Hair-brained Bonehead

Gork,

Long time, first time. I’m always reading how scientists are discovering new bones in the human body. It strikes me that the human body is kind of like the ocean…we’ve only just begun to explore its nooks and crannies to find out what lurks beneath. What else don’t we know about our bodies? You hearing anything?

Pike Provoster, Pig’s Hollow, MI

Pike,

Thanks for the question. I find it hard to believe that you’re always reading about new bone discoveries. If you are, you might want to check your sources because we pretty much wrapped up mapping the human skeleton over 1,000 years ago. Sure, individuals can vary based on how their bones fuse in childhood and one-off genetic abnormalities, but generally speaking, we all have about 206 bones. If you want to get technical, we can talk about sesamoid variations and other nuances that might make us think we have more like 213 bones, but let’s not do that.

Since the basis of your question is obviously flawed, it’s hard to continue, but I’ll try. You might be interested in some emerging research happening in Venezuela related to hair growth. Venezuelans are notoriously obsessed with their hair. Baldness is actually considered a crime in some parts of the country, so scientists there have been furiously researching solutions to lower the crime rate. They’ve recently discovered that each individual hair on our bodies actually has its own micro-brain. They postulate that it might even be possible to communicate with hair with electrical impulse patterns. Researchers are attempting to learn the “language” of hair by observing responses to electrical stimulation. Apparently, certain patterns yield very specific responses, while others result in no response at all. If all goes well, they hope to literally ask their hair why it falls out, and possibly convince it to just not do that. If they get this figured out, it could mean big bucks for anyone investing in the Venezuelan hair market. To most of us, that sounds like some hair-brained science fiction, but I suspect it’s right up your alley. Be careful out there, bonehead.

-gvd

salty snacks

Hi Gork,

I need some advice pronto. My husband and I have been married for 6+ pretty great years. He’s the love of my life and I couldn’t imagine life without him, at least until he pulled the stunt I’m about to share with you.

We both agreed that having kids was the next logical step in our relationship, so we decided the time was right to have a baby. The pregnancy was mostly nominal, a few ups and downs, but nothing out of the ordinary. We’re kind of old fashioned, so we agreed not to learn the sex of the baby until it was born. I went into labor exactly on my due date, and after 28 excruciating hours, I gave the final push. Our child was brought into the world.

Suddenly there was a bit of ruckus in the corner of the room. I couldn’t really see what was going on, and honestly, I was so exhausted, I barely cared. The next thing I know, the nurse sets a bag of chips on my chest and says, “Congratulations, it’s a bag of Fritos.”

As you might imagine, I was thoroughly confused. I looked at my husband, who was tearful and taking pictures of everything. The doctor gave me two emphatic “thumbs up” and all the nurses started clapping and laughing. I kept looking around waiting for an actual baby to be revealed, but it never was. It turns out my husband had convinced the whole staff to go along with this idiotic scheme. They sneaked our healthy baby boy out to the nursery during the ruckus.

I can tell you that after my confusion settled and I figured out what was going on, I was not pleased. My husband posted all kinds of “hilarious” pictures to his social media accounts, but I never once cracked a smile. The hospital staff eventually apologized profusely. They later told me they were never comfortable with this practical joke, but my husband is very charming and was able to convince them I would looooove it.

My husband still thinks it was a great joke and is even talking about when we should have our next kid. I know for sure he would pull a similar trick if we went down that road because he’s just like that. I’m still seething, however. Is this grounds for divorce? How can I be married to someone with such terrible judgment? If it helps, to know, Frito and I would have the financial means to make it on our own. I have plenty of money saved in a secret bank account. What do you think?

-Ann Wagner-Brandtsly,, Soggers Swamp, FL

Ann,

Dear Lord. That’s quite a story you’ve got there. Your hospital definitely needs some lessons in professionalism, but if I’m being honest, I have to wonder if you’re taking this all too seriously. In the end, it was pretty harmless.

If you can’t get over it, you should ask yourself why. Is it because your husband thought of it and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction? Is it because you were made to feel silly in front of the staff and your friends that saw the pictures online? At any rate, you must not be that upset because you named your son Frito, which might be the worst part of this whole mess. I say, have some more kids and see what comes of it. Don’t punish your husband just because he’s funnier than you are. Besides, maybe your husband’s next stunt will strike your funny bone. No matter what you do, try to loosen up. Sit back and smell the Fritos every once in a while. Hope that helps you out!

-gvd

mEET YOUR MAKER

Gork,

I’m a 19 year old male with my whole life ahead of me. I need to know, what is the point of this simulation we’re in? Not knowing is really eating away at me to the point that I can barely breathe unless I get really hammered and forget about it. Please let me know ASAP.

-Parverd Dumpsmeir, Forkmouth, NJ

Mr Dumpsmeir,

Sorry, I forgot to check my email for a couple years. Hopefully, this is still relevant. Either way, buckle up because this going to be a long one. Right off the bat, two things strike me as interesting about your query—1) you’ve skipped over every single religious and spiritual theory of origin put forth by man since the dawn of time, seemingly taking as a foregone conclusion that simulation theory is the ticket, and 2) you seem to know with certainty that I have the answers you need, which is bold, but not surprising since I’ve sort of implied that I know a lot about everything, which I do . The good news and bad news for you is that you’re right on both accounts. We are, in fact, living in a simulation, and for reasons not perfectly clear to me, I happen to know why. I’m sorry to report that knowing the simulation story and the implications around it will lead you to a much darker place than the blissful delusions that we’ve embraced for so long. Your drink-to-forget habit might have to get worse before it gets better.

