Tired of wimpy advice columns? Sick of having your most pressing questions answered by a withered old biddy who signed her first syndication contract with Johannes Guttenberg? Tired of receiving on-air moral guidance from a brittle-haired hypocrite who never met a sex drive she didn't like?
What you need is advice, on a seemingly infinite variety of topics, from someone who understands the brutality of modern life. Yes, that's it. Advice from someone operating on the assumption that life sucks, good sex is unattainable, and that excessive mayonnaise can absolutely ruin a good hamburger.
After an exhausting yet not exhaustive search, we at the Satyrist Publishing Entity simply decided to give up. That's right: we hitched up our tent, folded our trousers, mixed-up our metaphors and punted on first down into a gale wind. "Why?" you would ask if you only cared. Simply put, we could not find a situationally brilliant, cyber-sage, willing to accept our zero compensation policy. In keeping with Satyrist tradition, we then invented a fictional, quasi-mythic character to answer your fictional, quasi-lucid questions. And there he is, snorting and meditating beneath those nauseating Golden Arches in your very own neighborhood. Kneal, vomit, and behold.......the Angry Buddha.
The Disciple Asks: Can you recommend anything for a lazy bowel? The Angry Buddha Responds: Tell it to get a job, dammit! Thanks to our modern, permissive dietary habits, we've created a generation of lazy, unmotivated bowels. Lacking intestinal fortitude, devoid of fiber, these catatonic colons make a mockery of our violent, expulsive Puritan heritage. In a recent study conducted at the John Hopkins University, 47% of all Republicans were chronically constipated and the rest hadn't gone in a week! It's time for this lost generation of colonic misfits to quite stalling, get a job, and wipe away the last vestiges of this of this aberrant lifestyle. We must reclaim the cultural heritage that the youngest generation has so brazenly flushed away.
The Disciple Asks: Do you sell sponges?: The Angry Buddha Responds: Absolutely not. The Angry Buddha treats all sentient beings, even the lowly sponge, as brilliant, luminescent sparks of divinity. To treat the humble sponge, the absorber of all mankind's sins, as a mere economic entity, is tantamount to denying its fundamental humanity. Indeed, the Angry Buddha knows of no better measure of a civilization's compassion, than whether it extends full health-care benefits to the sponge.
The Disciple Asks: Do you sell sponges?: The Angry Buddha Responds: Yes, the Angry Buddha sells sponges, as well as parasites, bums, leeches, welfare chislers, and smug, incompetent wives of successful husbands. As a special bonus, if you purchase any of the above before midnight tonight, I'll throw in a Young Slut With Breeding on Her Mind absolutely free!!!
The Disciple Asks: How do you spell "Mercedes"? The Angry Buddha responds: In your case, it will never matter.
The Disciple Asks: I am fat and insecure. What can I do to improve my self-esteem?" The Angry Buddha Responds: Just that remember that God--who resembles Santa Claus in a toga--loves you no matter how insecure you may be. However, the fatness--I'm going to be frank with you here, Porky--is a real problem. God, you see is something of a predatory male, with genitals as enormous as Mount Vesuvius and with a libido to match. Unless you jettison some tonnage pronto, you'll be spending eternity sizzling in Satan's kitchen. Eternal damnation for temporary obesity may seem harsh, but unfortunately heaven and hell were designed by the same idiot who thought up the Electoral College.
The Disciple Asks: What fate has God planned for me?" Oh my! This has never happened before! God has--inadvertently I must assume--left you out of his divine plan for mystical year 2001. Oddly enough, the other 5,429,396,215 citizens of Planet Mirth are mentioned, usually in the most glowing of terms. Perhaps the Divine Creator was not fooled by your transparently fake expressions of piety during the previous year. Or perhaps, you should refer to the previous question concerning the Big Guy's attitude toward physical vastness. In any case, it's a cold, dark, terrifying universe---and you're on your own.
The Disciple Asks: I have just had Brain Surgery. Can I sit in a hot tub?: No, absolutely, relatively not. The warm, mildly turbulent water could induce a state of deep relaxation and tranquility, which as been proven to cause prolonged, painful, excruciating instant death. Instead, my Hostile Holiness, recommends cliff diving; crashing your cranium into water at 100 miles per hour will dramatically increase circulation to the scarred remnants of your brain, and with any luck, remove you from my life forever.
© 2001 Dennis & Charlotte Hayes