Tag Archives: ethicist

It was easy! Because In stinked.

Gah, internet, gah. I woke up with my head wrapped up in the covers, like mummy. I think I was secretly trying to smother myself. I don’t know what’s up with the universe these days. I am constantly spotting 11:11 on the clocks, and last time that happened, we spent our life savings. Who needs Vegas when one comes factory-equipped with a lifetime supply of stupid ideas?

Some things are clearing up, however. The battle of the printer was won decisively, by getting a new one and kicking the old one. The mystery of “Who’s Been Pooping on the Stairs?” was solved. It was the woodchuck all along! And I thought it was the raccoon. A real novice move. And I wondered where the clean laundry was hiding, but Zellweger left it in the dryer.

Hey, let’s talk childhood. I was on the phone with my mom the other day, and we got to discussing my old drawings. I asked “Do you mean the Easter Island ones?” She read me and Loves-the-Bus the story of Thor Heyerdahl, and since I couldn’t sit still, I was allowed to draw. I drew the natives skulking through underground tunnels and rolling logs under those giant stone heads.

No, my mom was referring to the drawings she made me do for a contest. A children’s theater company in Richmond selected a drawing for the cover of the program for each season’s production. I recall determinedly scribbling about Cinderella and Pinocchio and Peter Pan and Charlie’s Angels. And then my mom said “And your drawings were so wonderful, so full of life.”

“Yeah? Well how come I never won?” That used to burn my ass every time I saw some other kid’s drawing on the next cover. Even at age six, I had a strong sense of injustice.

“I don’t know, I guess they never had the same feeling after I made you go back and correct them.”

“You what?”

“It was like your pencil never left the paper on your first pass. You just had all these details in your head, and you just let them flow. So I’d have you go back and straighten out lines and things like that. You always drew windows crooked.”


Ethicist: should I bill her for therapy, plus my usual hourly consulting rate for time spent in therapy?

Ethicist, what do you tell people when?

My dream home would have an MRI chamber for burrowing, and this would be filled with pure oxygen delicately scented of jasmine. The chamber would be next to the plunge pool filled with slightly temperate margarine. So good for the skin!

In the mornings, I like to stay in bed for an hour or so and hallucinate. The wall bricks turn into Tetris blocks, and the floor turns into jungle foliage. The wood beams in the ceiling are pure Bosch. Once I get up, I try to focus on tasks of great industry, like arranging my shoes by color. Most of them are black, so this doesn’t take too long. I have some coffee. I might answer email from clients, and a session of zen meditation is required when I read things like “I would just like to schedule a conference call to find out what your recommendations are.” Because the email is in response to me sending a one page Dick and Jane-style document where my recommendations are clearly outlined. In fact, it was called “Recommendations for _____” followed by a set of bullet points. Maybe I should start including more clip art. “Do this, like this, says the little turtle [fig. a].”

fig. b

Ethicist, I have white spots in my fingernails again. Can you die from this? Does anyone want to plan my vacation? Mr. H is indisposed, leaving it all up to me. I read that Sri Lanka was the new Bali, but I suspect this no longer applies. My horoscope for today says “Challenges will be dealt with honorably.” I guess this means I can duel with pistols.

Can’t Stand Us Now

I have spent this morning frantically paging my ethicist, my analyst, and my ghostwriter, but they are all getting herbal wraps together. My personal chef is off today, and I had to make my own breakfast (I had a popsicle). What manner of torment does the Lord plan for me next?

You see, I am blocked. B-l-o-c-k-e-d. You’re a blockhead, Charlie Brown. No, it’s not something my colon therapist could fix — I am the picture of health in that department, thank you for asking. I just can’t finish a design to save my life. This has never happened before. My patented formula of waiting until the last minute and then being filled with divine inspiration has failed me miserably. I am used to being a person with Answers, but I seem to have killed my inner Lucy Van Pelt. Was it because I switched to Splenda? Upgraded to Creative Suite? Stopped drinking as much? I want you back, Know-It-All. Abuh buh buh buh. All I want! Abuh buh buh buh. All I need! You hot bitch.

In other news, Netflix is sidling up to me, swearing it will all be different this time. I wrote them a cordial reply, stating that I will happily sign up again if they invent 36-hour days and start stocking shitloads of porn. I hate you, Netflix. You mock me.