You might wonder how I came to know the answer, or you might be asking why I’ve withheld this fairly critical morsel of information for as long as I have. I’ll answer both of these perfectly reasonable questions, but first I should tell you that I’m publishing a book in the very near future called Signs of Life and Other Misleading Features of the Simulation. The book will retail for the hefty fee of $2,400.59, which is admittedly a sizable chunk of cash, but on the flip side, it will contain the answers to all of life’s most important questions, so if you won’t scrounge up the funds for this book, I don’t understand your motivations and I should think you and I have very little in common. Buy the book.

So, let’s get on with it. I have no idea how I came to know anything about the simulation—one moment, I didn’t know it, and the next moment, I did, which is completely inexplicable by any acceptable theory of cognition save for some cockamamie ideas involving mental illness, which can be discounted if you have any faith in me to begin with. Furthermore, this is a hard thing to know and an even harder thing to articulate to other people, which is why I haven’t really told anybody. Not to mention the fact that nobody asked me until you did, so here we are. My theory is that the Simulator, who goes by a name that sounds like “Honk Eeow” (like a sound a weird goose/donkey hybrid beast might make) but I can’t actually spell it because they use a language that’s very foreign to us, and I don’t mean like French or Chinese, I mean alien—and I don’t mean alien, like some little green guy from outer space either, I mean alien, as in a sentience that we can’t even fathom, unless of course, we blink our eyes and their presence and purpose is just suddenly available to our minds, which is exactly what happened to me on June 28th 2019.

Anyways, I kind of got lost in that paragraph. Let me start again. My theory is that Honk Eeow paused the simulation briefly so that he could inject this “simulation epiphany” into my (and a select few other super-geniuses’) mind(s) so that I (we) can propagate that awareness throughout human civilization. I don’t know for sure why I was chosen, but I surmise that only very bright individuals with far-reaching platforms like this website were selected. I do know that Honk was commissioned by his government to execute this simulation project with two objectives: 1) determine the feasibility and probability that they, themselves, are living in a simulation, and 2) formulate a solution to their impending doomsday apocalypse, which they are aware of but currently have no fitting solution. In other words, our Simulators might be living in a simulation themselves and they want to prove it, and regardless of that, their world is about to be destroyed and they don’t know how to escape it. I also know that Honk Eeow kicked off thousands of simultaneous simulations with randomized environmental variables that effect the living conditions of the originating spheroid in various ways. In that way, each simulation will exhibit different outcomes and facilitate examination of the effects of those variables on the outcomes. Those facts were planted in my mind. Beyond that and the supplementary facts I will describe below and expound upon in the book, I have to hypothesize to put this nightmare puzzle together.

To complete this picture for you, I want to explain some characteristics of the simulation environment of which I was made aware. Firstly, and definitely not least, there are five “sim-end-flags” or conditions that cause the simulation to end. I will describe them in no particular order because I don’t believe they are prioritized in any way by Honk. First, the simulation will end if intelligent life does not emerge within 100 million simulation years from the start of the simulation. This is to spare computing resources by discarding simulations that have little-to-no chance of generating intelligent life because the conditions effected by the environmental variables are simply not hospitable for life to happen. Not surprisingly, this condition was actually met in over 75% of Honk’s simulations, which portends that the probability of life being sparked on an earth-like spheroid, let alone evolution of that life into an intelligent species, is less than likely. By this fact, we know that less than 25% of initial simulations are still active.

The second sim-end-flag is met by demolition of the originating spheroid, either by a random cosmic/environmental event, or by some act of stupidity by the spheroid inhabitants. Honk hasn’t encountered this condition yet in any simulations but there is certainly still time.

Speaking of time, barring satisfaction of the other sim-end-flags, the simulation is programmed to end after roughly 72 of Honk’s hours, which in our perception of time, equates to about 15 billion simulation years. So no, this is not an endless simulation. Honk hit the “go” button about 21 hrs ago in his time, which means we’re coming up on 33% simulation completion. That leaves a lot of time for us to still screw things up.

The fourth sim-end-flag is the programmed apocalypse condition that mirrors Honk’s world’s scenario. Basically, a giant asteroid will slam into our spheroid and blow everything to bits and the simulation will shortly thereafter come to a neat and tidy end. We actually have the capacity to intervene, which speaks to the Simulator’s second objective of determining a plan for avoiding their own demise. To understand this, you first have to imagine that the computing cluster on which Honk is running the simulations so far exceeds our own computing standards in processing capacity and speed that it’s not even worth expressing by an analogy, but I will anyways. In about 100 of our years when humans have harnessed and optimized the full potential of quantum computing, we will still only be working with about 0.01% of the computing capability that Honk has at his disposal. They need this computing horsepower for the simulation application because Honk’s team has built in an artificial intelligence generator that actually allows for us think and conceptualize in unpredictable ways, and moreover, grow in intelligence beyond the limitations of Honk’s civilization—we could very well end up smarter than our own creators. This is important because if our civilization defies the odds and actually solves the apocalypse problem, Honk’s people will attempt to implement our solution in their world and potentially survive. I find it extraordinarily improbable that our civilization can problem-solve our way out of any doomsday scenario, but that’s just my opinion.

The final sim-end scenario is triggered if 90% of the intelligent beings (humans in our case) accept the reality that they are, in fact, living in a simulation. If this happens, the simulation ends and simulation feasibility for Honk’s world is basically declared reality for them too. This is an unlikely outcome for us, I believe. I mean, I’m here as the prophet of simulation speaking facts that were conveyed to me by the Simulator himself/herself (I don’t know, Honk seems androgynous to me). Do you think that 90% of the world will come to believe me? I highly doubt this will ever be accepted. We would have to give up our various notions of the after-life, plus a great many other ideas that actually serve to keep us relatively in line. Besides, if the majority of people give up on the idea that we actually have no purpose to fulfill, I suspect we’ll trigger an end to this simulation rather quickly by way of sim-end-flag #2.

