Q: What is the back and forth motion that repeatedly follows the same path?

A: If you're not enjoying this, we can stop and try again tomorrow.

Or adopt.

Q: Is SARS a viral disease of humans?

A: Yeah, it's a virus that causes difficulty breathing and is occasionally fatal. Rarely fatal, but it happens. Happened. It was a big thing for a while there. All over Hong Kong. You might recall all those Asians in face masks all over the news. More so than usual.

Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome, that's what it means. You know a disease is serious if they include Severe in the name. AIDS doesn't even have that. AIDS. And that's a bad one. Calling it SAIDS would change everything, not only the pronunciation. Sounds like SADS. Don't know if people would take it seriously if we had called it SADS. Although people took SARS seriously despite it's ridiculous name.

I'm just now noticing the phrasing of your question. Most people would say "Is SARS a viral disease?" and stop right there. But you didn't stop. You had more to say. "Of humans," you said. Of humans. Odd thing to say.

Odder still was the way you said it. Cold. Blank. Monotone. Emotionless.

Tinny.

Like a robot. Like how a robot would say it.

I've always suspected that something was off about you. The way you never engage in small talk. They awkward way you move and dance and play basketball. The way sparks fly out of your head when we make love in the shower.

I guess I should have known. Something so perfect, so beautiful, could never be human.

Do not pretend to cough for my benefit.

Q: How do you get the smell of smoke out of your clothes?

A: That smell never comes out. You're better off throwing them away. I'll get a trash bag.

I'm really sorry I started that bonfire in your car. I really wasn't thinking. Well, I was thinking, but about making s'mores, not about setting your car on fire and ruining your clothes. Man, that was weird. I didn't even have any marshmallows. Or chocolate. Or Graham Crackers. Or sticks.

Don't worry. I have something you can wear. It's not like you're going to have to walk around my place naked.

Unless you want to.

Joking. I was joking. Totally joking. Unless you want to.

Joking. Seriously. I'll go get some clothes.

Really sorry about that fire. Good thing we happened to be right by house when your car caught on fire. That sure was lucky. But you said you always wanted to come over and hang out, or at least I imagined you saying it. It sounds like something you'd say.

There really aren't any cabs around here.

Anyway, it worked out that you're here, and we're alone, and I happen to have a box of wine chilling in the fridge, and I just got Irreversible from Netflix. You like foreign films, right?

Anyway, I think this sudden irrational car fire might just be one of those stories we tell our grandchildren. Not our grandchildren, of course. Not like you and I are going to make love and fall in love and have children and they'll have children and someday we'll watch those children and they'll ask how we met and we'll look into each other's eyes and kind of laugh, and smile, and smile with our eyes, you know, and we'll turn to them and kind of argue over who should tell the story and I'll say, "Well, I really wanted s'mores ..." I didn't mean anything like that. I meant we'd tell our own grandchildren, separately, if they ever ask us about setting a car on fire. That's what I meant. I was just joking about that other thing, about making love and spending the rest of our lives together.

Unless you want to.

Joking. Totally joking. These tears are part of the joke. I have a dry sense of humor.

Q: What is the coldest city and temperature currently in the us?

A: It has to be where I am right now, on the balcony of my suite at the Radisson Hotel  in Nashville. I've only been out here a couple minutes and I am already freezing. I have never been this cold. I cannot stop shivering. I can't feel my feet. Or my legs. Or my hands really. Much of the below neck portion of my body is pretty numb.

This sudden cold front is rather strange. A few minutes ago it was sweltering. Sticky sweaty hot. So hot I was naked. With a woman. In the bed of my suite at the Radisson Hotel in Nashville. We had the air conditioning set to 65 but we were still sweating. And panting. Occasionally moaning. It was pretty damn hot.

Then some guy walks in the room yelling some stuff about being her husband and watching us all day and having enough evidence to win a fortune in the divorce. I couldn't make out most of what he was saying. We had the TV up real loud. And the woman was laughing pretty hard. Something about her pre-nup. The husband's face went red. He was hot, too. Everyone was hot. It was like an oven in there. Why is it so cold now?

