Dear Murray

Dear Murray

if two people are having incredible sex, enjoying themselves immensely (sexually and otherwise), and in generally just being happy, how do they carry on? as a couple? as singletons? should they date other people? should they not, but not commit all the same? how shoudl they behave? like wanton bunnies? like bff? help!
love,
-two good sex havers

Oh, some fuckin problem you’re having. there are people with much bigger problems than the two of yous. you know why? there are people out there having this very same dilemma right now, and they are having LOUSY sex! fucking lousy ass oops OH GOD SOMEONE MADE A PUDDLE sex.

so if you want me to feel sorry for someone, well, it’s not them, either. i’m not gonna feel pity for a lousy lay. christ. there oughtta be a refund line. keep your receipts!

10/30/07
Del Taco
———
$2.39 nachos
$0.99 taters
$1.29 soda
-$0.00 amazing sex discount (n/a)
_________
=$4.67 YOUR ASS OWES ME!

fuck. quit worrying about stupid shit, count your blessings 69 ways and LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

Dear Murray

I just realized that the woman who often reminisces about her high school marching band days, and whose brand of humor entails reproducing gastrointestinal sounds is getting more deep dickin’ that I am. I don’t think it’s very fair because I don’t think she’s accepted the fact that she might be a lesbian, and that I like dick a lot more than her. AND I have better hair, my boobs are perkier, and I know how much wood a woodchuck chucks if a wood chuck could chuck wood (3 lbs.).

Sincerely,
Cobwebs in My Crotch

This is such a fucking rhetorical question. You can’t introduce someone as the “Company Hyena” and not expect that to be the natural choice. We all know that dude. He has the grating laugh and corners you to tell you about stupid shit. I worked with this guy once whose laugh sounded like asthmatic Badgers fucking. He’d corner my friend Caroline in the break room and talk endlessly about his FANCY SPORTS CAR he’d just bought. It was an 11 year-old Mazda. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh, hell yes you should bang that dude. While he’s on top of you making sounds like (picture the sex version of his laugh), I want you to reflect upon those long gone high school days. Think of all those band girls.

Not so funny-looking now, are they? HAHA.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray:

Me and my friends are a pretty close knit group. Admittedly, I like to be the center of attention. But don’t we all from time to time? Pretty much since the beginning, I have been the center of attention, but lately, the tide has shifted to another member of our close knit group. When this first started to happen, I didn’t think much of it. I thought that it might just be a temporary thing, but after a little over a month of the same thing, I am growing increasingly impatient. This may seem shallow of me, but I’m having a tough time not being .1 anymore. What should I do? Should I have a talk with my friends and tell them what’s going on, or should I keep quiet and let the resentment fester and get worse, or ahhhh! I just want to scream. I feel bad because the person that the attention has shifted to is a good friend of mine, so I don’t want to have these jealous feelings, but I can’t help it. The group consists of 2 girls and 2 guys that hang out all of the time, and from time to time, another guy and another girl or two will join us. I had gotten used to always getting all of the attention from the guys, but not long ago, the attention shifted to the other girl that hangs out with us all of the time. I don’t know why, and it is really getting to me. I know that this doesn’t make any sense, so please forgive me. I just needed to vent.
-Jealous Again

Ahh fuckin christ. Did someone not get their little invitation to the butterfly ball? Did you recently gain some weight? Maybe in your BITCH ASS MOUTH? I can’t understand at all why people would lose interest in you, ya whiny little fuck. Ya’d better just quit the bitchin’ and start kissin’ the new queen’s ass, ’cause you’re all washed up.

If ya wanna scream something, try this little mantra: “I’M A BIG WHINY BITCH… I’M A BIG WHINY BITCH… I’M A BIG WHINY BITCH… OM.”

This reminds me of this guy I knew in college. Brady was the man’s name. He was quite possibly the most permanently stoned individual I ever knew. This one time, Brady and I are sitting there stoned, and he looks at me and says “man, i wish Michael Jackson would just DIE and let someone else be the king of pop for awhile.” I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a more brilliant proclamation in my LIFE.

Someone else is the new queen of your little social club, and you know what? It matters the fuck not.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray

I’m having a problem with foot odor. Whenever I get intimate with a girl, and take my shoes off, it kills the moment. It’s ruining my sex life. Please help!
-Fungied in Franklin Hills

Oh jesus. This reminds me of those Gold Bond powder commercials. You know the ones. GOLD BOND STOPS MALE ITCH. I knew this guy in college. I won’t call him a friend because, well, he disgusted and annoyed the fuck out of me. He would wear sandals with socks and you could fuckin smell nothing but feet within a 20 mile radius of this motherfucker. We were watching a movie in this little newsroom lounge and the fucker was eating Cheetos. Now, all people have the same issue when dealing with eating Cheetos. Some people prefer to suck the cheese powder off their fingertips. Myself, I like to wash my hands. What this motherfucker did, however, blows my mind to this very day. He held his fucking fingers up to his mouth like a toothbrush and began “brushing” his teeth with his cheese-encrusted hands, very rapidly. Fuck, ya know what? I haven’t been able to eat Cheetos since.

So quit being a disgusting motherfucker. Wash your shit. Take a daily bath, buy some new shoes AND SOCKS. Throw the Gold Bond on there, or the peppermint foot spray from the Body Shop works wonders. Buy it by the fucking GALLON.

Oh, and quit eating CHEETOS, Grant. We all know you don’t have a sex life, and it has nothing to do with the feet.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray

Do you believe in fate? Do you believe that things are out of our control, and no matter what we do, we can never avoid our destiny?
-namaste

Christ, they’ve just gone straight to mainlining the fuckin patchouli these days, haven’t they? Here’s the thing about fate: it’s only as good as the motherfuckers in charge of controlling it. There’s a whole bunch of people out there who think the world’s gonna end a certain way, and it’s their duty to set it in motion. Then, there’s other people who think just ’cause Billy Ray Joe Bob ran away with Sally Sue, it makes no difference, ’cause they’re destined to be together.

Listen, if I hear the word “manifestation” one more time, a motherfucker is gonna lose an eyeball. Fate is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Just move the fuck on with your life, or else fate’s gonna make your ass fat. Then when Sally kicks that wife-beatin’ Billy Ray out, he’s gonna want nothing to do with you.

I think you people smoked a little bit too much sage at Sally V.’s birthday party.

Now leave me the fuck alone.