Aside from the simulation completion triggers, there other important aspects of the simulation environment. For example, all of the physical rules that we’ve come to understand about our world are modeled as exactly as possible after those in Honk’s reality. Our gravity, electro-magnetism, friction, air composition, thermal properties of materials, etc. are nearly identical in Honk’s world. Our spheroid (earth) is somewhat different in size and composition because the simulation has allowed for variance across simulation instances, but most other aspects are very much like what Honk’s people know and love.

Physics is one thing, but life is another matter altogether. We don’t look, act, or communicate like anything in any other simulation, or Honk Eeow’s people for that matter, who he refers to as something sounding like “JeeOOop”. Evolution takes wildly different paths in all variations of the simulation because, again, the environmental characteristics that effect such things, are not the same. It’s also interesting to know that interactions between simulation instances are not allowed. I think it’s okay for us to postulate that the other simulations are akin to alternate universes, but we will never, ever know what they contain. Anyone peddling a multi-verse theory at you that believes we can interact with them, is trafficking in bunkery.

Why then, we ask, did Honk intervene and potentially sully the results of the simulation by injecting this knowledge into my mind? For that, I can only guess, but I have a theory. I wonder if we are not even living in one of the “record run” simulations, but rather an excursion simulation solely designed to investigate the time it might take for simulation awareness to propagate throughout an entire civilization. It’s possible that simulation theory never emerges within any simulations, and therefore, Honk has decided to intervene by planting the seed rather than risk learning nothing at all from the experiment. Again, that’s just speculation, as opposed to the rest of this information, which is fact.

Okay, so that’s a lot to digest. Let me summarize for you. We are living in a simulation that is just one of many simulations designed to determine the feasibility of entirely simulated civilizations, and possibly puke out some ideas about how to beat the end of times. If that’s hard to hear, imagine how Elon Musk and I felt when we were suddenly and abruptly uploaded with these details with no warning. If you’re savvy, you might be wondering how many layers of simulations there are. If Honk is living in a simulation, who are his Simulators? Are they simulated? I don’t know the answers to these troubling questions. All I know is that if you start to hear rumblings of humans attempting some quick simulations to “just see if the idea is even possible”, that’s your cue to cringe. After you’ve had some time to sit with this and maybe have a couple drinks, I encourage you to buy my book. Everything I know about the simulation is revealed within. Plus, I need some cash soon to pay for my cat’s gallbladder surgery.

Does that answer your question, Parverd?

gvd

Conventional Wisdom

Gork, 

I'm in deep. In an effort to meet some new people in the town I recently moved to, I joined a lodge. To my astonishment, I was immediately appointed treasurer and head of fund-raising. As a mechanic, I have precious little experience in either arena but the Grand Master Goat (Lodge Chairman, aka "GMG") says until we rustle up some more members, we all have to step outside of our comfort zone and pull our weight. I've decided to host a charity basketball tournament, which plays to my love of basketball and incorporates my interest in proverbs, idioms, and euphemisms. I drew up this ad to put in the paper, but I don't know if I'm on the right track. I have to get a final draft to the paper by Tuesdee to make the deadline. Can you take a look and give me some honest feedback to help maximize participation and profits? GMG says I need to raise at least 1,000 bucks by the Summer Solstice or else "there may be blood". Help!

Lester Liddle, Dunkinburg, VA

Less Liddle, 

You're in quite a predicament and something tells me you aren't seeing the forest for the trees as it were. Your "Lodge" is possibly a demonic cult, in which case, a whimsical day of fun in the sun to benefit it feels a bit daft. Ruminate on that before you go ahead with this.

That said, I like what you've done with incorporating a nice proverb in the name of the tournament. Just for consideration though, you might want to try fitting a different wise old saying that doesn't have overtly religious or biblical connotations. To maximize registration, you wouldn't want to give the impression that this event is only for church-goers. Interesting side note though, the proverb that you're citing as  "Pride Go'eth Before a Fall" is actually a misquote of the bible's Proverbs 16:18 which translates as "Pride goes before destruction", making your choice that much more inapt. Here are some possibilities that spring to mind (number 7 being particularly genius):

  1. "Don't Count Your Swishes Before They Hatch"
  2. "All Your Dunks in One Basket"
  3. "Birds of a Feather Shooting 3's Together"
  4. "C'est La Three"
  5. "Ball's in Your Half-Court"
  6.  "Takes Three to Tango"
  7. "Something Smells Swishy"
  8. "Saved by the Dunk"
  9. "Three-on-Three Skidoo"
  10. "Drastic Times Call For Drastic Ally-Oops"

I could do that all day, but you get the idea. You might also consider changing your divisions up a bit. Did you realize you could have college kids playing against senior citizens? You might get more interest if players feel like they're up against their contemporaries. Other than that, it seems like you're on the right track. Have fun out there.

-gvd  

Christian Slater

Gork,

I was doing some remodeling at home recently, which included resurfacing the front stoop. I decided to go with an aesthetically pleasing, heavy slate material for its great looks and durability. I figured out how much I needed and went straight to the Floor Store to pick some up. I loaded a big push cart to the gills with big heavy slate tiles, paid the man his money, and headed for the car. As I was pushing the very heavy cart (at least 500 lbs of slate alone) across the parking lot to my car, I came across a Floor Store associate who offered to help me load the heavy tiles into my trunk. I was overjoyed because it was a really hot day and I did NOT feel like loading these things. I stepped aside and let the guy do his thing. After he loaded the second block, the guy started giving me dirty looks. By the 10th or 11th, he was covered in sweat and looking very angry. "Geez" I thought, "this guy hates his job...better him than me though." When he finished, I thanked him and he just looked at me, said nothing, and walked away in a huff. "I'm not tipping a floor guy", I thought, but then I started getting mad. How dare this jerk give me dirty looks? I didn't make him become a floor store guy. I decided to go back in to give the manager a piece of my mind (and maybe get a sweet discount off of my expensive slate). The manager informed me that it wasn't their policy to assist customers unless they were parked in the loading zone so he asked me to point out the employee that helped me. I walked around a bit and found him, pointed to him and said, "there he is Sir. That's the rude, lazy jerk that hates his job." The manager then informed me that the man that had helped me was not an employee but, in fact, just another shopper that happened to see me struggling in the parking lot on his way into the store. He had offered to help me simply out of the kindness of his heart. I shot out of there like a banshee and didn't look back. I don't have a question, I just needed to tell somebody. The slate looks hot on my new front stoop.    