I know I heard something popping. Five or six loud pops, like firecrackers. Then I got even hotter. Warm burning down in my stomach. Someone must have pushed me because I fell through the sliding glass door. I had no idea it was so cold out here. I wish I had grabbed my robe.

I hope I don't freeze to death out here. I've really never been this cold. I'm sure the nice lady in there will bring me out some blankets. Just as soon as she gets through making up with her husband. They're such a lovely couple. I'm glad to see them work things out.

Q: Does the brain secrete during sleep?

A: Now I'm no Doctor - I wear this lab coat mostly for comfort, partly to help keep track of what I've been eating for the past week; everything stands out against the white - but judging by the sheets on your side of the bed, your brain secretes something. That something appears to be a combination of sweat, bacon grease, AstroGlide, tears, hair tonic, ant-wrinkle cream, and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream from Ben & Jerry's. If you look at the magic marker outline I drew to indicate your side of the bed, you can see that the residue has collected where you head rests while you sleep, meaning it can have come only from your brain. No other explanation makes sense.


Incidentally, your brain secretions are not as delicious as they sound. Although I am not a man of science, acts of science are expected of me due to my dress and demeanor. I do not like to disappoint. 


Now that we have concluded that your brain does secrete, you might want to see an actual Doctor. Could be cause for alarm. You also might want to see a sleep specialist. You are a very sound sleeper. So sound that someone could sit on your chest while dipping handfuls of bacon into a pint of ice cream with one hand while masturbating with the other, crying the whole time. In theory.

Q: What is unspecified obstruction of renal pelvis and ureter?

A: A fun game I learned at the S&M dungeon. I push something inside you, obstructing the flow of your urine,  and you have to guess what it is.

Since all I have is a Buzz Lightyear, it shouldn't be too hard to guess.

Shoot. I wasn't supposed to tell you. Oh well, you'll still get off on the pain.

Look, for S&M relationships to work, someone has to be the Masochist. The role of the Sadist has already been taken.

Q: How do you prevent meatballs from breaking up when cooking?

A: Typically you press the meatballs tightly together when making them or use a binding agent like egg whites. I don't think either method would help here.

Meatballs are usually made from ground beef or ground pork or ground turkey with some filler like breadcrumbs or cheese. Rarely do you see meatballs made from shredded wedding photos and Rolos.

I assume your wife did most of the cooking. And the cleaning. And the personal grooming. And the protecting your home from bands of marauding hobos.

The DVDs are alphabetized, so I guess you brought something to the marriage.

Q: How do you deal with a parent that does not discipline their children and their children bully your child?

A: Children don't come out of the womb fully formed as bullies. They have to learn. They have to see it with their own eyes. They have to be bullied themselves. Children who bully are the children of bullies. There's only one way to deal with bullies: You have to stand up to them. Now go over there and tell Mr. Finnegan that you will not tolerate his children's behavior anymore.

Go on over. I'll be right here if you need help.

One of us has to stay here, there's a roast in the oven. Do you want to house to burn down?

Go on. If he gives you any grief, you just give him on right in the nose. Use some of your karate techniques.
Go on. You can do it.

There you go, now stand up straight, and - LOOK OUT!

FIGHT BACK! FIGHT BACK! BE A MAN!

WHY ARE YOU CRYING? DON'T CURL INTO A BALL! FIGHT BACK!

Oh, dear.

How did that go? Will his children behave? I couldn't hear much over the sounds of the pummeling.

So he's not going to make his kids behave?

That makes sense. A man who can fight like that can pretty much call his own shots; his kids can do whatever they want, whenever they want. It's not like you can do anything about it. Your punches barely fazed him. Your chops bounced right off him. You pose no threat to him. Literally no threat. I bet he has more respect for a pair of shoes he finds in a dumpster.

Here's a thought: Have you ever considered actually studying karate, or are you content to stick with using whatever you can glean from Karate Kid II? Although, I do admire your commitment to singing the theme song during the fight, even as he crushed your jaw with his knee. That must have been hard.

