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PAUL AIKEN
Christy Fantz

Dear Christy,

I need your help on whether you deem this a problem or not.

I have a tendency to moon my friends when I get drunk. Yes, I mean pull down my pants or lift up my skirt for all to see.

I usually don’t remember doing it until there are pictures posted on Facebook a few days later. While I am not embarr’ASS’ed, I worry that my friends are.

Do you think I should stop?

— Cheeks

Ask Christy



Christy Fantz has relationship advice and she’s not afraid to dish it out. Send your questions to fantz@coloradodaily.com .

Cheeks:

Fantz in Your Pants? Is that you?

Who slipped a roofie in my drink? Did I write in to my own advice column?

I’m scared — hold me.

Anyway, Cheeks, we must meet immediately. You are my twin. You are a female Christy. Or whom my BFF has dubbed, a “Fisty.” (Mind out of the gutter, degenerates.)

If you’re male, then you’re “Misty.” But most Mistys don’t wear skirts, so I’ll assume the former.

Let me tell you about the best tattoo ever. It graces my left ass cheek. It is a heart with “Christy” scribed inside.

This tattoo must be seen by all. Hence, I tend to drop more trou than your slutty boyfriend.

Sure, I don’t have rock-hard buns, but who cares when you can show Denver’s entire South Broadway the world’s best tattoo?

So Cheeks, you display that ass loud and proud. Don’t you dare quit.

If your friends are embarrassed, come hang out with me and we’ll blind the world together.

But first, if you get “Christy” inked on your ass, then, by golly, you’ll be the best Fisty I’ve met to date.

Dear Christy,

My boyfriend’s dog doesn’t like me. But the dog, a lab-chow mix, likes every other girl she meets.

I mean, I love animals, but I definitely like cats better than dogs. Whenever I spend the night there, the dog growls at me.

What do I do?

— Cat Person

Cat Person:

Let’s start out with a simple “you’re bloody wrong.” Dogs are so much better than cats.

If my fuzzy little American Eskimo, Ezra, doesn’t like a dude, it’s the No. 1 deal breaker — as it is for most. The little wooly ones are our best friends.

Not to toot Ezra’s fluffy horn, but he is the best dog ever. He spends his days on the bathroom floor, checks on me every 20 minutes to make sure I’m still around and snacks on treats probably a little more than he should. Hey, he’s 91 in human years, so he deserves to be spoiled.

The little old man is near impossible to piss off. So, if a dude doesn’t click with my pup or makes him whip out his mean teeth, then that date is shipped to the Fantz in Your Pants blacklist via a swift kick to the ass.

I’m no Cesar Millan, but dogs can smell fear (just like they smell your dirty love of cats and cheap perfume).

You should pop a Xanax and pretend that cute lab-chow is your precious little kitty and stop acting like a damn petrified mailman. Be calm and try to gain her trust. If you don’t attempt, your boyfriend will dump you. He better. Your double Ds are useless in this fight.

Granted, chows can be little bitches at times, but give it a shot. If you don’t, send your 11 cats and vibrator our love.

Good talk.

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