Archive - January 2006


God Bless You, South East Asia!

     We recently moved into our new house.  The old one had a built in microwave (built in by me, but nonetheless).  The new one had not.  The new house was chock full of had nots.  Had not a built in microwave.  Had not been cleaned in a while.  Had not a mirror or toilet paper holder in the downstairs bath. 

     I don’t get that last one either.  Maybe it was a particularly fancy mirror.  But a toilet paper holder?  Who takes a toilet paper holder?  Okay, I could actually give you the names of two such people, but I’d probably be breaking some sort of privacy law.

     So the first things we needed to buy were cleaning agents, a mirror, and a microwave. 

     The cleaning agents were industrial.  The mirror, ornate without being ostentatious.  The microwave, made in China.

     The mirror cost $48.  The microwave?  $39.  And it wasn’t on sale.

     How can it cost $9 less to build a machine that safely irradiates leftover meatloaf, and then ship said contraption 3000 miles, than it does to make a piece of glass real shiny?

     Like I said, it was made in China.  I like China.  They know frugal. 

     The one downside I can see to my $39 made-in-China microwave is that the “Sensor ReHeat” mechanism seems to be set on “Fuck you, you imperialist American Pig!” because my meatloaf comes out hot enough for hobos to huddle around while they swill Apple flavored Mad Dog 20/20.

     But I’ll take it.

     And do you think you could get a portable DVD player with a 7” LCD screen for a $100 if there was a disgruntled Midwesterner making it?  Hell, no.  A conservative SWAG (Scientific Wild-Ass Guess) would put that cost at nearly $1.3 million.

     So you can feel free to be righteous and indignant when thinking of how those poor factory workers must live on $6 a month, but keep in mind that if we had to pay some engorged union factory worker to build that here, we would all be living like that just trying to pay for an MP3 player.  And that’s not cool.  Why should I suffer just because I’m not an illiterate Korean orphan? 

     I choose to look at it this way.  Imagine how destitute those people (not to mention me) would be if I started buying only products made in America.  Their factories would shut down.  Their homes (I assume they have some sort of shelter) would be destroyed.  Their children taken from them (I don’t know why).  Their cats raped.  The baseball cards removed from the spokes of the bicycles they used to need to get to work.

     Is that what you want?  Could you live with that?  Keep that in mind the next time you get up on your “Buy American” high horse.  Poor little Ming Na watching his Teddy Bear get sodomized by Government forces.

     Real nice, America.  Real nice.

Hello Grumpy,
It is Some person who is also un named again. I am here concercing your little threat. I dont take back my statement. I think you are putting on an act to seem grumpy. Well anyway thats not my fault is it. Yeah well i have another problem concering the last issue...the un-named friends un-named girlfriend is now out to get me. In the canteen today at lunch she was chasing me with a spork, like jeeze that woman is skitz. Can you please give me a new tactic to sort her out the silly bastard.
Love always,
Some person who is also un named again but thinks your great grumpy


Dear Some Person,,

Alright.  First things first.  Telling someone to fuck off is not a threat.  A suggestion, perhaps.  Rude, most likely.  But not a threat.

As regards the spork wielder, always remember there are lots of juvenile revenge tactics at your disposal.  Most of them will require trust on the enemy's part.  The old saying holds true - keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.  That'll allow you to give her a pan of brownies spiked with a powerful laxative.  It may not teach her anything, but watching someone shit themselves is usually pretty damn funny.  If trust is an issue, bake said brownies for the whole class.  The innocents who shit themselves are what the military refer to as "collateral damage."  You'll also most likely find yourself in a world of trouble, so don't say I didn't warn you.

Or take a picture of her on the toilet.  Tell her if she doesn't stop being so fucking crazy, you'll e-mail it to everyone you know.  When she stops being crazy, e-mail it anyway.  (Warning, this is safest only when you are about to move out of state.  Crazy people are fun to piss off, but always remember, they are crazy.)

Better yet, go ahead and have sex with her boyfriend.  If someone's gonna be mad at you for something you didn't do, then go ahead and do it.  Then you'll both feel validated.

Hope that helps,


Hi there furry-thang!

I was shocked, saddened, disheartened, disgruntled, and a bit constipated when the realisation hit me that only two somewhat unstable characters sought your advice last month. Being the Llamafied Crusader, I once again set out to give it my all and do my part for the greater good.

Don’t you just love laptops? Now where’s that T.P.?

