Archive - July 2005

One Shoestring, Four Twist Ties, And An Eye Patch

      Humanity is ripe with innovations.  We thrive on them.  The wheel.  That was huge.  The loincloth – another popular one.  Beer was extremely well received.  But where do they come from?  Who are the people responsible for bringing these wonders into the light of civilized society?  Sure, we’re all familiar with the long-standing and hotly contested debate as to whether it was Og or Moog who truly deserves the credit for the wheel (Og has my vote), but what about the others?  Was the loincloth invented because of the icy fingers of winter, or because of the icy stares of cavemates?  And beer.  I think we can all agree it doesn’t really matter who created beer – though I believe it must have been someone named Light, or perhaps, Lite.  What’s important is that it does exist.

      I am most intrigued by one in particular.  One that pervades every facet of our society.  Its scope is unfathomable.  It has become such a necessity in life, and is so ingrained in our existence, that we rarely pay it any attention.  I shudder to think what life would be like without it.  It has taken on an almost mythological permanence, much like Mt. Olympus, Valhalla, or Twinkies.  It has always been, and, dare I say, will always be.  And, like the belly button, it is confusing, omnipresent, oft overlooked, and has a penchant for collecting lint.  It terrifies us one moment, is our salvation the next.  It is (pause for dramatic effect) the Junk Drawer.

      I’ve got one.  Everyone I know has one.  My father-in-law has one, but everyone just calls it “the garage.”  We had one in the house I grew up in.  I can remember “helping” my father work on the family sedan.  “Go get me four bb’s and half a clothespin.”   He’d say.  “Look in the Junk Drawer.”  The words would resonate in my ears, seemingly forever, like when you yell “Shit” into the Grand Canyon.  The ensuing emotional turmoil was legendary.  Excited?  Sure.  Frightened?  You bet.  You never knew what wonders, or horrors, the junk drawer had in store.  And invariably, the search got sidetracked when you saw something shiny in the back.  Just a glimmer, out of the corner of your eye.  What was it?  You never found it.

      And why is it always in the kitchen?  What sort of kitchen emergency ever cropped up where the only solution was immediate access to four broken flashlights and two of the three remaining “You Can Juggle Too!” plastic balls?

 I just looked in mine:

  1. Four mostly empty bottles of scented oil.
  2. Scissors.
  3. Twelve ballpoint pens, seven of which do not work.
  4. One AA battery of questionable value.
  5. One completely empty bottle of scented oil.
  6. A nail file.
  7. Thirty-seven various and sundry “extras” left over from any number of shelving units, entertainment centers, and other “Some Assembly Required” fiascos.

None of these things has ever been, nor will ever be, used in the kitchen.  I don’t even know how they got there.

      And speaking of how they got there.  How did the Junk Drawer get there?  Was their love of the Junk Drawer the real reason the pilgrims left England?  Was his mastery of the Junk Drawer what gave Julius Caesar so much power?

 After extensive research* and having conducted many exhaustive interviews**, I can say without any fear of rebuttal or scientific misinterpretation that I have no idea.  Perhaps it’s a government plot.  The CIA could plant a bug in there to spy on you knowing that even if you did come across it, you would just stare at it quizzically, flip it over, stare at the other side quizzically, and put it back in drawer. 

* By “extensive research” I mean that, after I couldn’t think of anything on my own that sounded reasonable, I hopped on-line to look for that movie clip where the monkey smells his finger and falls out of the tree. 

** I mentioned it to my dog during her evening constitutional.  And I asked a telemarketer after thrice insisting that while I was sure Lower Dry Falls, Idaho was absolutely lovely, I was even surer that I didn’t need a time-share there.

Dear Grumpy,


Elina H


Dear Elina H,


Hope that helps, 


Dear Grumpy,

            These so called friends of mine seem to hate me right now because I keep talking about llamas and mooses. Its really pissing me off cause I seem to always get in trouble when they are the one beating. For instance I am now a registered arson in Virginia cause my “friend” lit a box on fire in my backyard. So now I have to be careful when I mess with fire.

~ joe


Dear ~joe,


Well, I can't help you out with the mooses (meese? fucked if I know.) - that's weird.  Sounds to me like you need to tell your friends to pound sand, 'cept for ole fire starter there.  No need to piss off an arsonist, so maybe him/her you should just frame for something and you can enjoy your new freedom while he/she languishes in prison.  Or move.  Your call. 

And you should always be careful when you mess with fire - whether you're a registered arsonist or freelance.  Unless the fire involves a drunk friend (the best kind), an inflatable love doll filled with hydrogen, and a video camera.  In which case, the first thing you need to do is find out how to upload video to the internet.

Hope that helps,


Dear Grumpy,

Hi.  My bff is gay his name is Mitchell he spends the night 24/7 he always takes my pillows and does them. If you know what I mean?  He tries sleeping in my bed with me.  He gets a little too close.  It's ridiculous.  Its getting to the point where we share blankets.

from: Straight Guy With Gay Friend.

