General Banks Advice - Page 3

Dear "Concerned Mother,"

While your son may be an impressionable lad (even though, let's face it, he's probably already smoked pot and fucked a sophomore skank in your bed while you were in Portland that one weekend), it does not sound from your letter as though your problem is really your son seeing naked women. Rather, I think there is only a particular naked woman you are terrified your son will see. I will give you a hint: She lives in your mirror. Look, inevitably your son will find out about your part time job at the Good N' Plenty, and perhaps your husband's excursion with your son was a preemptive move to familiarize him with the inner workings of the tits-for-tips industry. He did not want your son to be emotionally traumatized when, on his eighteenth birthday, he stumbled onto "Pearl Neckless's" second show. It would be bad enough that Mark is (was) a big Def Leppard fan. You cannot keep Mark in the dark forever. Soon enough he will find out what a pastie is, and he won't believe you when you try to explain it's just a dried up pepperoni that fell under the couch.

In case you missed any of this, I will bring a paper copy with me Saturday night to fold into your g-string.

All my best.

Dear "Renn Brown,"

I have never heard a man complain of having too much pussy, but I suppose that is beside the point. There is really only one solution for your problem, which was suggested by Darwin several thousand years ago. When a species is overabundant in a particular area, only the fittest will survive. They compete, you see, for food and shelter sources, etc. For your cats this presents a problem, since you only have so many window sills they can sit on to smirk at the neighbors. The problem is that since they are domesticated animals, they do not have a killer instinct. They cannot weed out among themselves those who should survive by primal animal combat, so you need to train them to do it. Start them on a starvation regiment immediately. This will help put them in a properly irritable state of mind. Withhold water as well, if you must. Next, plant seeds of distrust among the group by telling Skittles that you saw Starburst jealously eyeing her bed the night before last. Skittles will grow suspicious, and grudges will begin to germinate. Then doctor old photos of you high-fiving your friend Jason by taking out Jason and inserting Razzmatazz, and leave the pictures out so Frankenkitty will find them. Frankenkitty will wonder if you and Razzmatazz are conspiring against him. Leave Prince of Purrsia alone. For now. Give him a false sense of hope. Finally, using some chicken wire and a refrigerator box, construct a miniature Octagon in your living room (make sure it's done to scale). Invite some friends over. Put out some chips and dip. And let the cats decide for themselves who should live and who should die. Put up a chalkboard so that you can tabulate your friends' winnings. If you're careful, you may even make a buck or two. And who ever got in trouble for profiting on their pets' deaths?

All my best.

Dear "DaveB,"

I have no title but Concerned Citizen. Though I am honored to wear it like a "Kick Me" sign upon my posterior.

Dear "Jakespeare,"

My sister is too busy having hot animal sex with me. We are a very close family.

Dear "Martin Savage,"

What both sides need to realize is that while on the outside they may be somewhat different, on the inside they both bleed the same blood. Perhaps if they were to draw just the tiniest amount of blood from one another, they could see that it was the same color, and they would throw down their new testaments and embrace. Being a primitive people, Mr. Bay might be able to advise them on proper explosive techniques.

Dear "DaveB,"

It is impossible for me to know what kind of number you want for Dame Judy Dench if you are not more specific. Your sentence must be more specific in that regard. Phone number? Fax number? Combination to locker at bus station? Place in line at deli? I must know this information to properly understand the question.

Dear "Judas Booth,"

There is only one place for your balls to hang: To the front, to the front. Certainly not to the back, to the back. Left or right hanging should not be considered under any circumstances. If God had meant us to be asymmetrical, he would have given us all Kirk Douglas's face.

Dear "Soul Ahn Ice,"

Unfortunately, Jim Henson died before his genetic experiments could be completed.

Dear "Napoleon Rodriguez,"

No hablo ingles. Lo siento mucho.

Mucho gusto.

Dear "Dragon Ma,"

You should begin by informing them that they will all be taken in by an incredibly generous foster parent. For this you may need to hire a specialist in forging documents, because nuns are nothing if not pedantic (thanks to reader "DaveB" for forcing me to look that word up). Once all the red tape has been cut and the way is paved for you to remove the assassins from the orphanage, gather them all together on a charter flight and send them to their new home. Tell them the house is the last one on the left, at the mailbox marked "G. Glitter."

Dear "EdHocken,"

With all due respect, while Bruce Campbell was fighting the armies of the dead, Josh Brolin was running away from Anne Ramsey.

Dear "Judas Booth,"

If you grew up in the ghetto, the process is easy. You simply need to market your lifestyle and previous incarcerations, and take your shirt off a lot. If you grew up in the suburbs, however, it can be more difficult. Perhaps you may consider hiring a notable PR firm which can feed tabloid sites with tales of debauchery from your past. Example: "Stealing a cherry Ring Pop under your hat from the local Cumberland Farms" magically becomes "Busting your cherry taking down a mom and pop and getting capped by the local pigs." It's all in how you're sold.

All my best.

Dear "EdHocken,"

No hablo ingles. Lo siento mucho.

Mucho gusto.

Dear "Soul Ahn Ice,"

Because Mr. Frampton is a talented ventriloquist. But he is not so successful on talent alone. He nurtured his skills with hard work and practice. With that kind of work ethic, and maybe a few classes, perhaps you too can one day make your guitar sound like it's talking. Let it tell some off-color jokes and make you look like a fool. Audiences eat that up.

All my best.

I just hope, if you're lucky enough to get that far with this fine young lady, that every time you're tapping that ass you think of me.