I'm going to check on the roast. Why don't you stay here.

That wasn't a question. Stay outside. I don't want you back in this house until you can protect your children like a man, like Mr. Finnegan. Did he mention if he had dinner plans? There's enough roast for him. I wonder if he's any good in bed. I bet he is. God, I hope he is.

Are you crying? What are you crying about? Don't worry, I'll throw some scraps of meat out the window after dinner. Maybe. We'll see. I might be busy with Mr. Finnegan. It's not like you can do anything about it.

Are you trying your karate again, or are you being attacked by bees?

Q: How do you use household bleach for chlorinating above ground inflatable pools?

A: Ron, what are you doing what that bucket? What's in the bucket, Ron?

Do you have bleach in the bucket? Is that a bucket full of undiluted household bleach in your hand? Ron, are you going to pour the bleach into the pool?

My children are in that pool, Ron. My boy and girl. Travis and Samantha. You know my kids, Ron. They're been to your house. They've played with your kids. They ate at your table. They're good kids.

But they're kids, Ron. They say things. They didn't mean to hurt you.  They're just kids.

We understand how much you loved your wife, how much she meant to you, how much her loss tore you apart. We're adults.

Sure we all found it a little odd that you had her stuffed. And mounted. At your dinner table. But who among hasn't done something strange in the throes of grief.

Put your hand down, Steve. You're not helping.

We're adults, Ron. We get it. You lost someone special. You wanted to keep her for ever. You would do anything.

But they're kids, Ron. They didn't know any better. They didn't even know what they were doing. They were playing, that's all.

I'm sure the paint will wash off. And we can get that arm re-attached.

Why don't you put down the bleach and have a drink with us. Instead of pining over your old wife, why not meet someone new? Have you met Erica over there? The redhead? She's new, and from what I hear, not too particular. Get a few drinks in her and you can do whatever you want. Call her by your old wife's name, cry during sex - anything. Doesn't that sound nice?

Great. Just do me one favor: Don't introduce Erica to your dead wife. Even she's not that freaky.

Q: Do lovebirds need to be kept inside?

A: Most of the men out here haven't seen a woman in years, let alone smelled one. Decades for some. If we let them near those lovebirds, they'd tear them apart. These are awful men. Bad. Violent. Evil. So evil. So evil, not even their mothers could love them - Lord knows some of them have tried.

The men, I mean. To love the mothers. In the physical sense.

I'm talking about men who try to make love to their own mothers. By "make love" I mean sex, good, old-fashioned fucking, in the procreational sense. Sodomy, too. To their own mothers.

Pretty awful, isn't it.

Yessir, these men are animals. No other way to put it. If we let the conjugal visitors outside of the restricted area, let them out into the yard, those no telling what these beasts would do. It wouldn't be pretty, I can assure you of that. These beasts, these things, they think like filth. They are filth. Do you have any idea what they'd do to a woman, a woman as beautiful as that?

Here, let me show you.

I've seized these drawings over the years, each one made by a prisoner inside these walls. Look at this smut.  Look at the details. They've put a lot of thought into it. I can hardly stand to look at them. No more than an hour or so. Two tops.

No, there's no way we can let these monsters, these horrible, brutal monsters - with their filthy minds, and their strong sinewy arms, and their rock-hard, bulging neck muscles, and their total disregard for common decency - anywhere near those sweet, young marrieds, expressing their love in the missionary position, as God intended. Those lovebirds must stay inside, for their own good. As long as they stay on that side of the room, under the light, where the camera can see them. It does me no good if they roll to the floor or make love in the shadows. None of the lifers will pay a penny for that.

Q: Why sad people cry?

A: Sometimes people cry because they're hurt, because they've had their heart broken, because they person they loved more than anything looked them in the eye and said, "It's over."

Sometimes people cry because they're filled with regret, because they're thinking about all the good times, all the laughter, all the dancing, all the nights that lasted forever - bodies tangled, bodies screaming, bodies moving together as one - all of it, gone. Gone forever.

