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Jan 18, 2007

Advice for January 19, 2007

Bet you suckers thought I didn’t have it in me, did you? Well, here it is, second week in a row. This week we get up to some crazy-important stuff, like drinkin’ outta shoes, and why everyone from Santa Cruz is an idiot who quotes Jello Biafra during wedding toasts, even the bridesmaids.


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I was wondering, at what point is it okay to shave your pubes? Usually I would say that's weird but it’s a freaking jungle down there, and it's kind of disgusting.
—A.N., Internet

Dear A.N.,

Well, I think it’s okay at any point, really, so long as you ain’t in gym class in high school or whatever and gonna get hella pointed out for havin’ no thatch. Or, is shaved the norm these days? I got to tell you, I am way outta touch with high school pube culture (it’s the law). Back in my day, the rule was, “show ‘em if you grow ‘em,” and since everyone in the showers was wetted down anyway, nobody went off lookin’ like they were facesittin’ Screech.

Regardless, my guess is that if you’re disgusted by your own nest, you could stand to tame that tiger down to the tune of a 1/2” guide. See how business picks up from there. You might at least be able to wear non-denim pants without embarrassment.

My old lady wants me to drink out of her shoes all the time. She saw it on some movie but man, that [shit] is nasty. I like her sexy and everything, but stanky foot Mumms is about the last thing I want to drink. Any ideas?
—Concerned in Iowa

Dear Concerned,

You know, in doing this column I’ve developed a powerful “BS” sensor. For some reason, it’s not going off this time. My regular readers will think I’m crazy, but I actually believe you.

You’ve got some weird lady who wants you to drink C-grade champagne outta her Easy Spirit Comfort Pump? I’ve met a lot of Americans, and I’ve seen a lotta Internet, and this is so far within the bounds of normal, well-documented activity, I’m just gonna roll with it.

Answer: your lady is exhibiting early signs of dominant-play. If you’re cool with being a submissive, then roll with it, but if not, counter her kinky by wrapping a hoagie in a pair of boxer shorts and asking her to eat it. Tell her you saw it in, “Porky’s III: Raw at the Ball.”

My husband and I share our home with two lovely cats, a male and female who were both "fixed" by the animal shelter we adopted them from. (I have heard that you are neutered yourself, so maybe you will be especially sympathetic.) [Not true. This rumor is the sick product of a crazy society. --Ray] The problem is that our cats are constantly getting their bone on even though they have no gonads. They've started doing it on our bed, sometimes while we are in it, and their favorite thing to do is to wait until they hear us coming home and then begin to nail each other right in front of the door, so that we trip over their lovemaking. We are often awakened at night by the sound of our male, Tron, hollering for our female, Jamma Camma, at the top of his lungs in an incredibly annoying, insistent, "MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOW" until she finally assumes the position and they get their slam on for a few seconds.

We have tried having a heart-to-heart with them, to let them know that sex is a beautiful thing but that they need to keep it private and not do it in front of the door or in the middle of the living room when we have company over. What else can we do to instill a little more modesty in their lives?
—Modest in Mukilteo, WA

Dear Modest,

I guess your cats disagree about where sex belongs. They sound kind of New-Agey. Not everyone has the same morals, you know. A lot of times people who grew up in Santa Cruz have way crazier ideas about what it means to act nice at home. You ain’t from California, but you know about Santa Cruz, right? It’s one of those beach towns where the cops drive black and white ’68 Beetles and care about who Wavy Gravy is. It’s like, the chicks seem kind of hot—in a loose, homemade sarong kind of way—but real quick you discover that they go ass-bat crazy if someone gets started on the topic of antibiotics or Ghostbusters (chicks from this town are WAY uppity about having never seen Ghostbusters, like it was some kind of intellectual bragging point).

In sum, send your cats back to Santa Cruz, where they can bang in the middle of a vacant lot, six feet behind a dude who is standing there drinking a beer by himself, in the full afternoon sun. In Santa Cruz, no one would even bother to take a picture of this.

* A Gentle Reminder (“Disclaimer”): This is advice from a cartoon cat, and should not be taken seriously. We are not responsible for anything you do based on what Ray says, or otherwise. Do not commit suicide or otherwise interrupt the lives of others. Continue on with your life as though you had never read this column. Erase your browser history. Not for readers under 18 years of age.