Q: What are some factors that endanger the future of the Chesapeake Bay?

A: For starters, commercial expansion. This area used to be pristine. Clear water. Nice beaches. Air that filled the lungs, made you feel capable of anything.  Then the office buildings moved in. Everyone wanted a bay view to impress the clients. Everyone needed places to park and places to eat. Soon the whole Bay became one slab of concrete, broken up by the occasional golden arch.

With the expansion came the pollution. Cars dripping oil. No-bid sewers mucking up the water. Restaurants burying their rotten bacon in the sand.

Honestly, even with the expansion and the pollution, it wasn't that bad. You could still get out on the water for some parasailing or jet skiing. Still some spots on the beach where you could set up a towel to tan or read a book or woo a potential lover, as long as you avoided the bacon graves. Simple tip: look for the assembled carrion and move away.  We still had a nice, quiet beach community.

Then the Civil War  reenactors came and it all went to hell. Someone decided that Chesapeake Bay would be the perfect place to reenact great naval battles of the War Between the States. I was unaware that the Civil War had naval battles, but I'm not exactly a huge Civil War buff. Had no idea they had submarines, either, but apparently they did. I doubt the actual submarines were tinfoil-wrapped canoes weighed down with cinder blocks, but that's all the reenactors could afford. Probably should have sprung for a real submarine. Or at least some scuba gear. I thought the beach full of rotten bacon smelled bad. That was nothing compared to a bay full of floating bloated fake Confederate corpses.

The Bay's seen better times, but we're a strong community and we could have pulled together, fished out the corpses, poured quicklime on the beach, driven off the office drones with calculated violence, burned everything to the ground and started over. We would have done it, too, if that that damn Cowboy Godzilla showed up. Now, we don't officially know if that's his name, or if he's a Godzilla, or even if he's a cowboy - there are no giant horses in sight - but he's big, green, scaly, he breathes fire, he rose right up out of the ocean, and he's wearing a giant steel cowboy hat. The name seemed to fir.

I've been living on the Bay for 56 years and I've never seen anything endanger it's future like that Cowboy Godzilla. On the bright side, the bodies of the drowned reenactors have formed a dam that have slowed him down and kept him from reaching the shore. Hopefully, it holds up until Tourist Season. I had a bunch of Cowboy Godzilla Spring Break t-shirts made that I'm going to sell over at the hot dog stand. They have a drawing of Cowboy Godzilla lighting a bong with his fire breath on the back. I think they'll be pretty popular with the college kids, and even more popular with the people who want to be popular with the college kids. Which is everyone.

Q: Do you have to pay outstanding debt if in jail for murder?

A: That's a really great question. Do you have a problem with the knives you ordered? They're high quality knives, made from the finest German steel, and you seem to take such glee in sharpening them.

No problem with the knives. Just don't feel like paying for them? Is that it?

Okay.

That's really a question above my pay grade. I'm with Collections. That sounds like a problem for Legal. I'll be happy to pass your question over to them. Just as soon as I slowly back out of your home.

By the way, when you ordered those knives, did you happen to also order our DVD series "How to Become a Champion Knife Thrower in 8 Days"?

Q: Are horses killed for glue?

A: That's a myth. It's been years since horses have been used to make glue. Paste, maybe. A cheap brown paste used to wallpaper shanties. Or gruel. But not glue.

But your horse wasn't killed because of what we wanted him to be. He was killed because of what he was. A loser.

There's no rule that says a horse can't play football. And there's no rule that says if he's going to play, he better damn well be good. Things like that are understood.

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: How can you volunteer to work at the white house?

A: Just show up at the front door and offer to help. It worked for me.

Yes, I was arrested, but it certainly wasn't because of my helpful attitude and can-do spirit. My lawyer thinks it has something to do with the animal pelts I wore. Some hadn't been cleaned properly and, well, they stunk a little. Apparently people were turned off by the faces mounted on my shoulders and back, specifically the faces of their recently buried loved ones. How foolish of me, thinking that the sight of a friendly face might help ease the stress of a long work day. You'd think I would have been treated as a hero, handed a Medal of Freedom and given an immediate audience with the President. At the very least, you'd expect some applause. Maybe a hug. Instead, they yelled. And cursed. And threw things. With remarkable accuracy. At no point was any consideration given to the amount of work I spent building my suit of pelts: researching family trees, scouring obituaries, digging up graves, carefully removing the faces without slicing off any distinguishing features. It's like none of it mattered.

Hopefully you can learn from my mistakes. Wear a suit. Maybe call ahead. Show up during business hours, instead of 3AM. Save the faces until you've met everyone and know a little about their relationships with the deceased.

I've made a lot of  bad decisions in my life, but there's only one thing I wish I could do over again: My visit to the White House. Well, two things. I regret all that time I spent caring about The X-Files. That shit didn't lead anywhere.