We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
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Monday, July 9. 2007
A new weekly feature at Maggie's Farm! Ask Dr. Bliss!
Dr. Bliss can tell you how to be happy, healthy and wise. She knows the Meaning of Life, the Purpose of Existence, the True Nature of God, whether human relationships are worth the bother, which of your sexual and violent fantasies are sick and which are wholesome, how to please a man, what your mother really thought about you, and where to find the best prices for Manolos.
Photo: Our Dr. Joy Bliss in a pensive moment, contemplating the mind-brain problem, the mysteries of counter-counter-transference, and wondering what shoes to wear tomorrow.
(Yes, it's a friendly spoof of our blog friend Dr. Helen, who has begun an Ask Dr. Helen feature at Pajamas Media - an excellent idea, and we are chagrined that we did not think of it first.)
Editor's Note: Check the comments. Wiseacres abound around here.
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Dear Dr Bliss, I have a theory that 'procrastination' is a Milton's Lucifer-like denial of God's universe--specifically the existence of 'time'. I've been meaning to flesh this out....
Dear Dr. Bliss,
In the 1970's former Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver (no relation to the Beaver) got in touch with his creative design side and designed mens pants with external penis sleeves.
(I believe this was the inspiration for Devos later hit song,"Whip It, Whip It Good").
Here is my question. My wife and I are going to a 70's party Saturday night. I'd like to make a good showing. Should I take two Cialis and hope for the four hour erection, or just stuff those little styrafoam packing peanuts inside? Or would a jelly do due?
El pequeño gallo rojo & Tijo Tijo
Dear Dr. Bliss,
My husband has run off with a beautiful young blonde waitress at the Big Boy burger place. I am 66, a little o9verweight and wrinkley and tired all the time and like to watch tv and maybe some bingo, but my husband is vigrous and wants to live.
How can I get him back?
Dear Dr. Bliss
I've just finished my 3rd reading of "The Porpoise-Driven Life" but I still don't have a leg to stand on. Can you give me a hand?
Perhaps the good doctor would like to go in halfsies on a very important public service I'd like to offer.
I'm going to open a halfway house for girls that won't go all the way.
anxious in sicily
Oh, I know Sicily well. Many's the time I've bumped my head on it, on midnight swims between the Tyrrhenian Sea and the Nile Delta.
"...wondering what shoes to wear tomorrow."
Just wear the ones you have on, Dr. Bliss. Just wear the ones you have on.
Your Faithful Patient,
PS: See you tomorrow.
I am an older gentleman but clean and well put-together and in decent shape. My problem is going to the supermarket. It is so filled with delicious and charming young moms, all shapely and trim, dressed in short shorts and other appealing summer garb that it is a serious distraction. Or, I should say, a serious frustration. I doubt they even notice me, while I notice every detail, revealed and covered, of their bodies, movements, and facial expressions.
It got so bad today that I ended up buying a box of Special K cereal when I wanted a box of Uncle Sam's cereal.
Is there anything I can do to deal with these desires, which seem as strong as they were when I was 40?
I'm in a bind; please help.
I wrote a letter to the editor of the newspaper, in which I mentioned I like to go to the zoo to see the camel's hump, but I forgot to put an apostrophe in "camel's" and now I have to register at the police station every time I move.
anxious in Sicily
Dear Dr. Bliss,
My psychiatrist in Washington says I am suffering from Chronic Existential Angst. I cannot excape the thought that I am just a meaningless tiny blog of goo sitting on a rock that is uselessly rocketing through a cold, uncaring space-time thingamabob. I am not depressed, but I just don't see the point to anything.
Is there any point in my trying to change my attitude, or should I just wait for the nature of reality to change?
Vigilanza, Signor Hauteville. Nostro occhio!
I do not care for Manolo. I only wear Stuart Weitzman. Your ask the doctor thing is therefore of no interest to me.
About Manolos and shoes in general. I cannot wear any shoes, even in the summer, that expose my big toes. My big toes look just like giant pointing penises, and it is a source of great embarassment to me because I am a femine girl.
Do you think I should have my toes fixed?
Just wondering... do you need bigger shoes in the mornings when you just wake up?
When I was a child, my parents moved often. I always found them, but still.
When I was a lad I served a term as office boy in an attorney's firm,
I cleaned the windows and I shined the floors and I polished up the handle on the big front door....
Now, after several more verses, I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navy.
