Dear Miss Havana. My husband farts all night long and I can hardly breathe. What can I do? Signed, BreathlessDear Breathless. First, be prepared. Be sure to keep a flashlight handy to ensure he hasn’t shit the bed. If not, slither out and then toss a match into the cloud from a distance. No odor; no problem.
October - 10/01/2011 to 10/31/2011
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Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Dear Miss Havana. My husband lets his nose hairs grow to the point they look like bottle brushes. He refuses to trim them. What can I do? Sincerely, Not TickledDear Not Tickled. Yeeeuch! I can see why this might bother you, but here’s a quick and easy solution. Wait until he’s asleep, and then fire up your trusty butane cigarette lighter. Depending on nose hair density, a controlled burn could be tricky. You’ll need to be quick because the conflagration could crown, but it is possible to completely clear both nostrils before he’s fully awake. You can do the ears later. By the way, the same approach works for toenails, but I recommend a small propane torch for that. Just remember to pull up the sheets far enough to avoid a bedroom blaze. After all, a proper lady should never singe her hair.
Dear Miss Havana. What qualifies you to give advice? Some of what you say seems to be at the fringe of believability. Are you sane? Just Wondering.
Dear Wondering. So, you want to know my qualifications for giving advice? WTF? Did anyone ever ask Abby or Ann anything like that? So what makes me a target? Because I’m prettier? Asking me a question like that is like asking what makes a woman strong and the answer is the same. Living with a man, you twit! Isn’t the only function of a male to make a woman miserable?
But rather than point fingers, let’s just say I’ve been through Hell and that uniquely qualifies me. No. Really. I’ve been through Hell. Lucifer was my “man”, if you can call that shithead a man. Living in his lair didn’t get me a website initially, but it made me strong to survive...and gave me a daughter. You might get to meet her one day if you play your cards wrong, but that’s another story. Fact is, going to Hell isn’t recommended, and my time with Lucifer isn’t what got me there in the first place—it only gave me a new perspective, attitude being everything.
Mostly it was the life I led before that catastrophe that gives me the experience to enlighten others, at least in terms they can understand. That was when I actually liked men, or better, liked what they could do for me. Face it, the “other side” didn’t give me this beautiful exterior just to have me squander it working as a bank teller, did they?Okay, so I ruffled a few feathers, and perhaps a drug deal or two went south. BFD. It could happen to anyone. I was a substitute teacher during the week, and a party girl on weekends. My students learned, or faced my whistling paddle. On weekends, Chicago pulled out all the stops—the Windy City was my playground. And play I did. It was just unfortunate there were so many bad sports, or I’d still be racking up profits and destroying lives. Mine was a short life, but so chocked full of experience I can barely cram it all in the advice I offer now—advice you’ll never get from Ann or Miss Manners!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Dear Miss Havana: I need help. My girlfriend claims I’m an inside joke—the kind she gets when I'm inside her. She gets more insulting by the day. Is there anything I can do? Downtrodden in Denver
Dear Downtrodden: Yes, I see the problem. She doesn’t like you, but she’s letting you hang around until she can find something better. This is simple economics. The market is flooded with low-cost, high-quality penis. Just look around. As a result, demand for your services has gone down, way down. That’s the nature of competition. It’s frigging great for the free market, but sucks for you. But don't worry because I've got an answer for that. Marketing. You have the package and the product practically sells itself, but with so many on the shelf, what makes yours stand out? I'm not saying you need to buy a belt buckle that says, "Open for Business", but strapping something on under those loose-fitting pants that will draw a little attention wouldn’t hurt. Learn a line or two, and be creative.
P.S. In case you’re too slow to notice, I didn’t say a damn thing about trying to save a relationship that has already gone down the toilet.
Dear Miss Havana: My wife spends a lot of much time looking at porn. I don’t think that’s healthy, and definitely not something a good Quaker should be doing. There are chores to do. How can I stop her disgusting habit. Thank you for your help. Piously Offended
Dear Pious: When you hike your leg to claim ownership, you are pissing away your only chance of making your relationship work. Lose the ego. Your wife likes men, she likes to look at them, and she may actually begin attracting a few. That’s as natural as breathing and you can’t do a thing about it. The only thing you can change is yourself. Start by meeting a few of her needs. Clean yourself up, buck up, bulk up, and take her out now and them—even if it means buying her shoes and foregoing that tenth child.
Dear Miss Havana: My girlfriend used to crave oral sex, but now she won’t let my tongue anywhere that thing. What can I do to re-stimulate her craving? Hungry for MoreDear Hungry: You idiot. How do you spell V-A-G-I-N-A-L-Y-E-A-S-T-I-N-F-E-C-T-I-O-N? Don’t you get it yet – that “thing” is an incubator, you dolt. Put a fetus in there and ZOWIE, you get a kid. Put a microbe in there, and OUCH, you get a bloom you certainly don’t want. No matter how hungry you might be, give the girl some credit for a little common sense, and munch on something else besides THAT taco.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Dear Tired. I though Harrison Ford said it best in Six Days, Seven Nights, to wit, 'We're guys, all a girl has to do is show up'. But if that doesn't work, be sure the silve platter is NOT a chafing dish. By the way, do you own any 'fuck me' pumps?
Dear Classy Cassie. Be agressive. Explain to him that a bird in the hand IS NOT worth two in the bush under any circumstance, regardless of what that damn Geico add claims. The guy that thought that little lie up didn’t have a clue.
Dear Luscious. Even your name makes me want to know you. Okay, about the shoes. Your selection depends on your objectives. If your objective is to avoid tasking of any kind, I'd definitely go with the 'Don't fuck with me' boots. On the other hand, if there's someone who interest you in a special way on that board, DEFINITELY go with the 'fuck me' ones. But remember, no white after labor day!
Dear Gagging. We'd all like to eat our feelings, but you need to explain to her they shouldn’t be wrapped in bacon and cookie dough, breaded and deep fried, dusted in powdered sugar, and kissed with a beurre blanc demi glaze. The next time she grabs a donut, just offer, “You gonna eat that repressed emotion?” She’ll get the message in time. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't date a fat guy, but they gotta bring a little something extra to the table, and it better not be covered in gravy. But back to your immediate problem. Spread her cheeks in the back yard and then use the garden hose. In Lucifer’s home we call that the “backyard bidet.” If you’re visiting friends, borrow a beer and shake the bottle really hard before removing the cap, but ONLY after your girlfriend is prepared as above, otherwise you’ll be forced to try to drink that fire hose, and that can be tricky.
Dear Grammarian. Hell, yes, but that word usually more closely associated with copulation than conjugation. What’s more, fuck is the only word in the English language that retains its meaning regardless of prefix, suffix, tense, or usage. It can be a verb, noun, gerund, or just about anything else, but there can be a problem if it’s a dangling participle. Furthermore, application of the word is limited only by one’s imagination. For example, prefucktroily, would be routine fucking, while a prefucker is someone who will screw you, but not in a good way, no matter what. Imagination is the key.
Dear Sore. A time-tested methodology is lack of hygiene. Don’t shave your pits, and don’t clean them either. The problem will solve itself. Another method is inviting your trashy friends over, serving lots of alcohol, and going to bed early…alone. Your husband will find his own way to the bedroom in time, but chances are he won’t want sex, depending on how trashy your friend really is.