Speaking of mocking, I watched the TV show “Biggest Loser” the other night, wherein a group of tubby people are chained to treadmills and fed nothing but Vitamin Water. The person who loses the most weight gets some kind of prize. I think. I don’t know, because I glazed over during all those slow mo shots of roiling seas of fat running or doing pull-ups or whatnot. They also tempt the participants with trays of treats. I was thinking “It’s like Heather and I finally sold a TV show!” Sure, it’s deplorable exploitation, but it’s nice to know our demographic is finally “in.” I also get sick of those home makeover shows where they let unstylish people return to showplace manses, so I was thinking “they should really also fix these poor, ill-coiffed troglodytes before they are allowed to touch those Corian countertops.” And what do you know, FOX went and came up with “Make Over My Family.” They bulldoze the house, and everyone gets highlights and an under-the-sea themed bedroom. About ding-dang time. Stop reading my mind, television. Just stop.

My next decree: Extreme Makeover candidates should not have to go home to ugly loved ones, as keeping company with ugly people only drags one down. The surprise reveal will include everyone in the family getting teeth veneers and butt lifts, right down to the house pets. If this turns up on the air, I would like a whopping check.


The secret to my better mood is palming things off on other people. Why did I not think of this weeks ago? Hours ago? I thought of it, and that is really all that matters. There I was, staring at the bottom of my second or third giant glass of Singha, and it hit me: outsource. So that’s the plan, man. First with the cleaning service and the ghostwriter and the ethicist, and now I ain’t doing nothing for nobody no more. That sentence included so many negatives that I can’t possibly divine the true meaning of what I said, but that’s just the point – I don’t have to anymore. Someone in India was on it eleven hours ago. Because that’s their day time or something. I’ll get a fax, and I’ll let you know what I said. Don’t create, facillitate.

On a sidenote, I did fire my ethicist after being advised against throwing a total snit while sprawling in the sunny spot on the floor. The hell she said.

International Hulk

I asked my ethicist if it was mean to throw my keys across the room at someone even if I didn’t hit him on purpose because I am gifted in all ways, including throwing control. The ethicist said I should blame Canada, because the squabble was about exchange rates. Apparently that is known as “mitigating circumstances.” Fair enough!

I’m glad I retain a paid staff to give me opinions that agree with my own.

I am watching the Olympics. One dude just hell of fell off something. Then another dude with a moustache did not. The male gymnasts should wear those outfits the swimming guys wear. Gymnasty!

All fired up

Go to White House West and watch the Will Ferrell video. I almost wet my pants. Soooo good.

Subservient President

Yes, pills like the chicken. My favorites are “avoid military service, drive drunk, ruin the environment, kick the prisoner, and steal the election.” Oh, and “pick nose.” I tried “bitch slap the twins,” but no luck.

The ethicist refuses to tell me if having ice cream after my low carb dinner is unethical! I am sure it is no more unethical than this vat of booze in which I am swimming.



Dear Ethicist: If my client’s organization is populated by ugly people, is it insulting to present comps featuring stock photography of the attractive? Why is there no “FrumpBank” for images of the appearance challenged? Surely the ugly people of America want to see people just like them getting their oil changed, lounging on carpet, or golfing. They’ll identify more!

I guess I should just schedule a photo shoot featuring actual members. In the meantime, I have stamped FPO over the more comely faces.

-Squirming Uncomfortably

Fancy drinks and lucky toasts

Everyone, please enjoy your holiday weekend. Do as Leah’s mom* suggests and wear pots on your head if you are in a shootin’ kind of neighborhood. No handling fireworks unless you are a carny, and stay away from all the ucky carbs in the potato salad. I always pick them out.

Earlier this morning I asked “Dear Ethicist: Should I put on pants? Also, is it wrong to eat a second microwave entree if the other one did not fill me up? It was only 230 calories.”

I am still waiting to hear back. Every second he dilly dallies is another that I stay like this. By that I mean taller and happier than you. And thinner, since I eschewed the second entree.

I’m in a punchy mood because Mr. H and I somehow went through a lucky tollbooth a few weeks ago, and things are going right, right, right. We should go back and find that grizzled hillbilly with the friendly eyes and buy him a corn dog. I imagine he took us into his good favor simply because we were the first people that day not to heat up the change with the cigarette lighter before handing it over. Don’t worry, hateraters, because I am sure all this rightness will be followed by a period of wrong, wrong, worst.

For instance, the T in my keyboard starting sticking shortly after receiving good news. When Wheel of Fortune gives you R-S-T-L-N-E, that’s pretty goddamn generous because there are a lot of Ts in words.

I leave you with this summation of everything in my heart:

*Get a blog!