How to do the wrong thing right
Dear Howard,
My boyfriend wants me to take him to New York over Christmas, see the tree at Rockefeller Center, all the holiday storefront windows along Fifth Avenue, the fabulous shopping and whatnot, etc. But I keep telling him we just can’t afford it; my genius boyfriend says all we have to do is bring a bushel of fresh mistletoe (it’s literally dripping from the branches of our backyard oak tree) and just sell the stuff on a street corner in little baggies while dressed in Santa caps. He claims we could make a fortune in just a few hours, or at least enough to afford a Manhattan hotel room for a few days. Is that crazy? — Bud
Dear Buddy,
Pack your bags and winterwear: Your boyfriend is a genius! Bring two bushels of mistletoe, in fact, if you really have that much and can transport it. You’ll sell out before sundown. Bud, do you know how much the Madison Avenue florist shops charge for a piece of fresh mistletoe no larger than a sprig of parsley? Try about $25 and upwards … as a starting point.
Dear Howard,
I’m a recent widower, 44, no children, and consider myself straight. A beautiful divorcee lives next door to me here in Frisco. She has a 19-year-old son, a super-nice kid, who has a habit of always walking around shirtless, even in winter; well, yesterday while planting some spring bulbs in his mom’s front yard, he waved at me as I pulled out of my garage, motioned I roll my car window down, then galloped over dripping sweat and grinned, “I’m totally free for dinner next Saturday, sir.”
I was stunned, I didn’t know how to reply, so I just sort of stammered, “OK,” and then nearly backed over my mailbox as he shouted, “I’ll be over Saturday at 7… don’t cook, we’ll order in … and I’ll bring the condoms!” Hell’s bells, man, but what should I do? — Robert
Dear Bob,
What do you mean, “What” should you do? You’re to, by goodness, have sex with this young torso-exposing, ripped whippersnapper, that’s what you do. You do remember how to have sex, don’t you? An erection works exactly the same in bed with men as with women, if you were wondering.
Are you fretful about possibly hurting the feelings of this 19-year-old shirtless stud’s attractive mother — whom you’re clearly not interested in dating (translation: effing)? You would have by now asked her out already if you had a genuine interest, as opposed to her handsome grown son having asked you out, instead; or, are you simply worried that you don’t have enough Viagra remaining in your old prescription bottle to happily satisfy all night long a sexually legal, teenaged piece of beefcake gay boy?
Dear Howard,
Is it fly to ask a beastiality question, one that’s just completely off-limits-twisted — in so far as it stands a prayer of ever being printed in the paper, at all; specifically, about “K-9” sex—assuming you even know what that is? — Marko
Dear Numb Nuts Dum Dum,
The only questions I draw “completely off-limits-twisted” to answering, ever, are pedophilia queries. As for bestiality—often misspelled as beastility, as you did — it’s far more common a private-life sexual activity than your, say, average Christian churchgoer lets on; thus, I’m wide-open to answer just whatever you toss my way, slick; nonetheless, for future reference, you do need (despite your understandable embarrassment at engaging in sexual intercourse with household pets) to actually remember to ask me what is this bestially-twisted “K-9 sex” question that you wish I had enough sense of what’s freakishly twisted to even know how to answer.
Dear Howard,
My ex asked to join me for Christmas this year, a Friday; he doesn’t have visitation rights with our kids that weekend, but they both want Tim be there with me on Christmas morning, just like the family we used to be. Help? — Andy
Dear Andrew,
Each of you, both yourself and Tim, need to learn to love your children more than you loathe your ex-spouse. Jackie Kennedy said it best: “If you bungle raising your children, nothing else much matters in life.”
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition December 4, 2015.