christy fantz
Christy Fantz

D ear Christy,

My uber-religious boyfriend is a single-issue voter. He's voting for Romney only because of his abortion stance. How can I convince him to look at other issues?

-- GoBama

Lady Liberty:

Well, friend, I like your spunk.

However, unless he's voting this eve, you may be a little late this round around. (Like the reacharound?)

I have been in your boyfriend's metaphoric First Communion dress before, and this I will tell you: You must let him come to his own. He's sifting through rubble of the wrath of his maker. He's rolling in sinful guilt. He's praying that he doesn't falter on his salvation. (And also surfing porn, because by the power of confession, ye be absolved. Kinda like Grayskull.)

Some religious folk have a hard time hearing all sides of a story when it doesn't match their maker's. You can try to reel him in on other political issues, but if he's staunch, he may not bend.

When he grows into the world's mind, he may be more open to talks, but -- from my experience -- those stallions wear pretty bulky blinders.

Dear Christy,

I got so drunk over Halloween that I lost my favorite boxers. They're old and holey, but extremely comfy. So then, I started getting weird texts from the sorority girl I slept with that night, but I'm embarrassed to respond, because what if she inspected the underwear?

--Adios underwear

Shit stain:


The class of your generation fills me with pride.

It's as if Holden Caulfield knocked up The Bad Girls Club and pooped you out. Just remember: I made your generation. I made it.

So, you got plastered in your costume that involved a mustache (I presume), trailed a Victoria's Secret-clad (insert "animal" here) to her dollhouse, hit it, quit it, then left your poopy pants in her pile of thongs?

I'd love to see that walk of shame. I hope your mustache costume involved ass-less chaps. Cause you're cool like that.

Cynicism aside, I don't know what you want from me.

Do you want your boxers back, but you're afraid to ask for them?

Hate to pop your cherry, but I can guarantee she tossed them. When you boys leave shit at our houses, unless it's a sanitary vibrator, it's going out with the rubbish.

Do you think she was super psyched on scoring a pair of decade-old boxers? I bet she's cooking them into potpourri.

We all know that on a laid-worthy evening, we wear our best bottoms. Especially Halloween. You're just a fool for not following this rule.

Now that your droopy drawers have made rounds on Instagram, you may want to place that one-night stand memory in your ballerina music box because I bet those Greeks are having quite the ball at your jockey's expense.

Now go buy new shorts, kid. You give love a bad name.