Well, Jazz on My Back and Call it Snow, It's... DEAR APRON!

You know, I've been thinking.

The mere fact that this faux advice column exists proves that I have the emotional maturity of a seventh grader. Why do I take pleasure in bashing and demoralizing innocent dunderdoos who have lost their way to the point where they need advice and counsel from random, alleged authority figures?

God, I must have gotten beat up a lot as a kid.

But that don't matter now. 'Cuz I've got the power. I've got the blog. I've got 'em by the short-n-curlies (on me, those are most commonly known as nose hairs) at...

DEAR APRON:

You advised "Susan in Southern Oregon" (Dec. 1), who asked about the appropriateness of giving alcohol as a gift at an office party, that "the only time that alcohol would be an inappropriate gift is when the giver knows the recipient doesn't use it." As a former psychiatric social worker, I would say that the only time alcohol would be an appropriate gift is when the giver knows the recipient would use it, and do so responsibly.

People aren't always forthcoming about their views and experiences regarding alcohol, so it's best to play it safe. Many people abstain from alcohol because they are recovering alcoholics or have seen the devastating results that alcoholism has had on a loved one's life. Others have religious reasons for not imbibing.

Giving alcohol as a gift may not only dismay the recipient, it could also lead to worse results if the giftee is someone who is struggling to stay sober. -- AMY IN DOVER, DEL.

DEAR AMY:

You stupid cunt-flake. I most certainly did not advise that cum-burping hoebag skeezapleaza Susan in Southern Oregon to bring alcohol as a gift for an office party. You clearly misread my reply, and, just for that, I am going to singlehandedly hunt down every single "Amy" in the Dover area, break into each one of their bedrooms at night and watch them sleep. I'll grow out my moustache and stand real close to the bed, too, because that's extra creepy.

I absolutely do NOT advise bringing alcohol as a host gift to ANY party, ESPECIALLY if the host directs you to do so. It's so lame, so... expected. I'm always in favor of bringing a severed animal head-- something small and semi-exotic, like a ferret or a marmoset. If the whole head seems too gross for you, its hind legs will do nicely. If you have time, wrap them together with a gaily-hued grosgrain ribbon for added effect.

DEAR APRON:

I have an issue that has me concerned, and I need some expertise. I have a problem with anger. I don't know what triggers it. It happens out of the blue sometimes.

I have never struck out in anger toward another person, but people have witnessed my outbursts and seemed taken aback by the behavior. The instances occur every month or two.

I'm a nice guy. I would bend over backward to help someone if I could. My verbal explosions contradict who I am inside. Do you have any suggestions on what I can do to control my temper in these situations? -- HOTHEAD IN NEW JERSEY

DEAR HOTHEAD:

Have you ever tried masturbating? It's a relatively easy to accomplish, enjoyable, and low-energy method of relaxation that has been widely praised for its anger-ameliorating properties by scientists and masturbators the world over. I'm doing it right now, in fact, and I've never been more at peace with the world. Try doing it whilst sucking down a big, fat doobie for maximum anger management properties. And, for extra impact, if you have time, wrap your balls together with a gaily-hued grosgrain ribbon for added effect.

DEAR APRON:

So often I read about troubled marriages in your column. May I share with you something that my husband and I started doing that has transformed what I thought was a good marriage into a blissful one?

One day, after complaining that we had no quality time together -- we rarely talked, much less made love -- my husband suggested we turn off the television and offered to give me a massage.

Ever since, four or five times a week, once the children are in bed, we go into our bedroom, take off our clothes and give each other long massages. Sometimes we spend the entire time in conversation, other times we savor the peace and quiet. Sometimes we make passionate love; other times we fall asleep naked in each other's arms, completely content.

It doesn't matter how it turns out; it's wonderful and it has made the rest of our lives less stressful and more enjoyable. Our sex life is better than before the children came, and we sleep in the nude more often.

I hope you'll print this. More marriages would take a turn for the better if couples made time for each other and discovered the wonders of massage. -- HAPPIER THAN EVER

DEAR HAPPIER THAN EVER:

See? What'd I tell you, Hothead?! Not seven minutes have gone by, and I'm already masturbating again! I can't even remember what I was angry about.

Oh, right-- the fucking snow.

Meh.

Now where the hell are those Kleenex?

DEAR APRON:

How do you tell someone how well you can do something without sounding like you're bragging? -- STELLA IN DALLAS

DEAR STELLA:

I don't know, man. But, I'll tell you what, you sure came to the right place to ask THAT question, because there's nobody who gives advice like your old Dear Apron, n'yah mean? I mean-- look, I've seen it all, done it all, known it all, and I'm more than happy to toss off a few lines of wisdom, you know-- cast a few pearls before you swine out there in Bloggyland because, really, if you think about it-- who would I be if I kept all this fantastic, earthy, rich, beatific advice to myself? I'd be a darn selfish sonofabee, that's who I'd be, and we all know that's not who I am. I'm warm. Can you feel that warmth, Stella, radiating through your computer monitor? Or maybe you have a laptop. Can you feel me warming your nether regions, that pulsing, comforting heat just pooling over your female parts? That's the warmth of inspiration. That's the glow of the lessons of the aged, packed into the young, lithe, firm body of a 30-year-old intellectual powerhouse who is working for good, Stella. Working for your good. Do you want me to make you feel GOOD, Stella? Mmmmm.... make me feel good! MAKE ME FEEL GOOD! RrrRRrrrRrRRrrrr!

Now, seriously-- where the fuck are those Kleenex?