Ask LOBO
Predator Press
"Dear LOBO,
I'm growing increasingly concerned my husband doesn't find me attractive anymore, and I'm starting to catch his 'wandering eye' with greater and greater frequency. Can you give me some advice that might spice up our romance?"
Kelly L. Bittencroft
865 Palm Palace
Tampa, Florida 33610
VISA #5194-5559-5555
Exp Date 01/15
Birthday 01/05/85
PIN:VISA
Kelly,
It's a widely-known fact that chicks pack on the pounds as a passive-aggressive hostile act toward their spouses, and nothing is more humiliating to a guy than a having a fat chick in tow. As an ironic consequence, however, this displaced anger exacerbates the cycling negative behaviors between you and your significant other; it leaves you a bitter old dried-up hippopotamus woman with drawn-on eyebrows, well-calloused bristling elbows, and gnarled toenails that snag in carpets and clicketty-clack on linoleum kitchen tiles when you walk barefoot.
First, set down the Chunky Monkey; it will only degrade your health and make you a further embarrassment to your friends, family and loved ones. Then, abandon the concept of 'spicing up your romance' entirely. Try fully embracing your mutual hatred instead.
Go shopping! Buy an entire case of Glade aerosol spray and a nice big fat insurance policy on your husband; the air freshener will be necessary to get the smell of molten flesh, hair, and Pabst Blue Ribbon out of the house when you throw the radio into his bathwater. Think of the flickering, failing lights as your fading once-youthful vibrant beauty -all of which you've squandered on this hairy, bloated, unemployed redneck. Take solace in the fact that over a long enough timeline he would have left you -an utterly spent and decaying husk, oozing the desiccated viscera of unanswered dreams and unrequited passion- for a snaggletoothed bartender with a teardrop tattoo and an obsession for Beanie Babies.
Sell the house and the Dale Earnhardt commemorative plates -especially the Dale Earnhardt commemorative plates- and combine it with the insurance money. This should be plenty to start your life over someplace in South America. Splurge for a well-muscled pool boy named Chavo, and indulge in what will now be a moderately-priced cocaine habit to melt those extra pounds away. And as far as repairing your mortally-wounded self-esteem, the only healthy way is in the hands of a professional physician trained in such delicate matters: with a good plastic surgeon, you'll make Mr. Potato head look like a ranked amateur hack in a matter of weeks. This will also aid in throwing the Authorities off of your trail.
Above all else Kelly, remember: relationships are a piece of cake, but you can't make anyone else happy if you're not happy yourself.
"Dear LOBO,I'm growing increasingly concerned my husband doesn't find me attractive anymore, and I'm starting to catch his 'wandering eye' with greater and greater frequency. Can you give me some advice that might spice up our romance?"
Kelly L. Bittencroft
865 Palm Palace
Tampa, Florida 33610
VISA #5194-5559-5555
Exp Date 01/15
Birthday 01/05/85
PIN:VISA
Kelly,
It's a widely-known fact that chicks pack on the pounds as a passive-aggressive hostile act toward their spouses, and nothing is more humiliating to a guy than a having a fat chick in tow. As an ironic consequence, however, this displaced anger exacerbates the cycling negative behaviors between you and your significant other; it leaves you a bitter old dried-up hippopotamus woman with drawn-on eyebrows, well-calloused bristling elbows, and gnarled toenails that snag in carpets and clicketty-clack on linoleum kitchen tiles when you walk barefoot.
First, set down the Chunky Monkey; it will only degrade your health and make you a further embarrassment to your friends, family and loved ones. Then, abandon the concept of 'spicing up your romance' entirely. Try fully embracing your mutual hatred instead.
Go shopping! Buy an entire case of Glade aerosol spray and a nice big fat insurance policy on your husband; the air freshener will be necessary to get the smell of molten flesh, hair, and Pabst Blue Ribbon out of the house when you throw the radio into his bathwater. Think of the flickering, failing lights as your fading once-youthful vibrant beauty -all of which you've squandered on this hairy, bloated, unemployed redneck. Take solace in the fact that over a long enough timeline he would have left you -an utterly spent and decaying husk, oozing the desiccated viscera of unanswered dreams and unrequited passion- for a snaggletoothed bartender with a teardrop tattoo and an obsession for Beanie Babies.
Sell the house and the Dale Earnhardt commemorative plates -especially the Dale Earnhardt commemorative plates- and combine it with the insurance money. This should be plenty to start your life over someplace in South America. Splurge for a well-muscled pool boy named Chavo, and indulge in what will now be a moderately-priced cocaine habit to melt those extra pounds away. And as far as repairing your mortally-wounded self-esteem, the only healthy way is in the hands of a professional physician trained in such delicate matters: with a good plastic surgeon, you'll make Mr. Potato head look like a ranked amateur hack in a matter of weeks. This will also aid in throwing the Authorities off of your trail.Above all else Kelly, remember: relationships are a piece of cake, but you can't make anyone else happy if you're not happy yourself.
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