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March 10, 2013

Consumption of out of date antibiotics and prenatal addiction to chewing tobacco are but two possible explanations as to why people lack the necessary brain power to handle their various romantic problems. Thanks to the glorious Jetson-esque age we live in, the mentally enfeebled are able to receive the advice they need from me, Juan Carlos, Love Doctor and three time exonerated Dateline predator.

Dear Juan,

I have a secret.

For the past few months I've been sleeping with my friend's sister behind his back.

We've been friends for years and I don't know how to tell him.

What should I do?


I know exactly how you feel, Stanley, I once had it off with my wife’s sister behind her back. I remember it like it was yesterday. She came over for Sunday dinner and while my wife was busy in the kitchen stuffing the turkey, I decided to show her sister the inside of my tool shed.

I should probably clarify at this point that ‘tool shed’ is a nickname I have for my trousers.

Thankfully an unfortunate incident involving a defective iron had rendered my wife temporarily deaf, so she was blissfully unaware that the turkey wasn’t the only bird getting stuffed at that Sunday dinner.

Honestly, I have no regrets about doing it either...although it was pretty annoying when my wife’s sister kept phoning me to ask for help with her 9th grade math homework.

It seems to me the unfortunate thing for you, Stanley, is that you’re suffering from what liberal crackpots term a ‘conscience’. Instead of telling your friend what you’re up to, you’d be far better off working earnestly to unburden yourself from that annoying voice inside your head.

I won’t lie to you. It will take a significant amount of willpower to rid yourself of something that’s almost involuntary, but if you focus hard enough you can do it.

I remember the exact moment that I silenced my conscience.

I had just purchased a brand new Polaroid camera and was walking home to try it out. Suddenly, a freak gust of wind lifted the skirt of the woman walking in front of me, and to my amazement, she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

That tiresome voice in my head piped up and tried to convince me that it would be wrong to take a Polaroid of such a spectacle, but the opportunity was far too perfect.

My mind was thrown into all out war - to photograph, or not to photograph?
Thankfully, reason prevailed, and even more fortuitously the woman’s skirt had become tangled in her walking frame, so there was ample time to settle my internal debate and capture the image on camera.
Maybe it was seeing an elderly woman's undercarriage in broad daylight, or the fact that I'm uncontrollably aroused by the smell of Bengay, but I couldn't prevent myself from ducking into an abandoned store with the intention of furiously masturbating.
Unfortunately, what I thought was an abondoned store was in fact an over 85s yoga studio. Even more unfortunately, I had chosen to remove my penis ahead of time.
What followed is too troubling for words, but as a result I can't watch Golden Girls reruns without crying and then gaining an insatiable erection.