Make
yourself out to be the bad guy. Just
make sure your two roommates don’t evict you for it.
“Look, baby, I’m (this age) and you’re (that age) and while one of
us is ready to chill the other one wants to go enjoy the rest of his/her
own youth before we get too old and start being bitter, dumb-ass web
guys who live and breath something as ridiculously inane as professional
wrestling!!” Tell her
that you still want to have sex with children, not produce them.
There is no escaping the drama.
Get ready for it.
out, she’ll say no but at least you’ll stop wondering whether or not
you should have taken a shot.
Keep talking to the Net girl and establish a relationship with her. Break down those non-committal walls of hers until she loves you, and then don’t even think about doing anything about it ‘till she reaches a legal age. That is, if you really give a crap about her.
do both of them. Do I see a
ring on your finger? Hell
no. I don’t even see a
finger, but you know what I mean!
The more I
read it, the more pointless this question becomes.
by the way, if he looks gay, acts gay, walks gay, talks gay, and dresses
gay… maybe he really does want cock?
Ever think of that?
Here’s another question about long distance relationships, but asked in more simpler terms. Why do I have two of these in the same column? I don’t know, for some reason the topic is on my mind:
relationship can work if you both work hard at it. That’s the key, you both have to work very hard at it.
the thing with long distance relationships: it’s more intimate than
face to face relationships.
really. Think about it.
Because the only way you get to be with her is over the phone.
Sex is taken out of the equation.
The only thing you can do with her is get to know her more and
more. Since it’s not all
about getting her to open her legs, you actually get her to open her
mouth. Hell, even if her
voice is annoying, who cares, you’re online!
bad news: Eventually, she’ll fuck someone who lives within city
limits. You’ll always
have a special place in her heart but someone else will be poking that
real estate. And she might
grow to LIKE it. Then
in summary, any sort of relationship can work and any sort of
relationship can turn sour. Its
called life. Welcome to it,
here’s a tricky one:
me see if I have this straight:
in a Foster home. Not with
a foster family but a foster home.
been there since she was fifteen.
real family sucks. Usually
it’s the Father who sucks but she’s lucky enough to have a sucky
Mother as well.
to summarize, this teenage girl who has spent most of the first fifteen
years in a shitty family is now spending the most formative, confusing,
pubescent time of her life in a state run Foster home.
you wonder why she’s acting strange?
flirts with you and with every “G-Money Pimpin’ Fizzle-shizzle
Gangsta”, because she’s desperate.
She probably fucked a few of them too, maybe fucked a lot of
them. She’s looking for love.
She’s looking for someone to give her what Daddy never did.
She is waking up every day knowing that neither her family nor
anyone else (if she’s stayed at the Foster home for 2 years without
once hooking up with a real home) wants anything to do with her.
You know, shit like that doesn’t exactly do wonders for the
I’d advise that since you are nineteen and (I assume) have no plans to
stay at that Foster home for the rest of your life, that you should
screw the job and go wild, but tapping that ass isn’t worth it.
You could do some more damage to the girl’s head, and trust me;
there is already damage there. I
don’t care how smart, funny, geeky, or enthusiastic she is, the girl
has BIG TIME issues building up inside her, I recommend you not be there
when they explode. It
won’t be a pretty sight.
girl acted as strange and cold towards you after only being away two
weeks. Sure, it’s just
half-a-month, but to her, it was “well, there’s another person who
left me.” Whether she
knew it or not, that’s why she acted weird.
a messed-up kid who is going to grow into a messed-up woman.
I answer, allow me to point something out.
Read the second sentence in the third paragraph of this letter.
They're coming to visit me
for 3 days tomorrow, and they
ABSOLUTELY WANT the dog to come.
received this e-mail two weeks ago.
I am lucky enough to have a small collection of letters so as to
not run low of them during slow weeks, but this means that some people
waiting for an answer may wait a week or two before I get to it.
Please keep this in mind because any answer I give now will be
moot as the visit from his family has already come and gone.
anyway, let’s answer the fucker anyway:
are absolutely doing the right thing by not playing along.
It’s YOUR house. It’s
the truth is that your apartment building does not allow pets.
Right there, end of story. It
can’t happen because IT’S NOT ALLOWED.
Chihuahuas are little, tiny dogs, your parents/sister may say.
Bullshit. I’ve had
a Chihuahua for years and years; sure the damn things are tiny, but all
they do is yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap all day long at any foreign
noise. They are also
notoriously nervous, so they dribble a lot and shit the floor
don’t want the pooch, tell the old farts to get a Goddam hotel room.
That’s the option, the only one I am allowing you to offer.
They don’t like that concept; tough shit says my tit.
if you don’t like dogs of any sort, that’s fine, but that third
reason you gave is bullshit. Just
because your sister bought a dog after a break-up doesn’t mean she’s
about to give up on all men and go dyke.
It just means she wanted a frickin’ dog who depends on her and
loves her. Big whoop.
Let that go. It’s
none of your business, even if you are her brother.
Besides, she could be doing a lot worse to recover than by buying
a dog. She could decide to heal by arranging giant black cockfights
in her mouth. Or even
worse, she might date an AMERICAN!!
(What happens when a Canadian girl dates an American boy?
First date anal and LOTS OF IT!!)
in those terms, stop worrying about the pooch.
you know you’ll never hit it and accept it and maybe not even care,
all you want to know is why she never contacts you.
it’s just because you’re not on her buddy list?
that or she’s busy leading her own life?
maybe she’s a stuck-up snot princess.
perhaps she just doesn’t like you very much.
won’t lecture you about “moving on” because it seems to be that
you are, so I’ll just suggest you take her name off your buddy list
and forget she even exists, because apparently, she has with you.
if someone on MY buddy list stops saying hi, he or she is gone.
This way, I don’t know when they are on and I can’t see them
when they log-off without saying anything.
It’s amazing how much of a tension relief that is.
that should do it for this week. You’ve
got a story, some answers, some laughs, and perhaps you LEARNED
something. Now all I have
to do is wait for Flea’s check to arrive then I can start thinking
about doing this all over again next week.
tapped deep into the well of questions this week, so please help me fill
it back up with any problems, questions, conundrums you may have.
I’ll answer them all back.
And for those who have gotten an answer, let me know how it worked out for you. I think people would enjoy seeing follow-ups.
This is Hyatte
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