The Providers – Letter 3

Bill,

If all else fails remember these words:

“Girl I can’t understand it, why you want to hurt me
After all of the things I’ve done for you
I buy you champagne, roses and put diamonds on your fingers
But still you hang out all night, what am I to do?

My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, party all the time
My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, she parties all the time

Girl I seen you at clubs, just hangin out and dancing
You give your number to every man you see
You never come home at night because your out romancin
I wish you’d bring some of your love home to me

My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, party all the time
My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, she parties all the time”

Bill, we know that you have had some issues with your girlfriend recently, we know it seems like she wants to party all the time. Just remember that the 59th President of the United States, Mr. Eddie Murphy, can commiserate. It happens to all of us.

Now stop moping around, you have to stay focused if you’re going to help us prevent this tragedy. Greg and I have been diligently working to prepare every upcoming occurence so as to prevent any tears in the space-time continuum, and that’s not easy for two dudes who have worked in the Bran Factory for half their lives. GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS, STAY SHARP, KID!

More info to follow, make sure to check your mailbox and floss daily.

-Dom

The Providers – Letter 5

Bill,

Now that you’ve taken care of the preliminary tasks we asked of you (thanks for sending that 2010 Chone Figgins baseball card, he’s going to have a monster year, trust me), I figured I could let you in on a little bit of information  about the future. Not enough to alter the space-time continuum so much that the United States gets attacked by a murderous race of giant sea turtles (again), but enough to make you totally jealous.

To start off, no, there are no flying cars. At least not anymore. A slight lack of foresight by AeroFord resulted in most of the flying cars obliterating each other mid-air. No lanes – people make their own lanes. The cars that didn’t become murder boxes were impounded or sent to museums. We’re all back to driving regular cars, powered by canaries.

I know you’re probably wondering about time-travel. Well, to sum up time-travel in one sentence: NOBODY TIME-TRAVELS. It’s really boring and totally not worth the risk. In case I hadn’t made in clear in my first paragraph, the future is great. Like, way better than the past. Why would we want to go back and look at boring losers like you (no offense) while we have 3-D virtual reality back in our own time? Even if we were interested in observing what you had for lunch last Tuesday, the possibility of completely ruining everything in the future is surprisingly high. Even the littlest thing – like someone from the future waving hello to you – could potentially have cataclysmic effects. If you wish to learn more about this, there was a documentary released during your time called The Butterfly Effect starring the man who now has a 30-foot tall bronze statue standing on the Hollywood walk-of-fame, Mr. Ashton Kutcher.

Also, dolphins can talk now. At first it was really cute, but now they’re just annoying – always whining about how much the want another fish. Fuck dolphins.

Thanks for your help, the next letter will inform you as to the next step in the process.

-Dom

The Providers – Letter 7

Bill,

Greg and I just came back from the site you were meant to bury the canaries in the Suspended Animation Chamber and honestly, I was a bit disappointed. I thought we had made it clear how costly it is these days to acquire these precious little birds ever since the motor vehicle companies found they were an extremely cheap source of energy. There’s hardly enough for two average-joes and their hair-brained experiments in time travel (or, since no one’s actually travelling, hair-brained experiments in Past Manipulation).

Nevertheless, Greg and I will trudge on. We have an old friend Pablo who used to work with us at the Bran Factory until he inherited a pet store from late Grandfather. I’m sure he’ll have a few of them lying around.

I hope you understand how dire our situation is, Bill. Greg and I need our jobs back at the factory. We’re lost without them. This is why I’m giving you one more opportunity to help us. All we need you to do is dig a tunnel beneath Francisco’s Pet Store on the corner of 25th and Henson. This should give us an entry way into Pablo’s store in the future so we can get our canaries. 

Should you fail us again, this endeavour could prove deadly. Pablo’s got a bit of a temper. You don’t want the weight of two future guys looming over you, do you? I didn’t think so. DIG THE HOLE, BILL!

-Dom

Common Nonsense – Letter 4

Richard,

If I may be so bold, I must say that this is the finest website I have ever laid by genius eyes on. With that being said, my ears left your website a little bit underwhelmed. Can you do something about that? I’m thinking some Europe or Journey. What do you say? I don’t just want this to just be an advice column, I want it to be a full-on multimedia experience!

How has the traffic been? Have we gotten any e-mails from advertisers looking to give us lots of money to put more animated GIF’s on our site? I sure hope so – Lisa has been on my ass (literally and figuratively) about bringing some money into the household. Sure, I’ve been unemployed for 3 years, but I was trying to find my calling. It still perplexes me why she doesn’t understand that.