Sometimes people cry because they blame themselves, because their mind races, searching for answers - What could I have done? Where did this go wrong? Why did this happen? Will I ever be happy? - answers they know they will never get.

And sometimes people cry because they're in pain -  literal, physical pain - because they held the knife wrong when they stabbed you. All that blood made the knife real slippery. And I didn't expect you to squirm so much.

Don't worry, I'll be fine. But I'd feel a lot better if you begged some more.

Q: Can anything kill a jellyfish?

A: Anything can kill a jellyfish, but not anyone. 


It takes a man of courage, a man of wisdom, a man of strength.

It takes a man willing to do anything, a man who fears nothing, a man willing to lose everything.

It takes a man so brave that he would leave his attractive wife, all alone, in the care of his neighbor, and voyage out to sea, out to the treacherous depths - perhaps never to return - and risk his life to defeat the great jellyfish and keep our swimmers safe from its horrible sting for a generation.

It takes a man willing to wear an olde-tyme diving suit, made of brass, powered by bellows, filled with gravy, for the eight long years it takes to reach the trench that holds the great beast.

Thomas Cranston, you are that man. Do not be afraid, do not be afraid to claim your destiny!

You'll get used to the gravy. In the meantime, I'm going to show your wife around my house, starting with the bedroom.

Q: Is it normal for husband to flirt with his cousins?

A: In most families, yes. But, as you will find out, we are not like most families.

For one thing, most families live in houses. Our family lives in a well.

Most families hold down jobs, or start companies, or make their money living off the government. Our family makes it's money rifling through the pockets of cityfolk who fall down our well.

Most families buy their food at the store, and they eat regular meals together every night. Our family finds their food in the well and we eat just as soon as the cityfolk stop kicking.

Most families socialize with other families and encourage cousins not to sleep with each other once they reach puberty. Our family doesn't mingle much. And we don't tell our children what to do in their private time.

Yup, our family is pretty peculiar, but you'll grown accustomed to our eccentricities. Give your husband a little room to breathe. Sure, he may flirt with his cousins, but once he's had his fun, he's coming back to this rock to be with you. He'll make the happiest wife in the whole damn world.

At least until a prettier girl falls down the well.

Q: Where are the blow holes located?

A: This is your first time doing this sort of thing, isn't it?

I can tell. You seem a bit nervous. And overdressed.

First thing: relax. Take a deep breath. You're going to have a good time.

You'll find the holes in the men's room. Pick a stall. Can't miss them. You'll know them when you see them.

One more thing: they're called Glory Holes.

Knock yourself out.

Q: How do you stop a horse from fighting you when putting on a bridle?

A: Approach her real gently, all quiet-like. Stroke her neck softy. Whisper into her ear. Tell her it won't hurt a bit. That it's for the best. That she'll grow to love it.

Give her a sugar cube.

Show her the bridle. Let her smell it, touch it, get comfortable with it.

Make large, slow movements. Nothing sudden. Nothing jumpy.

Slide the bridle on, slow as can be. Maintain eye contact the whole time. Once it's all the way on, fasten the snap, stoke her neck one last time and give her a kiss on the lips.

Hand the reigns over to the stranger who's about to mount her, collect the money and start the camera.

That's how it works with my wife. I figure it should be about the same with a horse.

Q: What is the transfer movement of heat from one substance to another through direct touch?

A: That sensation you describe is a direct result of sexual intercourse. It is the end result. It means I'm finished.

Don't act so surprised. What did you think we've been doing for the past eight minutes? Cuddling?

Cuddling? Seriously?

You thought we were cuddling? Naked? In the break room? With parts of me inside parts of you? That's what you consider cuddling?

You know what you call "cuddling" the rest of the world calls "sex" right?

Well, what do you call "sex"?

Oh.

I've never done that. How does that even work? Why would the guy enjoy that? Don't you worry about the horse crushing you?

Q: What do boys find attractive in girls?

A: Women are like rainbows: no two are the same and they are all beautiful.

Wait, I'm thinking of snowflakes. Women are like snowflakes: beautiful from a distance, but cold at heart. And, if you hold them too long, they disappear

That doesn't sound right either.