Well first I would like to comment on some of last month’s advice. The “fuck you and go home” (not verbatim, but I can read between the lines. Its just writing between the lines that gets tricky) piece I found extremely valuable. I think the young lost soul who would rather play Playstation than muck around has really learnt her lesson.

Now to my self-related rambling: (don’t worry; I won’t bore you with bragging about my conquering of the female domain, you’ll just have to imagine it this time. Unless you have a credit card and don’t mind paying $ 3.50 for a 3-month trial, because then I could direct you to the webpage).

You see, I am hopeless once again! I don’t see my job future in front of me. I’ve tried everything, calling its name, putting out cookies and hiding in the closet, throwing tantrums to scare it out of hiding, but nothing has worked. So I’ve concluded that my job future is not hiding in the subway. And also that if you flail your arms about in a maniacal manner and shout at the top of your lungs in a packed train, people will throw garbage at you.

Let’s get more concrete on the issue (in a manner of speech, not mafiosoism). I’ve defined three possible jobs you could have: A) a job you’re doing because you love the work, B) a job you’re doing because you love the pay, C) a job you’re doing because you impregnated your girlfriend back in eighth grade, dropped out of school and can’t find shit else.

Well I don’t like my job, it pays shitty, and anything I tried to impregnate in middle school got a restraining order against me. So no luck in that respect. This is what I define as the secret fourth category: D) jobs that really really suck and you’re not sure why you’re doing them, but hey, there’s not much else out there that lets you do it at the moment, so you figure you’d do it just to have something to be doing, because doing it by yourself gets boring after a while, and plus mommy says you go blind – you follow?

I often cringe when I hear people saying: “the career you choose defines who you are”. Well I chose a shit career. Does that mean I am shit? Very depressing cognition in my books.

Now I’ll change the topic without any prior warning. Be prepared. Here it goes.

Soooo… Christmas huh?

Didn’t see it coming did ya?

Anywho (or is it anywhom?) please do advise I on what I should be doing for money. I think you’ve gotten a fairly good idea of the state of my nation by now.

And another thing I must know: what should I get for Christmas?

Best wishes,

Hopeless in holidays


Dear Hopeless,

Wow.  That was a long time to be on your computer without looking at porn.  I don't know if I'm proud or disappointed.

And you are right my friend, jobs do suck.  That's why I'm against them. 

Perhaps you could take hefty life insurance policies out on several chain-smoking railway hobos and just wait.

Or a sugar mama.  Hard to come by, but very handy.

You could sell plasma.  Not much money, but it comes with a cookie and a cup of juice.

As for the people who say “the career you choose defines who you are.”  Try to keep in mind that these people are high school guidance counsellors.  How smart can they be?  They spent forty thousand dollars on a college education to get an $18,000 dollar a year job.  Plus, I'm guessing most of them just do it so they have an excuse to hang around 16 year old girls everyday.

Hope that helps,


Dear Mr. Llama of the Grumpyness,
My friend (Hopeless and in love), recommended me to you. Beings that my internet is down she is writing the letter for me. First and foremost, there is this guy in my class and he is pissing me off. I know he likes me (unlike Hopeless I know he likes me), here's the thing he's a lazy-ass pothead and I know he won't go out with me even if I asked him. I know this for a fact because he liked Hopeless and she asked him out and he said "no". But here's the thing I think he likes me more than he liked her because of the sole fact that he keeps changing the way he dresses and acts for me. He's a sweet guy...he just needs a little dircetion, and I know that you can never truely change a guy. He's just one that knows haw to do tricks. What should I do?

~Pissed off and Starry eyed

Dear Piss-eyed,

You're right on one count.  You can never truly change a guy.  The only thing that can change a guy is time, especially prison time.  That works.  Oh yeah, and a rim job.  Though preferably unrelated to his prison time.

A pothead who is so lazy he won't even say yes when asked out?  That's impressive.  If you really want to go out with him, then ask him.  And I'll give you the secret code that will ensure a positive response.  Ask him out, and before he has a chance to respond, say the following exactly as I've written it.

         "And I'll bring the Doritos!"

No pothead can resist the nacho-y goodness that is Doritos.  If you're neck is an erogenous zone, rub some of the dust there.  Well, you see where I'm going.

And make him dance for you.  Not literally.  Make him change and do ridiculous things to keep you happy.  Make him take you to performance art pieces, or the rodeo.  It'll be funny.  Normally I don't like when women try to change a guy, but he's not my friend, so fuck it.