Anyway, I received another reply from Craigslist, here’s another Golden Nugget of Knowledge:

Dear Alan the Genius,
My 13 year-old son and I are constantly at odds. It seems like every time we are together he is looking for a way to push my buttons. Just yesterday when I told him to come to dinner he yelled from his room, “I’m not eating anything you make because it all tastes like dick.”
I feel like I’m a good father (and at the very least a passable cook), I never hit my son and I’ve provided him basically anything he could ask for. What can I do to bring us back together?
Sincerely,
A Good Father

A Good Father,
If you’re writing to me with this problem I’m going to assume you have yet to perform the “Alan the Genius Coming of Age Ritual”. Here’s how you can become closer to your son:
First, construct a mini-sauna with a tap at the bottom. It should be large enough for you and your son to fit inside while standing back to back and that is all. Simply hook your furnace up to your sauna and figure out a way to get your son inside (chloroform?). Stand in the sauna with your son for exactly 3.5 hours. Discuss these three topics: Sports, meat, and babes. Instruct your wife to unlock the sauna after the allotted time. You will then fill 2 pint glasses with you and your son’s sweat from the tap. You will both chug these pints and upon completion exclaim “TO ODIN!” Your son will forever be connected to you through your perspiration and you will no longer need to suffer his teenage-ness.
You’re Welcome,
Alan the Genius

Do you remember when Dad had us do the coming of age ritual? Man, crazy times, right?

-Alan (the Genius)

PS: Congrats on the new Beau, don’t fuck this one up like you did with Carolyn!

Common Nonsense – Letter 2

Richard,

Let me start off by saying that you should not criticize that which you do not understand. My relationship with my wife is so complex and deep that sometimes even I can’t comprehend it. All you need to know is that Lisa and I are madly in love and we’re not going to let a mere spork stabbing mess that up. If you must know what a “sexy burrito” is, it’s when Lisa dresses up in her Snuggie and I douse her with hot sauce. I just got a little excited when the “feast” commenced. Can you blame me?

Anyway, this is exactly why I am qualified to run an advice-column. If I can deal with the shit that Lisa and I put each other through on a daily basis, I can easily handle anyone else’s “problems.”

So far I’ve gotten only one response from my post in Craigslist, but here it is:

Dear Alan the Genius,
I am a 42 year old man and I’ve been married to my wife for 6 years. Things had been going very well up until a couple of months ago when it appears that she no longer wishes to have sex with me. She is always coming up with excuses like “my head hurts,” or “I’m so tired from work.” This has put quite a strain on our relationship and I’m not sure what to do. Please help.
Sincerely,
Apparently Unattractive

Dear Apparently Unattractive,
First of all, why the hell would your parents name you that? Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. What is it, Eastern European or something? This is probably your first problem.
Your second problem, I’m assuming, is that you are not presenting yourself correctly to your wife. If you are kindly requesting sex from your wife, you’re doing it wrong. Studies have shown (no I don’t have to show them, shutup) that a majority of women look for a dominant man, a man who can kill a rabid wolf with his bare hands and bench press
at least 250 pounds. It goes back to when we were cavemen or some shit.
Now, listen to me very carefully – go out, buy yourself a caveman costume. Make sure it’s made of tiger skin, the seduction will not work if it’s not. Approach your wife, grab her forcefully by the nose and grunt loudly directly into her ear. “RUUUUUUUUUUUUUG” is approximately what you should say, but feel free to take some liberties with the pronunciation. She will be so intimated/aroused (basically the same feeling, as studies have shown) that she will no longer be able to resist you. After that, just hang on for the ride, Tarzan.
You’re Welcome,
Alan the Genius

There, what do you think? I gave myself a “stage name” for marketing purposes, but it works on so many levels that I’m thinking about making you call me that, too.

I don’t know much about websites so I’m going to leave most of the design up to you. Make sure there are at least 3 animated gifs and the “A” and “G” in my name are on fire. Thanks Rich, this really means a lot to me.

Your favorite brother,
Alan the Genius

Political Party Animals – Letter 11

Rupert,

Needless to say, Prom night didn’t exactly work out the way we wanted it to. Sure, we got a little buzz going from the Apple Schnapps I slipped into my purse and the shrimp cocktail was spectacular, but any night that ends with you going to jail and me being stripped of my PTA presidency should definitely be labeled “bad”.

I suppose the evening took a turn for the worst when I saw Meghan and Brett together. She just looked so beautiful and I admit I was a bit jealous. While you sat there, nibbling on a piece of bread and editing your acceptance speech, I was tearing that bitch’s dress to shreds… with my mind.

Something snapped when I heard Marty Averman, the class president, announce Meghan and Brett as Prom King and Queen. How dare they! After all that work we put in pretending to be teenagers and handing out pamphlets and buying under-aged kids alcohol! How could we not be Prom King and Queen?

Anyway, that’s why I ran up on stage, punched Meghan in the stomach and started pulling her hair. I get why Brett pulled me off of her and pushed me away, but it was still very gentlemanly of you to punch Brett in the face in my defense. It was even more gentlemanly of you to fight off half of the hockey team while I grabbed the mic and began my speech.

I was going to let you have your turn when I was done, seriously, but as you know that’s when the Principal recognized me. How he noticed me through my ingenious disguise of some makeup and a prom dress is beyond me, but I was staring directly at the end of my PTA career right there.

If my memory serves me correctly, that’s when the cops showed up. I think they were a bit rough on you if you ask me, but you certainly didn’t buy yourself any favors when they came in and you were beating up a bunch of teenagers. Hopefully no one pressed charges.

Anyway, I wanted to thank you for a magical night. Despite all of your faults, Rupert, you really know how to treat a lady with respect and tenderness. This was almost the greatest prom a girl could ask for. If anything ever happens between me and my husband and you stop being so obsessed with abusing laborers, maybe there will be a future with us.

Thank you, Rupert Hornsby, for making me feel like a lady.

Sincerely,
Krystine Markowitz