-Alvin Wantonio, Stump's Ferry, MD

Alvin, 

Thank you for sharing. That story is super great. If you have any more  experiences like that, I'd love to hear them. Maybe try to pay it forward if you get a chance. Whatever happens, keep on livin' large, Big Al. 

-gvd

Silk Shirt Shame

 Gork,

Remember in the early 90's when gigantic baggy silk shirts were all the rage? I sure do because I went hog wild filling my closet with every print pattern and color-contrast version possible. I'd say I collected just shy of 200 silkies and I never got rid of them in hopes of a comeback. My wife says I have to ditch the silk to make room for more relevant fashion statements.  Before I give in and burn my precious collection, I have to know, is big silk on the cusp of a big comeback? What are you hearing?

-Murphy Wolfarth, Ricecake, IN

Murf,

I've had a major influx of fashion questions lately. Where did everyone get the idea that I'm a fashion clairvoyant? Well, I take that back, most people probably got it from my 2005 book, Fashion Fancies: A Scientific View of Fashion Flops and Follies. It's not my best work, but I do like a couple of the ideas that spawned from it. Coincidentally, the third chapter is titled "Men's Silk--Never Again." Since you clearly didn't read it, the executive summary is that silk shirts were a bad idea when they were in their prime, and there's virtually no chance that they're coming back. In fact, almost all fashion trends that "come back" as you say, usually resurface as some altered, watered down version of the original. Bell Bottoms, for example, came roaring back in the early 2000's but they were 75% less bell bottomy than the 1970's era originals. What I mean is, even if silk material comes back, your shirts will still look ridiculous. I highly recommend you cut them up and stitch them together as bedsheets or underwear. Don't burn them; silk smoke is famously toxic. Good luck.

-gvd         

Trend Science

Gork,

I'm way behind the hipster doofus curve. I only just now got into gourmet coffee activities and I still haven't even ordered my Lucite glasses frames! I'm sick of being stuck in a lifestyle timezone flop. I don't intend to spend my 40's chasing trends like I did in my 30's.  How can I catch up fast, and once I do, is there anything I can do to see what's hip before it's hip? Thanks.

Gladys Jane Horkshaft, Zubb, MO

Gladys Jane,

Don't panic and don't bother trying to catch up; as you already know, by the time you get there, you're too late. You're not alone though. Most of us are Beta Doinks rather than Alpha Hipsters, but there are ways to turn that around. I'd like to introduce a theory I've been working on that might illustrate the problem. I call it "hipsteresis".

Hipsteresis is a term I coined after observing similarities to the actual scientific phenomenon of hysteresis - a property that relates the current state of something to its past states (usually manifesting as a lag or delay considered to be "error") and it can actually be measured, and therefore, predicted. In other words, your hipsteresis error is pretty large and you need to minimize it.

I know it's not easy to visualize so I'll use your coffee activities example to illustrate the concept. Take a look at the plot below. Coffee activities hit a hipster index max around Y2K as shown on the red hipster curve below. It took a nosedive when hipsters realized that stale coffee made in drip machines tastes like liquid farts. Hipsters pounced on the opportunity and started grinding/roasting their own gourmet beans, caring about water quality, ditching the machines in favor of manual pour-over carafes and presses, etc. The coffee hipster index soared. While that revolution was happening in the Pacific Northwest, you were back in Zubb still driving through fast food joints ordering fart water because you were still operating on the blue curve. The area between the curves is hipsteresis error and you have to minimize it to be near the leading edge of anything. You may also have noticed that just when the hipster index bottomed out at around 5, the doink index was hitting its max at around 25--that's quite a difference! I've got my grad students plotting data for other foods and fashions. If you have interest, I'll send you some (skinny jeans curves are especially interesting to analyze).

Anyways, this answer got away from me a little bit. For putting up with me, I'll give you a hot tip. I have it on good authority that a new fashion trend is about to explode onto the scene...It's called "Underwear on the Outside". Feel free to run with it. You might just end up "setting the curve" as it were. Good Luck.

-gvd       

 

 

Lawdogs

Gork,

hdhullaballoo.jpg

Wilper Hubbins again. Jenny and I threw a second party just like you advised. We really went for it with the hotdog theme by turning our backyard into a sort of hotdog paradise--hotdog carts, sweet hotdog SWAG, HD-flavored drinks, etc. and it was all free for attendees. All told, we spent about $5K to make it happen. Somewhat predictably, however, the leftover dogs from the silent soiree had gone sour. Just about everybody that attended got violently ill with something later identified as hotdog-induced rotavirus. The Spratts are threatening to sue for damages and I'm worried they might get some of the others to go along. I think about 80 people got sick enough to require emergency care. Imagine how foolish I felt standing in a hotdog cart dressed up as Benito Mussolini explaining what had happened to the EMTs. 

We know our party-throwing days are over, but is there any chance we can bounce back socially? Also, can I get your phone number? If we do get taken to court, I'm probably going to blame you. Sorry bud.