P.S. Help


First of all, you used the term "bff" (Best Friend Forever for those of you out of the loop).  In most circumstances this would also prohibit you from asserting any claim at heterosexuality - that or you're a twelve year old girl trapped in a man's body. 

Second, I do know what you mean when you say he does your pillows.  But does he actually penetrate them and then ejaculate into them.  If so, this is easy enough to solve.  There is on the market a hypoallergenic pillow made of something like husked soy bean shells or some shit.  I don't know what, but I can assure you no one will be wanting to slip into one, if you know what I mean. 

As far as "sharing blankets," I've never heard that euphemism before.  I can only assume it involves someone's butt cheeks and someone else's penis (IE pig in a blanket). 

The best scenario here is to STOP LETTING HIM SLEEP OVER.  Unless of course you enjoy resting your tired head on semen-encrusted pillows and being fondled by Mitchell the Blanket Sharing BFF.

Hope that helps,


Dear Grumpy Llama,


A month ago, I started liking this guy. My friend was talking to him, and she informed him that he liked me also. We went out on a "date-like" thing, but it wasn't. Then, he told me that he had strong feelings for his best girl friend. I tried to get over him. Then I decided I wasn't really. He finally picked me over her, and we've gone out one other time. Both times we've hung out, it hasn't felt like what I thought it would feel like. He is my first boyfriend, so I don't really know how it's supposed to be. It just feels like hanging out with any other friend, only a little awkward, because we like each other. I'm afraid I only like him because of that initial competition with his friend, and wanting to just have him to say that I do have him and she doesn't. My question is how do I realize what my feelings for him really are? And, what's it supposed to feel like?


Hopelessly Confused.

Dear HC,

May I call you "HC?"  Good.

How do you realize what your feelings for him are?  An age old question HC.  There are several ways to test this.  For instance, do you cringe when he tries to touch you, you know, there?  If so, perhaps or don't like him, or he needs a manicure.  Or, do you think his orgasm face is sweet?  (It's not, they never are on men, but this is a good test to see how blind love can be.)  Do you make him duck down in your car when you drive past the cool people?  If so, possibly a bad sign.  Can you imagine yourself kicking him down a flight of stairs for three hundred dollars?  Not really a "love" test, just something I like to make people do.  Admit it, you imagined it, didn't you? 

In all honesty, love is a tricky emotion to be sure of.  It involves time, and honesty, and constant work, and sometimes, an industrial lubricant and a kiddie pool.  You won't know just how deep your feelings for him are until you catch him giving your best friend a "six-pack" in the locker room after gym class.  Then, how long you stay pissed at him, and how many rumors you start about "uni-ball" will let you know.

As far as what it's "supposed" to feel like, all I can tell is what mine feels like - seven inches, slight curve, a little too big to get one hand all the way around - at least, for most midgets.

Hope that helps,


Dear Grumpy,


My close friend recently caught herpes but im not sure who it caught herpes off i think it might have been my dog but i dont even know if my dog has herpes so shut up or sumfin or nuffen and i swapped my baby for a westlife CD even though theyre rubbesh and have become obsessed with calling people Anne but i didnt steal no car so shut up


Dear Daisy,

(LSD + You)/Internet Access = Give me back the 20 seconds of my life that I spent reading your e-mail, you fuck.

Hope that helps,


Dear Grumpy,

I need a man, that knows how to speak llama, please help.


Dear Angelique,

Why?  No, seriously.  Do you speak Llama?  You type in English (mostly).  Or do you want one because you've realized that having a completely unbridgeable language barrier is your best hope at a satisfying relationship.  Because then, you and he won't have to waste so much time pretending to be interested in what in the other is saying, and then waste even more time being pissed when it's discovered you weren't really listening in the first place. 

Cause I tried that, too. 

And fuck you, INS for screwing it up!  (I still love you, Click-Click-Mgowie-Click-Hrrrtyshup.)

Good luck!

Hope that helps,


Dear Grumpy,

I am extremely pissed off, because some stupid hippie down the street told me that Llama's suck. So I stoned him (got stoned and threw rocks at him).
So as I was saying, My best friend and I love Llamas, and we want to buy one. But my dad wont buy me one. And if I get one I want to name it Sir Winston Smith Hurbert II Dutchess of the Kingsford Republic.
I would like advice on how the best way to steal a Llama is?
If your don't actually reply to this, I will hunt you down and steal your shoes, And if your not wearing shoes, I will paint them on and then wash it off so you don't have shoes no more. Now since we have this sorted, I will return your mother tomorrow morning.
Thank you for your time young Skywalker,
Love Ez

Dear EZ,

Good on ya!!  Hippies ARE stupid!  You'd be surprised how many people go through life without ever realizing that.  That being said, Llama's - for all their positives - don't make good pets.  Which makes stealing them incredibly easy.  Best way is to find someone who has one as a pet and ask for it.  He'll probably just give it to you.  Llama's are like herpes that way.  Once you're the owner, you can't wait to rid yourself. 

As regards your silly threats - I have hooves, not feet.  Therefore, no shoes.  If you'd like to paint them, have at it.  And if you really had my mother, you'd have that Llama you're going on about, now wouldn't ya?

Hope that helps,


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