I have determined, after nearly 17 minutes of reflection, that I would be an awesome advice columnist.
People are always coming to me and saying, "Hey, can you help me?" Sometimes they only say it with their eyes, but the intent is clear. Because I am that kind of person, I never let someone's shyness keep me from giving them what they clearly want from me: expertise and wisdom.
Perhaps because of the psychic connection my readers feel with me, several of them have already begun sending in letters asking for advice. Here, then, is the first installment of the Folksy Folks Helping Folks Advice Column Blog. (I'm thinking of shortening the name.)
Dear Folksy Deb,
I am an attractive, eligible man in my late 30's who hasn't found love. By "attractive," I mean that I have long hair around the edges but nothing on top, but I wear colorful bandanas that I think have everyone completely fooled. By "eligible," I mean that I have, personally, rented a bus. By "late 30's," I mean "pushing 50." I have tried to find Ms. Right by starring in several seasons of a reality show in which I choose several tattooed and scantily clad current and former "dancers" and pretend I like some of them. What am I doing wrong?
Dear Penicillin Consumer,
I have watched your show, and as far as I can tell you are a completely sincere, emotionally vulnerable, culturally relevant superstar. It's not your fault the girls go wild when you walk through a door! I have three words that express your problem: location, location, location. You've tried finding love in a house, and then in a bus, so I suggest next time you try a luxury yacht, or perhaps a double-wide trailer you can set up behind your parents' house. Perhaps a different time slot.
I used to be a reasonably attractive but shrewish television personality who offended humanity with my very presence. Knowing that my television show is coming to an end and facing nothing more than a life of being married to the stupidest man alive, I decided to up my notoriety by getting extensive plastic surgery for no real reason. While I still look vaguely human, I can no longer perform basic human functions like crying or giving meaningful looks while club music plays in in the background. What kind of future is there for me?
Dear Unrecognizable Until You Start Talking:
Fear not. That crazy cat lady can't live forever! You should make a lucrative living starring on such shows as "World's Craziest Plastic Surgeries" or "Ten Biggest Celebrity Mistakes." Please pass on my love to your dear husband, unless you think that would make him start hooting uncontrollably, in which case please simply blink in his direction and think of me.
I am one of the world's most wealthy and successful entertainers. I am an Oscar-nominated actor, a producer, and I host a television show that is viewed as a major religion in several countries. I have single-handedly made and broken authors, actors, and musicians. I have a successful magazine and appear on the cover of every issue. I am not married but enjoy a long-term relationship, I have a wonderful best friend, and no children. I am ending my television show soon, and want to know what I should do next.
Here's what you do: in your last week of shows, you do a show about Blog Life and feature several amateur bloggers. If it will help you, I will gladly volunteer to be featured on that show. After that, you will sign a publishing deal with at least one of the bloggers featured (again, happy to serve) giving that blogger a three-book deal.
I'm considering retirement, but have not yet found someone who can take over my job. It is rather an important one, and no one who has applied is quite up to my standards. Might you know of someone who is interested in relocation and an exciting new career?
Dear Your Majesty,
I'm pretty sure I know of someone who would be perfect for the job.
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