-Wilper Hubbins, Hambilton, KY

Mr. Hubbins,

I'm sorry it rained on your hotdog parade, but don't go blaming me. First of all, I didn't tell you to serve rotten hotdogs. Secondly, I'm not responsible for the outcomes of any of my advices...it says so in my bio: "Gork is not responsible for anything pertaining to anything." So, with that in mind, you better be thinking of a new strategy. Your first move should be to get a law team on retainer. I assume Hambilton is too small to have any firms that specialize in hotdog crimes so just pick anybody willing to take the case. They'll know what to do.

Now, regarding your social lives, you've dug a nice hole for yourselves, but I've had clients bounce back from worse. Just take this one step at a time. You could start by sending out a nice apology letter or even better, go door-to-door with apology gift baskets. I can't believe I have to say this, but if you do that, make 100% sure there are no rotten hotdogs in the gift baskets. Good Luck and please don't contact me again.

-gvd

 

   

 

WaitListed

Gork,

Bunderson Brosh.jpg

My son Ben is a senior in high school. He’s ambitious but a bit of a dullard. He got rejected by the colleges he applied to because his grades are poor and he botched his entrance exams badly—nobody was surprised but we all feel really bad for him. In hopes of cheering him up, I’m starting a small college  in his name (Bunderson College, draft brochure attached) for him to attend, which I’m wealthy enough to do thanks to a lifetime of hard work and/or some breaks that went my way (lottery jackpot).

Anyways, I know it wasn’t what he envisioned for his college experience but he seems excited nonetheless. My goal was to surprise him by sending him a genuine acceptance letter in the mail, but after doing some serious market research and bringing on some other investors, I’ve decided to raise the acceptance standards a bit to keep the riff-raff out. You see where I’m going with this…how do I break it to my son that he didn’t get into the school I started for him?

-Grady Bunderson III

 East Gooseton, TX

GB III,

I have to say, you are one cold-hearted cat, but I get it. As a fellow founder of an institution of higher learning (GVD School of Schools), I know how hard application season can be. I never rejected my own son, mind you, but standards are standards for a reason. Eventually, Ben will come to understand that he just isn’t Bunderson material. I recommend you still go through with the ritual of sending the letter in the mail—the realism will help it to sink in. If he’s as dimwitted as you say, he’ll need all the help he can get. Try softening the blow by offering him an entry level job at the school, maybe something easy in the admissions office? Good luck, Bunderson.

-gvd

p.s. your brochure is perfect as-is. Send that baby to the print shop.

Awkward Silence

Gork,

silent soiree invite.jpg

Here's one for you. My wife Jenny and I are trying to spice up our social standing by becoming party throwers. Unfortunately, we kind of got off on the wrong foot with our initial party. We wanted to have a roaring 20's theme with sort of a silent movie motif, which seems fine and fun, right? We made up these invitation fliers and got a lot of positive feedback leading up to it--several of our couple friends were excited for it and even invited some of their friends. By the time party day came, we were expecting around 75 people. We hired a caterer and brought in a professional bartender to serve martinis and juleps...it was going to be great.

The problem is that I may have taken the concept of a silent soiree a bit too far. I was going around aggressively enforcing the "no sound" rule. I had made a paddle that said "SSHHHH!" on it, and when I caught people talking or making any sounds, I would smack them with it. Allegedly, I was hitting too hard or in sensitive body areas, but I feel like it was just some of that fake outrage I've been hearing about. Anyways, I asked multiple people to leave the party when they couldn't follow the rules, but most simply just left on their own when they realized they couldn't talk or that they might get injured. It didn't help that I also enforced a $50/person unadvertised cover charge. In the end, we had like 2,500 cooked gourmet hot dogs leftover! Jenny thinks our party throwing days are over, but I think we deserve a second chance. Can you help us redeem ourselves with a great party idea?

-Wilper Hubbins - Hambilton, KY

Oh Wilper, Wilper, Wilper. You bungled this up pretty badly. I recommend you hang up your hosting hats and stick to life as simple party attenders, but if you really must get in good party hosting standing, there are two paths: a) host a series of boring, normal parties that, over time, earn you guys a reputation as stable and fun party hosts, or b) throw one amazingly weird and lavish party that gets the job done in one swoop. The answer is b. I call it the "Jenny and Wilper Hubbins Second-Chance Jamboree." Make it free, make it big, and don't tell anybody what to do. Really ham it up with the second chance theme, but avoid any other secondary themes that might remind people of your first bungle job (if you play your hot dog cards right, this could be a great way to offload those leftover wieners). Finally, and this is the most important part, dress up as someone unexpected like OJ Simpson or Benito Mussolini. Let me know how it goes.

-gvd           

   

Let's Make a Pact (August 2014)

Hi Gork, I just wanted to share a friends story:  

My friend and I made a PACT.  SHE has been after this stud-muffin guy for along while.  He rides a horse on the weekends, pretends he’s in a western or something.  He plays the guitar and sings too.  ME, I have been after this one sensuous lady for quite a awhile...she doesn’t have big boobers, but they are large enough; her hips are the real winners.  She wears goodwill trash-clothes and likes to go out and dance the night away.  Anyways, I thought of a plan to help each other out.  If I start getting together with my lady and there is a pesky guy sniffing around, my friend will run into the guy at a coffee shop or something and flirt his ass off, hopefully to throw him off the trail.  I will do the same for her, if I am not with my love.  But the pact ended when we had sax last night and now we are together for the time being.  We decided life may be like a vapor and you have to get while the getting’s good.  I am hoping we can be mature enough so that it doesn’t ruin our friendship when we break up.  


- Ed Timmy Eastborough, Colorado

Eddie,

I normally don't consider random anecdotes that don't culminate with some sort of question, but I've inferred that you are asking how this will end up. I'm not sure how to answer that.