Hope that helps,


Dear Grumpy,

Firstly, I am most disappointed in the lack of advice letters last month.  My condolences.  Secondly, I wish you would proofread the letters you do receive for grammatical errors.  One has enough trouble comprehending the English language without some incorrigible, illiterate person making random remarks (use a dictionary, people).  Thirdly, and most importantly, I request your assistance in a most vital matter.  Those who I dare call friends lately seem to have contracted a habitual use of complaining.  How can I make such people realize that I don't actually care about their frivolous problems?  Also, once I have stemmed the tide of their ranting, how can I encourage them to solve their problems in a timely fashion without resorting to the incessant use of the detailed art of complaining?  Any of your recommendations or advisements would be unfathomably helpful.  Thank you for your help.


I Am Not An English Professor

Dear Not,

I feel your pain on the lack of grammatical prowess today.  I had indeed hoped to draw attention to the problem by not proof-reading them and putting them out there for the world to see, but it seems to have no effect.  So I will do my best to correct them, for you Not.  Because I can't afford to lose one of the seven people who respond positively to my delusions of grandeur.

As for your problem, I can relate.  I used to have friends like that.  Notice the use of the words "used to."  I also "used to" have friends that didn't feel the need to buy their own beer.  Say it with me Not - "Fuck you, I have enough friends."

If that's not an option you're ready to explore, try a game of one-ups-manship.  Everybody, and I mean everybody, hates that.

What's one-ups-manship?  I'm glad you asked.

One-ups-manship typically occurs during conversations about sexual conquests, stock market dealings, or athletics.  IE - "I got a blow job from Mary three hours after I dropped her sister off from our date."  One-ups-manship - "Oh yeah, well Jenny cupped my balls so they didn't get cold while her Mom gave me a Hummer in their garage."

Just apply it to complaining.  Respond to every complaint with a greater complaint.  Perhaps involving a boil, or Edward James Olmos.  They'll soon stop telling you anything that could in anyway be construed as a complaint.

Hope that helps,


Dear Grumpy Llama,

I know that this question has been pondered a lot by bored high schoolers, so I thought I'd ask; Do you know of a way to write an essay in twenty minutes without it turning out like crap? If you have an answer, I think you deserve a very big thank you from thousands of panicked procrastinators (like me...).

A Procrastinator

Dear Procrastinator,

You've come to the right place.  I was the king of the twenty minute essay in high school.  (I found that actually doing homework was getting in the way of my being a disaffected non-conformist.)

Before I tell you the secrets of my success, I must warn you that the art of the twenty minute essay will take some practice.  The first may take an hour, but once you get the hang of it, you will only be hampered by your typing skills.

The first thing you have to do is to rephrase the question or theme of the paper.  Once you get good at it, you'll be able to take a seven word question and transform it into a five sentence opening paragraph that says absolutely nothing.  For example, here's a start to the question "Discuss the Effects of the Industrial Revolution."

     "One of the most perplexing questions that has faced modern-day historians throughout the Western World regards the vast and far-reaching effects of the Industrial Revolution.  Some choose to see the negative aspects, while others focus on the positive and would have us believe in the inevitability of change in human culture.  The battle lines have been drawn, and each side is armed with its own evidence, which each sees as overwhelming and undeniable."

     Ta-da!  One paragraph, and I haven't used one of the precious few facts I might actually have on the subject.

     The next step is to find some facts.  Unfortunate, I know, but a must for any paper to have a chance at a passing grade.  You have three choices here.  One - draw from the scant details you remember from the few times you were awake during class.  Two - use your textbook, but only worry about things in bold print or in the summary at the end of the chapter.  These will provide those special touches like names and dates that teachers are so fond of.  Three - perhaps the school year is more than a month old now, and you've misplaced your textbook (you suspect it may be at the bottom of your locker, but you can't remember which locker is yours), so turn to the internet.  It can provide those same little nuances that your text book would have.

     Armed with this information, always remember the following equation:  one fact (name, date or other) = one paragraph.

     Garnish generously with lucid ramblings to fill out the rest of each paragraph.  A good rule of thumb is that each paragraph should be structured this way:  Two sentences of fluff followed by one sentence of fact then one or two more sentences of fluff.

     And always remember that long words eat space, so use your Thesaurus.

     The ending paragraph should be nothing more than a re-working of your opening paragraph.  If you're feeling ballsy, you could even throw in a conclusion sentence, but beware, this will cause some teachers to reread your paper to see if you actually proved it.  And unless you get very lucky, you have not proven anything, except that you can bullshit your way to a C+ with very little effort.

     Congratulations!  You've just earned yourself one extra hour of Halo 2!

Hope that helps,


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