I am a 24-year-old single human male who's been enjoying your column for years. I understand, of course, that it makes no sense whatsoever for a dog to give advice of any kind to heterosexual teens, and it is no longer particularly amusing when you give mean-spirited, nonsensical advice to a reader which will quite clearly ruin that youngster's life. Your gratuitous use of mind-numbing, profoundly disturbing dog sex terms is a joy, however, and your colorful descriptions of foul, stomach-churning dog sex acts challenge the power and perseverance of the imagination. Jerry-Ann? You are a civic treasure.
You gave some unsolicited advice to one of your readers two weeks ago which intrigued me, and -- because I am at a confused period in my life -- I thought I'd give it a whirl. Following your carefully-outlined advice, I purchased a Hershey's Kiss at the corner grocery store and, once home, I unwrapped the chocolate treat and soaked it overnight in softened, unsalted butter, with a whisper of ground bone added for texture.
The next day, I took my kitten, Alex (four months old and loaded with character!) and, stroking him gently, gingerly inserted the lubricated Kiss into his little bottom.
You predicted there would be discomfort at first. There was. But back to my story.
Then, after first putting an adorable plaid blindfold on him (my own innovation! I hope that was okay), I set Alex down in the middle of my rumpus room. Then I let the dogs in.
In accordance with your detailed instructions, I had not fed them for the previous two days. Now, Jerry-Ann, my dogs -- Hans and Rolf -- are Bavarian Burrowing Dachshunds, and boy did they make a bee-line for the Kiss. The commotion was a sight. You are right, Jerry-Ann: dogs love chocolate ... well, you would know. And, as you said would happen, little Alex was driven quite insane by the unwanted attention.
And now, with little Alex -- hairless, medicated -- destined to live out his life housed in a small, lightless cube, I ask the question I perhaps should have asked before: dear God in heaven, what possible good came of this?
I am a 32-year-old caucasian human male who for years has delighted in your column; my dog and I look forward to reading it each week with mixed feelings of fascination and revulsion. We agree, of course, that you are scarcely equipped, either intellectually or emotionally, to give teens advice on sex, the rudiments of personal hygiene, or anything else; your policy of advising youngsters on how to more safely do things which are in of themselves dangerous, unsanitary and essentially insane is something we used to consider humorous but which we now consider deeply saddening. Your weekly litany of vile, blood-chilling dog sex profanities always gives us a tickle, however, and your gritty accounts of the grim, terrifying dog sex behaviors you engage in always challenge my faith in the goodness of the human spirit. Jerry-Ann? I love you.
You gave some advice to a reader a while ago which, although it had nothing to do with the reader's question, was billed as a fun, high-risk means to a livelier sex life; I gave it a go. By carefully controlling my diet -- and making some big changes in my exercise regimen -- I managed to gain about 85 pounds over a two-month period. Then, by practicing the nurturing behaviors you recommended -- and with the help of 20 cc's of synthetic estrogen administered daily (my own idea. I hope that was okay!) -- I began to lactate generously.
To be quite honest, I felt like a pervert at first. But in the midst of a sleepless night I recalled the witty aphorism you so often employ: there's nothing wrong with being a pervert. And that made me feel better.
Then, in accordance with your detailed instructions, I began to consume gargantuan quantities of yeast cultures, anaerobic enzymes, powdered cellulose, and ground bone; I also began to undertake your recommended daily "curdling" procedure, by laying my "chests" on the surface of a vibrating industrial clothes dryer (this earned me more than a few stares down at Sit 'n Spin!). Finally, after two months, I began to lactate cheese.
And now I am afraid I've reached the point where I am a little confused. This has not improved my sex life: it has in fact destroyed it. My "chests" are swollen and sensitive. My bowels are in torment. I basically just lay around all day lactating cheese; and the cheese does not simply swab off the upholstery like other discharges. And Jerry-Ann? I am lactose-intolerant.
Jesus Christ! Now what?