First off, you're complicating your life a lot with these pacts and caps locks. Secondish, who says you and PACT lady are going to break up? It seems like maybe you guys have some kind of saxy connection. I think the best thing to do here is to try to get the pretend-cowboy-stud-muffin and your other sensous lady friend together. If they hit it off, then fate is trying to tell you that you were never good enough for those hotties anyways. If they don't hit it off, then you will not have learned very much, and will probably end up more confused. Hey, you gotta take some risks sometimes right? Get out there and sax it up a little with the skank.

-gvd

Tickle Me Jimbus (July 2014)

Dr. Gork, 

Let me say right up front, thank you so much for fielding my question. I am 22. In short, I got hooked on fake internet poker in college, dropped out, lost all my real cash in Vegas playing against real poker people for real cash, subsequently lost my girlfriend, and eventually found out that I owe the casino that I lived in for seven weeks about forty grand for the penthouse I leased out. Where do I go from here? Please help ASAP. Thanks.

-Jimbus, LV, LV

Jimbo,

Las Vegas isn’t a state, but that’s ok. We’ll get you through this. I’m guessing you were the king of the castle in one of those avatar-based poker sites, right? So was I, and my little sister, and everyone else that ever logged into one of those sites. Fake money doesn’t carry any risk, Jimbo. In real cash games, the stakes change completely. Your competitors are totally focused on cutting your throat at all costs, and if you’re not focused on ripping their guts out, you’re bound to lose all your cash chips. Sadly, those are facts you learned the hard way. I can’t believe the casino gave you such a phenomenal deal on the lease though. The best you can do now is to learn from those mistakes and move on. I can help. Send me $13,000 of e-cash addressed to royal.nigerianpoker.aidsociety.com and I can get you some help. You’ll have to ask your family and friends for the cash…Lord knows you don’t have it now, but it’s a start. Also, please email to me your usernames and passwords for your banking sites. That will help my accountants to decipher your financials. Look forward to hearing from you. Whatever happens, best of luck to you, Jimbo. Any smarter readers in a similar situations, please call the gambler’s hotline on the billboards around your town. Good Luck!

- gvd   

Triplets (July 2014)

What the heck? Is this for real? Are you actually back? OMG! I’ve been checking this thing fairly regularly because it’s saved in my favorites, and at this point, just assuming I would be disappointed and find zero new posts. WTF? Where have you been? What happened? Screw whatever that last lady said, we want to know! Also, if you have time, can you certify me in CPR? I know all the basics from high school health classes but my soon-to-be-boss says I need an official certificate. If not, that’s ok, I can be an EMT later, somewhere else. I lied to him about some other stuff anyways. More importantly, where have you been for four years?

-Jestin James-Jefferson

 Tooligan City, MA

JJJ,

Delightful…utterly and totally delightful. You applied for an Emergency Medical Technician’s job without any real qualifications? Fascinating.  Seriously, that is fascinating. I have to know what you expected to happen. I’m writing a book about intelligence-impaired individuals (III’s) and I think you may be a candidate for a case study. I’ve sent you a reply email with a questionnaire to clarify.In the meantime, look for chest rise, listen for breathing, and feel for pulse. In fact, if your boss asks, just say, “look, listen, feel baby…that’s all there is to it.” That might buy you a few days. Don’t forget the “baby”. That implies confidence.

As for your actual question, I’m inclined to go with the previous inquirer’s gut feeling. It doesn’t matter where I’ve been, only where I am, and I am here. Live in the moment and dwell not on the past, for the past is full of regret and fear of what you already know. I just made that up. Pretty profound, right?  I suspect that you’re too dull to comprehend how cliché that is, but trust me, it’s a load of garbage. Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I was boating off the coast of South Dakota for four years. Leave it at that. Please reply to my questionnaire. I need you. 

- gvd     

Over Hair! (July 2014)

I don’t know where you’ve been for the last four years, but I also don’t care. The last time you took a “break” you spewed some awful nonsense at us about killing your neighbor for trapping your monkeys and it landed you in the local insanitarium house and blah, blah, blah. Spare us this time please. Just get back here and answer our questions. We need help!

 So here goes…I’m a middle-aged woman, six-foot-seven, and super sassy. I was raised to never cut my hair and always wear ankle-length flower-print dresses (sometimes on fun days or marathon practicing, I splurge and go with my floor length denim skirt). I still adhere strictly to those values and even raise my kids to think the same. Anyways, you can probably imagine that without a single haircut in 44 years, my hair is very, very long by any standard; 12 feet 3 inches to be exact. I was cursed with straight, black hair, and it’s a safety hazard in almost every situation—I get it caught in the car door and drive on it, it gets wrapped and tangled around the axles of grocery store carts, people step on it and curse at me…all kinds of stuff. The locals don’t even bother with my name anymore; they just call me The Hair Beast. I’ve tried everything I can think of, shy of cutting it, which I will never, ever do. I usually just end up stuffing it in a gigantic back pack, or I make my kids grab some and carry it around the mall behind me. Is there ANYTHING I can do to safely live my hair values? Please, oh please help me. 

-Gerty Von Doogan – Skunk Tooth, AR  

Hairbeast,

Holy Hair. My first thought, which is almost always on-the-money but will certainly fall on deaf ears in this case, is to advise you to cut your hair, weirdo. Your values are just, well, beyond comprehension (sidenote: I would pay a bag of pirate gold to see you running a marathon in that get-up). That said, if the solution space can’t include a hair-chop and a makeover, let’s get down to business. As I see it, you have three options and they’re all amazing: the “braid belt”, the “double tuck” and the “ultimate perm”.

