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Dear Precious Readers,
HAPPY NEW YEAR! Can you believe it's already 2006? Seems
like just yesterday we were all freaking out about Y2K, convinced
that Satan would make all the world's computers rise up,
sprout metal robot limbs, and walk through our city streets
brutally killing everyone with shiny Samurai swords and handfuls
of deadly anthrax tossed about like Rip Taylor's signature
confetti. Now it's 2006 and we're still here! WORK! You'd
think that we, the human race, could finally heave a collective
sigh of relief, relax and just enjoy life. But as proven
by the following letters, there are still lots of things
to worry and fret over...
Dear Little Miss Know-It-All,
I am a healthy, good-looking young man with a great job,
a great apartment, a great car, and a great boyfriend. Hell,
I even have my own home cappuccino machine imported from
Italy and one of those iJoy massage chairs! I should be happy,
but I'm not. I know this sounds crazy, but I can't stop thinking
about terrorists. Am I normal?
Signed,
Worried William in WeHo
Dear Worried,
If your name is William and you have a boyfriend, then
no, you are definitely not normal -- you are gay. And gay
is not normal, no matter how hard men like Elton John or
Rosie O'Donnell try to convince us that it is. And besides,
who wants to be normal? Normal equals boring. You know who's
normal? That yawn-inducing news anchor with the stick up
his butt, Stone Phillips; that snooze-fest of a social disease,
Paris Hilton; and that creatively comatose "Painter
of Light" Thomas Kinkade -- whose most innovative accomplishment
is how he spells his last name as if it were a soft drink
for S&M enthusiasts. They are all straight and they are
all boring. Now about your fears of terrorism -- get over
it. You are 100 percent safe because you live in Los Angeles,
a city that no self-respecting terrorist gives a rat's ass
about. What? You're still scared? Then you need to do what
Big Tobacco does -- make something deadly seem like it's
sexy. I suggest you ask your boyfriend to get a real dark
Mystic tan, grow a big bushy mustache, put one of your fancy
schmancy gay bath towels on his head like a turban and shout
faux Middle Eastern gibberish while violently screwing you
from behind. Next thing you know, the mere mention of terrorism
will make your back door start a-twitchin' and now you're
no longer afraid, you're horny as hell!
Dear Little Miss Know-It-All,
I keep hearing and reading about bird flu. What is it?
Can I get it?
Signed,
Chicken in Chico
Dear Chicken,
Bird flu is an absolutely horrifying disease that slowly
and painfully kills its victims by liquifying the brain and
devouring the internal organs. Now, while you clean yourself
up and change your underwear, let me also inform you that
it is extremely difficult to get! Only those people who have
had sex with IV drug-using fowl are at risk. And as if that
wasn't rare enough, you must also have allowed the bird in
question to insert his dirty duck dick into your nasal cavity
after having consumed five or more servings of Pruno -- an
alcoholic beverage made in prisons from fruit, ketchup, and
sugar that tastes so bad it makes crappy ol' Alize seem downright
yummy. OK, so you say you were indeed fucked in the nose
by a heroin-shooting mallard blitzed on prison hooch? Before
you freak out, was it on the last Thursday of the month?
No? Then you're fine! So, as you can see, bird flu is almost
impossible to catch. Unless, of course, you have a cell phone
and/or live within a 15-mile radius of a KFC restaurant.
Do
you have a question for Little Miss Know-It-All? Send an
e-mail to NotSoNiceAdvice@aol.com.
Until next week ... stay gay, OK? For more Jackie Beat
visit www.jackiebeatrules.com.
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