I got a kitten last month and my buddies will not stop harassing me. Us guys like to give each other hell, but they've renamed me "pussy." Now I'm boiling. I can't laugh it off. Tips?



You have a fuzzy lil' cuddly, and guess what the broads like? Fuzzy lil' cuddlies. And I'm not talking about your balls.

I understand the boiling point of ridicule, but they're simply feeding off your anger. So you need to either:

A. Laugh it off.

B. Ignore them and let it go. (They bleach their buttholes anyway.)

But since you have time and I have the freedom to be an idiot:

1. Teach your kitty Hattori Hanzo's darkest secret. (Unless it's to eat a cat.)

2. Obtain a mini-punching bag for the fur friend.

3. Buy a stapler, of the Swingline variety.

4. Staple a photo of Dog the Bounty Hunter to the punching bag.

5. Deck the cat in sweatbands, throw on some Survivor and watch it tear that bag apart.

6. Teach your cat to bitchslap people when you yell, "Pork rinds are for hosers!"

If you don't have that kind of time, please see A or B.

If you don't want to A or B, then start dating new friends.

Dear Christy,

The man I'm dating doesn't have any regard for the environment. He's chopping down good trees in his yard to build a "man shack." I keep telling him to build around them, but he won't. It's not my yard, am I being too controlling?


—Tree hugger


I don't feel at liberty to answer this because I eat meat, smoke cigarettes and use hair spray. And I unwittingly purchased body wash with those stupid little pearls in them. (It won't happen again.)

Does he live in Boulder? Within the snap of a digit, the Wood Brigade will be barking all up in his ass. (Not to be confused with the traveling troupe of boners.)

As much as I want to save all living things, you may want to get Al Gore on the horn. He's a more eloquent resource.

A "man shack"? What is this, 2003? It's called a bar, dude.

Dear Life,

I crapped my pants while making dinner for your mom, and I don't care. Will this negative attitude be noticed by my future employer, if any?



I think you ought more be concerned with your bowel activity than your future employer.

And. What?

A negative attitude will likely be noticed by your next boss, but if your pants smell like trash that's been baking in a 120-degree Dumpster for days — that should be your concern.

Now if you talk about my mom again, I'll smash your mug into your soiled trousers.

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