The braid belt is pretty much what it sounds like. Braiding that mangled mess will take you forever and only buy you about eight inches off the back end, so you’ll need to wrap the resulting pony tail around your waist at least five times and pass it off as a belt. It’ll probably work. Double tucking is even less complicated—tuck it in at the neck and let it drape down your back inside your dress...tuck the rest into your panties. Just being truthful, you’re going to have a huge, bulging ball of hair in your bungies, but I've seen this work for a select few. The ultimate perm requires professional help, and frankly, your headshot isn’t going to land in any style magazines when it’s done. Perms went out with the 80’s, but most stylists can probably wing it. It’ll cost you a bundle, and with that much hair, I honestly have no idea what it will look like. Probably not good.  Anyways, Let me know which one you choose and how it works out for you.

As an aside, I’m back. Ask and be free my friends…   

-gvd

Night Terrors (November 2009)

Dear Dr. G, 

I need some advice. I've been happily married for 6 years. My wife is a beautiful, caring, loving woman, and I love her to death. Unfortunately, I can't sleep in the same room as her anymore because she farts in her sleep, and it's not just one or two scattered about; it's an endless string of loud, honking farts that would wake up even the soundest of sleepers. I've asked her to see a doctor, but she doesn't even believe it's happening. I probably wouldn't believe it either. I don't know where she gets the gas. Luckily, they're mostly odorless. Have you heard of this before? What can I do? Please help!!!

-Travis T.

Snark, KY

TT,

Your wife's nocturnal flatulence almost certainly stems from a rare, but not totally unheard of condition known as a deviated rectum. She's basically snoring out her rear end because the walls of her rectum are off center with relation to her butt opening. When she reaches REM sleep, her muscles relax completely and that's when the parade begins. The condition causes some other messy problems that she likely hasn't told you about, but don't worry about that.

There are a few solutions that I'm aware of, the most effective being surgical correction of the misalignment. It's a relatively simple procedure, but like any surgery, it'll cost you big money. If you don't want to dish out the cash, you can try a device manufactured by Biggum's Pharmaceutacals called The Butt Muffler. It wraps around the waist and stifles unwanted anal noise. Most reviews of the product are positive, but many users report experiencing extreme pain with the device. That's all I can tell you. Keep in mind that I'm not a butt doctor, and you should always consult an expert whenever you experience disgusting problems like this. Good luck.

-Gork

Hunger Strike (October 2009)

Hey Doc!

I have a 4 year old son who is obsessed with eating his own boogers. At first I was totally disgusted by this behavior, but this morning I woke up and thought, "Maybe this should be encouraged behavior." With all of your knowledge, I'm hoping you can tell me the pros and cons. Thanks for your time.

Mama Booger

Mama,

Let me start by saying that I abhor the word "booger" so from here on I shall inexplicably refer to them as "primpings". Now, let's look at this objectively. Firstly, as much as we don't want to, we have to acknowledge that no matter how gross primpings seem, everyone produces them. What we choose to do with them is a more personal matter.

Ostensibly, the eating of ones primpings looks like a pretty innocuous venture. I mean, if it was in our body to begin with, putting it back probably isn't that big of a deal, right? Maybe, but would you put anything else that falls out of your body in your mouth? I thought not.

Before we examine pros and cons, consider the composition of primpings. Here's a terrible, hard-to-decipher pie chart that lays it out for you:

Primping Composition (by percentage)

The chart speaks for itself. Primpings are dried up mucus balls that have captured undesirables and worked themselves to the front of your nasal openings. I would say that encouraging your children to munch on them is probably a bad idea, but ultimately harmless. You say he's obsessed; obsessive behavior is usually pretty healthy, but a primping fettish is disgusting. If there are any pros, I should doubt they are weighty enough to offset the nastiness. If I were you, I'd nip this one in the nose before your son becomes addicted.

-Gork

Heavens to Betsy (October 2009)

Dr. Gork, 

Thanks for taking the time...

I need your help. I quit my janitorial job a few weeks ago so that I could focus on my dream. I've always wanted to be an inventor; I always hear about people making big bucks off of their inventions and I want to get in on that. My problem is that I must have inventor's block or something because I can't think of any good stuff. Do you have any invention suggestions for me? Thanks man.

-Chester Plumpings,Goldwater, CA

Chester,

As you apparently guessed, I do have a rather prolific proclivity for invention. However, correct me if I'm wrong, if I tell you what to invent, doesn't that make me the inventor? Aside from violating all the probity of the Inventor's Code, it doesn't get you anywhere as an inventor to be ganking my superstar ideas. What I can do is try to help you get in the state of mind you need to be in to make some sweet and easy cash.

The first thing you need to know is that no matter how innovative and nifty your product is, nothing is going to happen overnight. There are numerous patent laws and copyright considerations you need to familiarize yourself with, not to mention marketing ploys and business cheatings. I guess what I'm saying is that it may have been a teency bit premature to quit your job.

Oh well. What's done is done. There are only 2 approaches to invention: unification and simplification . They are what they sound like. If you take the unification path, just look for things that people like to have or enjoy to do and combine them into one thing. To use a personal example, in the late 80's I invented 'Heavy Metal Jigging'. I knew that people loved traditional Irish Garb Dancing, and I also knew that people couldn't get enough rock music. I simply merged them. It didn't really catch on anywhere, save for a few remote corners of Bavaria, but you get the idea. I included a marketing video that I made of a jigging festival to help you picture it.

I suggest you steer clear of the simplification strategy as you most likely aren't intelligent enough to pull it off. I'll throw you a little bone though. What are the 2 most popular daily activities for all humans? If you guessed afternoon naps and bowel movements, you're right on the money. Find a way to combine them and you'll be swimming in green. Good luck weirdo.

