Dear Little Miss Know-It-All,

I've been invited to a fancy dinner party and I'm terribly nervous because I'm ignorant to many rules of etiquette. I do not want to embarrass myself in front of my judgemental new friends. Can you help me avoid making some potentially humiliating social faux pas?

Signed,
Graceless in Garden Grove

Dear Graceless,

Of course, dear! I would be honored to help you be something you're not! Etiquette is all about socially retarded, low-class plebians such as yourself pretending to be elegant and superior like me. On the day of your friend's dinner party I suggest you take a nice hot shower, clean your genitals and buttocks with a nice-smelling soap, go to a department store and buy a very expensive outfit with matching shoes (relax, you can return it all the next day as long as you don't spill food or drink on it!), spritz yourself liberally with the designer cologne of your choice from the selection of testers, and avoid the following:

NEVER use the word "cunt" at a dinner party. And referring to your mother as one is particularly frowned upon. Yes, even if she's an alcoholic who calls you her "disappointing cocksucker of a son."

NEVER use racist terms like "dirty nigger," "lazy spic," "stinky-ass towel-head," "cheap kike," or "goddamn dog-eating slanty-eyed ching-chong bastard who can't drive." (Note: If your host or hostess uses these terms just smile and nod in agreement. Etiquette, after all, is about not rocking the boat or causing a scene. This is not the time or place to stand up for what you believe in.)

NEVER touch another guest. Air kisses only! Even if someone starts choking, just let them die -- do not embarrass them or invade their personal space by performing the Heimlich maneuver. Don't get involved.

NEVER grab the last dinner roll while shouting, "It's mine, motherfucker!"

NEVER ask a female party guest if she has "ever taken it in the back door."

NEVER tell your host or hostess that the food "tastes like shit."

Now that you know what not to do, have a great time at the party!

Dear Little Miss Know-It-All,

Did you watch The Golden Globes?

Signed,
Awards Show Lover in Los Feliz

Dear Lover,

Yes, I did watch The Golden Globes and I was absolutley disgusted. I am so sick and tired of these obscenely rich, spoiled actors and actresses -- whose personal assistants do everything for them from dialing the phone to wiping their asses -- getting up to accept their awards and pretending like they're just "regular folks" who've never been in front of a crowd before. "What is this thing -- a microphone!? Hello? Check, 1, 2, 3? Gosh, I am just so darn shocked that I won this here award. I really didn't think I'd win me this shiny thing so I ain't done prepared me no speech or nuthin'!" Give me a break. First of all, you spent months tramping your shameless ass onto every talk show in existence to discuss how difficult/interesting/rewarding is was to play a gay cowboy/transsexual/whatever. You spent weeks choosing your outfit. You spent hours having your hair and makeup done. And now suddenly you're hootin' and hollerin' like some clueless Midwestern soccer mom who just got a free cashmere sweater on Oprah's annual favorite things show? Nice try, bumbling non-threatening, famous-but-approachable superstar. Honey, even severely autistic children know that everything you say and do is planned by a roomful of experts and image consultants. They have graphs and pie charts and laser pointers and argue over whether you should wear your vintage Bon Jovi concert T tucked in or out. You can't have it both ways, famous people. Only no-name losers like my readers can be clueless and unprepared idiots. You gave that up the moment you went mainstream. The moment you bent over and grabbed your ankles for Satan. So just walk up on that stage in your expensive shoes and without a single drop of manufactured guilt or faux irony accept your fucking award already. In other words, just have the goddamn balls to be a good old-fashioned, self-centered, unapologetic STAR!

Photos by Mario Diaz