Women are like subway trains: Some are old, some are new, they all kind of smell funny, you have no clue who's been riding them, but, if you're patient and not too particular, they'll get you where you need to go.

When I say that out loud, it sounds kind of insulting.

Women are like bears. They're just as scared of you as you are of them. They will fiercely protect their young.  They spend most of their time sleeping and stealing food from campsites.

No. That's actually bears.

I know I had something to say about women.

Oh, yes, I have it.

All women have something that makes them attractive: their eyes, their smile, their skin, their body, their mind, their wit, their charm, their flexibility, their inheritance - for every kind of girl, there's a boy who likes them.

So, don't worry too much about what boys like. Just be yourself and sooner or later, you'll find someone who likes you for you. That's the best kind of like there is.

Although it doesn't hurt to dress a little slutty. And don't be afraid to put out - boys like that. But not too much or too soon - boys don't like that.

There is one thing that all boys will like: your desire to bring your hot friend into the bedroom for a three-way. Unless your hot friend is a guy. That's just gross.

Q: What guy should you choose?

A: It's a sad fact of life that most men will break your heart. They can't help it, it's their nature. They're hunters, hardwired for centuries to seek the most desirable mate, no matter the situation, no matter their relationship status, no matter how crazy the potential mate might be.

You want a guy who's not like that, a man too lazy to hunt, too self-conscious to approach new mates, too insecure to put a fight when you demand he change, too afraid to question your actions, too timid to stand up to you when you abuse him, too self-involved to realize that you have been cheating on him and spending his money on lavish affairs with your multiple beaus, too slow to outrun the police should you get into trouble, too loyal to ever testify against you, too trusting to predict your eventual betrayal, too sad to do much more than cry once you break his heart.

Find a man like that and he'll keep you entertained until you find someone better.

The Fake Answers he writes will be an added bonus.

Q: What can I say to my girlfriend if she's crying?

A: Tell her you're sorry. Lead with it, end with it, and toss it in a few times in the middle. Tell her you'll change, that you'll never do that again, whatever thing it was that made her mad. You don't even have to know it is that you did, just promise to never do it again. If you have a dead relative, swear on his grave.

Tell her she looks beautiful, that you love her, that she's the most amazing woman in the world and any guy would be lucky to have her. Remind her that you are a man, and are therefore stupid. You didn't mean to say whatever it was you said that made her angry. Tell her you love her again. Throw in a sorry.

Hug her. Hold her tight. Think of the nicest thing you can possibly say about her, make it ten percent nicer, then whisper it into her ear.

This is not the time to compliment her breasts. Or say something like, "Maybe you'll feel better if you lost a little weight."

Tell her that her friends don't understand her. Tell her that everything is going to be okay. Remind her that you love her. Tell her these things happen, whatever these things may be. Tell her that other people's opinions don't matter, only the opinions of her loved ones, people like you. Remind her that you love her.

Tell her you're sorry one more time.

If, after all that - all the apologies and promises and declarations of love and listening and advice and understanding and hugging - she's still crying, put your car in reverse and back up a few feet. You might have parked on her foot.

Q: What do you do if a girl asks you to the dance and is serious about it?

A: It depends on why she asked you: Because she's interested in you romantically, or because she's planning on dumping pig's blood on your head once you are ironically named Prom King?

You should also take into consideration whether or not you were sitting behind a table when she asked you. If you were, she might not know that you are confined to a wheelchair. If you weren't behind the desk, she might have been mocking you. Did she snicker when she asked you, then claim to be thinking about something funny? Sometimes they do that.

No?

So she knows you were in a wheelchair, she wasn't mocking you, and she wants to go to the dance with you?

This girl doesn't happen to wear dark glasses and carry a cane does she?

No?

Wow.

Son, I suggest you marry this girl. You might never get another chance like this. At the very least go to the dance with her. You'll have fun. And I need you out of the house on Friday anyway. I'm having a few of my ... friends over and you creep them out. And when they're creeped out, they don't tip. And Mommy has boob payments.