-Gork

Chuck Rhymes With Lots of Stuff (October 2009)

"Dr" Gork,

I have to say, I think it's dangerously irresponsible for you to post this garbage on the internet. I really think you need to be exposed for the fraud that you are. Your advice is unwaveringly terrible. Your responses are grandiloquent, verbose, condescending, and utterly bombastic. I've got you figured out. You proffer insipid advice using a series of confusing, run-on sentences culminating in some cankerous remark leaving your reader befuddled and ashamed. I guess my question is, how do you sleep at night? Please warn your readers that you lack the accumen to do what you're doing. Thank you. 

P.S. I found like 10 grammatical errors in your blog.

-Chuck Suckles

Muppleton, VT

Chuckles,

I don't usually publish the slandering hate mails that I receive (and I get a lot...it's about a 60/40 split in favor of vituperance). Afterall, I wouldn't be much of a self-promoter if I did, eh? Don't worry, I don't take it personally. I found your remarks to be intriguing though. You've clearly examined my posts with careful scrutiny; I mean you did find all 10 of my secret grammatical Easter eggs. Despite your clear enthusiasm for my entries, you proceed to vilify me as if I have some virulent ulterior motive. I assure you, and all my thousands of readers, I do not. Also, I have the perfect amount of accumen to answer any question about anything.

 

As to how I sleep at night, I would liken it to that of how a baby might sleep in the arms of a beautiful angel floating gently above the whitest clouds you've ever seen as she sings to me heavenly lullabies and ever so slightly rocks me to and fro. So, yeah, pretty fucking soundly. This is probably the point in the post where you expect me to execrate you, call you a buffoon, and send you on your way. Well, I'll spare you this time, but if you write back, I shant be so magnanimous.

 

-Gork

Umlauts and Cumquats (October 2009)

Dr. Gork, 

I can't tell you how good it is to have you back. I've been mustering the courage to ask this question for a long time, and I know everyone wants to ask but won't--Why are we men so attracted to boobs? I mean, when you consider what they really are, doesn't the whole thing seem a little overdone?

-Chris

Wheeling, WV

Christoperv, 

That question has been asked since the dawn of questions. If you didnt know that, you haven't paid any attention. Joe Dirt once mused rhetorically, "I don't know, why is the sky blue? Why are boobs good?" Myriads of theories have been put forth, but none have been proven.

One school of thought is the almost disgustingly pragmatic and logical notion that the attraction is somehow an instinctual response; some innate feeling born into us since caveman days. That is to say, we love boobs because they characterize a superior female; one that will be able to sufficiently bear and sustain our progeny--the bigger the better as far as that goes. I personally put little stock in this idea. It seems way too easy. Plus, early humans were notorious for their dimwittedness. If you buy this theory, you're basically as dumb as a caveman, right?

If you want a more ridiculous explanation, you might be interested in Dutch mathematician Nicholas VanHüten's approach. In 1677, VanHüten released his Matchmaking Made Mathy in which he postulates that if you graphically model a woman's chesticular profile as a 2-dimensional cardioid, the area of that cardioid is equal to the sum of the digits of your perfect mate's birthday. In other words, a woman's breasts covertly (but uniquely) identify a set of perfect male suitors.

A VanHüten Cardioid

Believe it or not, the VanHüten method actually caught on for a while. In early 1700 Holland, it wouldn't be hard for you to find an Eigenbüber, or roughly translated, Breast Inspector, to carefully measure and cardioidically model your hooters, and direct you to your soul mate. Don't get too excited though. Johann Gauss, the infinitely more successful German mathematician, later called VanHüten's works "the grandest and most pompous perversion of mathematics since the invention of Pi." Besides, VanHüten posthumously debunked his own work in the 1970's when an ancestor donated his memoirs to a Dutch museum. In them, he describes his method as "fondling without all the litigation." So basically, he was just a perv.

No matter how you slice it, there's no answer to this question. I suspect if we ever do nail down an answer, we shall have discovered the meaning of life. Godspeed.

-Gork

Grounded Bleeding or Lost (October 2009)

Dear Gork, 

I am considering selling my car and purchasing an Ostrich. What are your thoughts? 

-Bird Trotter

BT, 

On the surface this smells like an awesome idea. I mean hell, it worked for that Swiss Robinson family, but if we delve a little bit deeper, I think you'll see why this fad hasn't caught on. Let's say you sell your car, on which you would spend $5K/yr on just to maintain, for $10K. That's 15 big dogs in your pocket that you would not have otherwise had. Ok, that sounds pretty good. Now consider that a purebred African Ostrich grown to riding age will set you back anywhere from 2 to 5 grand, depending on several breeding factors. If that sounds like a lot, that's because it is. If you're feeling penurious, you could spring for a slightly less costly ratite like a Hornbacked Eurasian Emu or even a cheap Kiwi, remembering of course that the hornback is aptly named and would not make for a comfy ride unless you're into that sort of thing, and that the kiwi is about same size as a rooster; you'd crush it before you even had him/her saddled. 

Ok, so you're dishing it out for the ostrich, but your profit margin is still looking good, right? Wrong. It's going to cost you at least $1K to have the bird shipped to you. An ostrich will consume on average 60lbs of Blumpkin Brand Ostrich Food ® per week, and that's if you're not riding it to work everyday. To fuel a healthy, energized riding bird, it's going to cost $10K/year. 

Well, this isn't looking so good anymore. Now imagine your new bird truck gets hurt or sick. Who knows how much it'll cost you to nurse it back to riding strength. Furthermore, in 2007 alone, there were 1100 ostrich-rider related deaths. So, the moral there is if you're going to do it, wear a helmet and bring an ostrich tranquilizer every time you ride.

All that said, my advice to you is scrap all this pressure of scrimping and saving. Quit trying to cut costs and just double your spending; keep your car AND get an Ostrich. That way you'll have transportation when your bird goes down, plus you'll have the added security of a vicious, Jurassic-era bird beast patrolling your property; There isn't a thief alive wily enough to take that on. All in all, pretty stupid question. Keep em comin'.

-Gork