Why is it the Queen's Navy?
Every time I pass near a Maple Tree, I feel compelled to say outloud "Good Day, Mr. Maple." I have no idea why. It makes me look like Elwood P. Dowd. Otherwise, people say I am fairly normal.
Am I OK, or am I losing it?
what about the people who say you're fairly normal? Are they deciduous too?
Once when i was a teen, I called this gal, and she said it was a good time to come on over, nobody was home.
So I went on over, and nobody was home.
Many years ago I killed my Pop and married my Mom. Life is good, our kids are wonderful, the Theban economy is booming with minimal inflation, but I have terrifying nightmares.
Do you think I might have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?
Dr. Bliss ...very apropos for this ..it's time has come
If marijuana were legalized, regulated and taxed at the rates applied to alcohol and tobacco, revenues would reach about $6.2 billion annually, according to an open letter signed by 500 economists who urged President Bush and other public officials to debate marijuana prohibition. Among those economists were three Nobel Prize winners, including the late Milton Friedman of Stanford's Hoover Institution.
Friedman and others were acting in response to a 2005 report on the budgetary implications of marijuana prohibition by Jeffrey Miron, visiting professor of economics at Harvard. By Miron's estimate, regulating marijuana would save about $7.7 billion annually in government prohibition enforcement -- $2.4 billion at the federal level and $5.3 billion at the state and local levels
The fact that legalizing pot would raise a ton of tax revenue is the best argument I have heard to NOT do it.
Oh my God! You know, I just tried that in lieu of a cold shower, and by Zeus, it works.
I quit pot many years ago. The paranoia was more reality than I could handle.
All of this reminds me of a spoof from years ago, when Dear Abby ran the world.
It was "Dear Abie" and the questions were things like Can I ride in an ambulance on the Shabbat? and How do I stop my potato latkes from sticking to the pan?
I have this like, well, really weird habit, and I never told anyone, doctor. This is very private and personal, a thing I do every night which is sort of sexual in nature but not really the ordinary kind of thing. This is like confidential, right? Or can other people read this? If this gets on internets and Goggle well maybe I better not say it.
Dear Doctor; long-time listener, first-time caller.
Speaking as a professional, would you consider me less of a deep thinker because I favor shallow graves?
I'll hang up and listen to your answer.
Anxious in Sicily
Dear Dr. Bliss,
I am interested in pursuing the Presidency of the United States. I believe that I have what it takes, but most of the feedback that I am getting is that I am too normal, too perfect, too articulate, too smart, too accomplished, too flawless.
Do I have a disease of some sort? And would it disqualify me?
Thank you in advance for your reply.
Bliss, if you know what's good for you, you'll tell that no-good son of a @#$^% dirty lousy *&%#&@ Mitt NOT to run against me!
The lovely Mrs. Hauteville -- a very sensible woman I'm sure you'd agree-- anyway, where was I? Oh yes; when nursing her cubs, she likes to smoke Monte Cristos to keep the flies off their eyes.
The problem is like this: Ever since I read the Starr Report, I cannot take a whiff of the lovely smoke rings she blows, which heretofore brought me great pleasure, without getting the sensation that I'm smelling the nether regions of a manatee. It's very disconcerting.
I visited our internist and fill dirt supplier, but everything he had in the cupboard was of the suppository type, and I hate the taste; so I went to my seer and psychiatry-talking-guy, Doctor Gassalasca Jape, who examined the bumps on my head and advised me that the only way to conquer this demon was to finally pull the lever for a democrat for the first burgess of this fine republic.
The problem that arose is obvious to a great mind like yourself, no doubt; in the last two elections, the Democrats have run cigar store Indians as their candidates, and that has only served to redouble my anxiety, and has driven my poor lady wife to smoking hemp instead of her beloved number 5s. The milk she supplies confuses the children.
And now it has come to this! I have been instructed to pull the lever for the Democrat, and in this election go-round, she is likely to be a manatee.
So here's my question: Is it alright to serve red wine with chicken?
anxious in Sicily
Suppositories are useless. Why, you might as well stick 'em up your butt for all the good they do.
Roger d'H: With a spicy or barbecued chicken preparation, a Pinot Noir or Syrah would be fine, as would a Chianti or Bardolino with a full-flavored Italian dish such as pollo alla marsala.
The only way I can get laid is to lie to women or pay them. Am I pathetic?