Advice
Dear Reverend Gills,
I am kept awake every night by an inconsiderate neighbor who
insists on playing really bad, loud music all night long.
I have left polite notes requesting the music be lowered,
but to no avail. Please help!
Perturbed in Providence
Perturbed hugh? Is that you Phil? Thought so. Let me give you a hint neighbor, when you send me an "anonymous" untraceable e-mail, try not to use the same wimpy sentence structure that you use in those "polite notes" I find on my friggin' door every morning. Hey, I might have toned it down a little if you were man enough to come over and talk to me face-to-face.
"Really bad" music hugh? I'm blasting Los Lobos, Nick Cave, stuff like that. Maybe some Tom Waits after hours. Doesn't the concept of artistic genius mean anything to you Phil? What are you listening to over at your place, Barely Manenough? No, you sound like a Hootie man to me. I only wanna' be with yooooooooooo... Get a real life Phil.
Until you come over ready for some mano a mano action with the Rev', you best get used to hearing some classic tunes full bore. Until then.
Go to Hell,
The Rev. G. Mcstretchy D. Div
Dear Reverend Gills,
I'm a woman whose stuck in an uncomfortable position. Because my sister and her husband have a newborn and only one car, I have to drive my brother-in-law to work each day. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't spend the entire time making racial and homop hobic slurs while telling me how to drive. He has an especially nasty habit: he thinks he's the auto-prophet. No matter what another car's intentions on the road may be, the brother-in-law consistently attempts to predict the most unlikely course of act ion any car may take. How do I shut up or lose the dead weight?
Road Ragin' in Richmond
You know Ragin', this a tough one for me. I mean, I know what I'd do in your position. But then again, I'm an ordained minister in the State of Rhode Island so I'd just pop the dude with my cross-bow and drop his bo dy off at a Cumberland Farms dumpster. You, however, don't enjoy the kind of impunity a man of the cloth has in this state, so I'll try to come up with a solution that is open to the lay-person.
The obvious solution would be for you to tell this guy to leave you the hell alone and get his own damn car or just start "forgetting" to pick him up in the morning. But I'll operate under the assumption that using the direct approach this close to Chris tmas would be disastrous in terms of family politics. This could wind up costing you a VCR or a dinette set right? I think your going to have to resort to some industrial-strength psychological manipulation in order to lose this obnoxious home-boy of your s.
I think the key to this thing is his homo-phobia. I'll bet this guy accuses every other male motorist of being a closeted gay fetishist, am I right? This level of homophobia can only mean one thing. Deep down this guy is road raging queen. Remember, homo- hate rants are indulged in by white guys mostly to disguise the fact that their sincerest sexual fantasies involve William "The Refrigerator" Perry. Your car-pool companions true tastes probably lean towards what my colleague, the Reverand Horton Heat, re fers to as "that interracial-cowboy-homo kinda' love".
Your job is to slowly, subtly, let him know that your "onto him". The next time he shouts "Queer!" at a pedestrian just look at him and sigh compassionately. After you've done this for a few days, take it to a new level. If he goes Pat Buchanon on the com muter whose passing you in the right lane, look at him sweetly and say something like, "It must be so hard not to be able to show your true feelings." Within a week-and-a-half an alarm will go off in our little Hitler-youth's brain. A panic stricken feeli ng that tells him "She knows". In a couple of days he'll be out shopping for a manly muscle-car and you'll be free.
Not only will this solve your commuting problems but it will always give you an ace-in-the-hole when negotiating the treachorous world of family politics. Once its clear to him that you know his little secret all you have to is master the art of giving hi m the "I'll tell everybody" look and he'll toe your line in any family matter imaginable. Remember, this guy may own the ballsiest car on the block, but deep down he's sniveling, submissive leather weasel and you own him.
Fervently Yours,
The Reverand Gills McStretchy D. Div.
