Dear Murray

Dear Murray

My boyfriend and I have been having this argument. He’s always forgetting to bring condoms, and he tells me that I’m responsible for birth control. I think he should share in the responsibility. Can you help us out?
-Maggie

You do realize that this argument is gonna be about as fucking fruitless as the lowering of the toilet seat argument, right? Sure, the fucker should ante up for some condoms and all if he wants to taste the sweetness, but really. You should have it no fucking matter what! Think about it. You’re gonna be too fuckin busy arguing that you’re not gonna notice when some serious shit goes down. “YOU KNOW WHAT you motherfucker! I’m sick of you not buying condoms! I’ll show you! I’ll-i’ll-i’ll just fuckin get pregnant! watch me!” By all means. You’re the one that has to carry that shit in your belly.

Then you can argue with the baby over WHOSE RESPONSIBILITY it is to STOP FUCKING WHINING and LEAVE MURRAY the fuck alone.

Dear Murray

Do you think there is an inverse relationship between self-esteem and motivation? Are people who are happy with themselves less driven to improve, and therefore less likely to accomplish great things, or does a healthy mental attitude equip one better for success?
-Fighting off contentment

Comfort is a fucking poison. There’s something to be said for the struggle. I hate to quote Hollywood here, but fuck. You have to hit bottom if you’re ever going to make it to the top. Let me tell you about rock bottom. After Murray moved to LA, he got a job in a Korean sweatshop/prepress lab. After four weeks of mutual hatred for each other (sweatshop owner tells Murray on Friday nights at 6 p.m. that he is supposed to work Saturday at 7 a.m., Murray says “FUCK NO”) they fired me. After seven months of unemployment and the occasional freelance gig, I was staring at rock bottom. Unemployment was running out, I had no car or friends, and to top it all off, I’d given myself a haircut and completely fucked that whole experiment. My mama came to visit, and I was considering going back home with her, but she said the exact wrong fucking words to me. “Murray, come home to Normal. It’s OK if you fail. Everyone fails.” I took a swig off my beer, looked her in the eye and said “the only way I’m coming home is in a body bag.” (Ma starts crying here). That night, I went to the sweatshop and took a big piss in their mail slot. I decided I was gonna do this, and I was gonna do this my way. Now you can see the sexy beast I’ve evolved into before you.

The problem is with parents. They don’t teach their kids to strive to change the fucking world. They just want a couple of grandkids to play dress up with, and have holiday cookouts. It doesn’t matter your socio-economic background. It’s a matter of learned drive, by example. If you ever tell your kid “it’s ok to fail”, FUCK YOU. You don’t deserve to be a parent.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray

I want to get out of this small town, and move to a big city. NYC, Chicago, and LA all look good, but I can’t decide. Which do you prefer?
-Born in a Small Town

This is a very simple question. What’s your personality type? Murray did a test with cabbies in each of three cities, and here are the scientific results: (pick the style that fits your own)

Los Angeles:
Murray: Hi.
Cabbie: Hey, Buddy, where you from? What do you do? Can I make any money at it?

Chicago:
Murray: Hi.
Cabbie: Hey, where ya from, what ya do, when ya leaving??

New York
Murray: Hi.
Cabbie: Hey, who da fuck do you think you are?

I hope this is extremely helpful with your life decisions. Now leave me the fuck alone.

This guy at work has been saying really creepy things to me and I don’t know how to deal with him. Any advice?
-kris

Lady, you ain’t never heard creepy. Once, when I was in about sixth grade, me and my friends were walking to school. We always stopped and picked up this other friend, we’ll call him Victor. So, we get there, and Victor’s still pissing around in the shower, so we gotta hang out in the living room with his dad. Victor’s dad looks sorta like a cross between Grizzly Adams and Jabba the Hut. He’s got a stack of porn on his dresser that requires fucking dewey decimal filing. So, it’s about 7:30 in the morning, and Vince’s dad is PISS DRUNK. He throws a copy of Playboy onto the table and says “HEEEEEEY BOYS, LOOKATDAT!” Now, where I’m from, none of this behavior is that far out of the ordinary. Then he looks off at the sky like he’s about to fill our impressionable young minds with precious wisdom and says “Boys, you know, sometimes I’m cleaning the ladies’ restroom at (fictitious restaurant name to protect the innocent) CARL’S SR., and I’ll find a pubic hair on the toilet, and I’ll stick it up to my nose and jerk off right there.”

So don’t tell me about creepy, lady. They might creep you out, or in Murray’s case, scar you for life, but the reality is that motherfucker is fucked beyond help for life. Find solace in that.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray,I need some advice,er wisdom on how to be a truly better person & not just a simpleton/catatonic/knee-jerk ‘Do-Gooder’!I already have a head start as I do not write ‘poetry’/am not a poet(yippie!) and also ‘offed’ my first (and last) life-coach.I now have a life cheerleader,but ‘she’ is a horse-hung tranny who is not proficient at espousing anything of value!
Peace(Chaos?!) & Thanks,Cary/ZiA

You’re off on the right foot. Every self-aware person needs a good tranny telling them what to do. Just make sure you never, ever forget the reacharound! He/she will grab you by the ears and fuck your life hard if you forget that.

Are you knocking poets? I’ll have you know I’m a licensed practitioner of the poemetry. At the very least, you could use some of the practice at slowing the fuck down withtherunonsentences it would give you.

Have you read the Bhagavad Gita, ya hippie? In it, Arjuna gets all whiny “OH KRISHNA, KRISHNA, I can’t go to war. Killin’ is wrong!” Krishna smacks the whiny little bitch around and tells him he’s being selfish. “If he wasn’t your cousin, you woulda already stabbed him and fucked the wound, so shaddup, ya pussy!” My sanskrit is a little rusty, though, so I’m paraphrasing.

ANYDAMNEDHOW. It’s the same with good deed doing. Good deed doing has become pretty fucking pointless. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You did something for someone. You want a fucking medal? YES. Everyone wants the goddamned medal. Feeding the homeless is a ripe (in more ways than one) opportunity for press! WE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO GOOD! HALP PEOPLE! Bullshit. We don’t have to do a goddamned thing but eat, drink, shit, watch football and die.

Would anyone be doing good for anyone else if it weren’t for the medals and keys to the city and the GENUINE Kodak moments and the tax breaks and the great Nobel circle jerk? Highly doubtful.

Anyhow, quit your fucking whining and worrying about what you should be or wanna be or coulda been. If you feel like doing something, do it. If you don’t, don’t. Just don’t get caught up in all that IF I DO THIS WHAT WILL IT GET ME bullshit. Then, you’ll be just another empty cocksucker, like the rest of them.

Now leave me the fuck alone.