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Dear
Mynx

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    PlanetQuake | Features | Dear Mynx | Hootchie Mamas.
   

This Week:  He digs chicks, but guys hit on him anyway. Does mynx give boot and crop lessons?  A total gaming GOD and his weenie funds, and some dude loves John Romero.  No, really.  Oh, and a really... messy Embarrassment Spotlight.  Woo.


  He's The Effeminate Heterosexual
I don't really know what I'm asking here.  Maybe it's a sort of "What would you do in my situation?" thing.  Anyway, here's the deal. I'm straight.. Okay, that's a given.  Don't bother asking if I'm sure, cuz
I'm sure.  I thought about it for a few months... and I'm sure.  Very straight.  But the problem is that most other people don't seem to think so.  *Normally* I could care less what other people think, but the fact that most people think I'm gay kinda bothers me.  Well, what bothers me is the amount of guys hitting on me, vs. the number of girls hitting on me.  The exact numbers being somewhere along the lines of an awful lot of guys, and very few girls. Now I know having never met me you couldn't tell me why it is that people think I'm gay, but maybe a suggestion as to how to get more female attention and less male attention would be great.

-Lyle

There is no guaranteed way to make chicks want you.  If there were a tried and true formula, it would be patented.  All you can do is be as friendly and showered and nonstinky and stuff and hope for the best, just like everyone else.  When guys hit on you, smile and tell them politely that your monkey doesn't grind like that and then thank them nicely.  After all, it should be flattering.  Personally I see nothing at all wrong with some male attention, but hey that's just me.  If you're displeased with the number of girls hitting you up for some hootchie action, try hitting on them instead.  After all if you want something done you gotta do it yourself.

  Yes!  Yes!  Spank me!
I was reading your column today and I was wondering... I don't have a girlfriend currently but if I did would you come teach her a lesson in thigh high boots and a crop? or how about me for that matter?

-Naughty Boy

Sorry honey, it can't be taught.  If your girl doesn't have the thigh high boot gene no amount of crop riding is going to give her the spankin powah.  You, on the other hand, well, every guy comes ready to be taught a lesson.  It's part of the whole man thing.  Now bend over. 

  He's A God... No Really!!
I've got a problem. I am a true God at FPS games. I've been into them since Wolfie (yeah yeah Everyone says that. But really! I was 286 IBM PS/2'ing Nazi's way way back. Turned everyone I know onto Doom and Doom2) I get no recognition, though. I don't have the money to fly out to Cali for a beatdown, no beatdowns ever happen anywhere near Cleveland. I lost every contest I've entered to get free transport to a beatdown or other parties.  What's an unknown FPS God to do, Mynx?

-Threshabe

Get a job.  Have a job?  Get another one.  Nobody owes you a trip to a Beatdown, and even if you somehow managed to find your way to one, you'd probably be just that - beat down.  So anyway... why not start your own?  The big bad infamous Beatdown started out as a lan party, you know.  So, throw one.  Invite all those friends you turned on to games to come and try to spank you like a naughty monkey.  Try it, you'll like it (the lan part, not the naughty spankings, but well hey, why not).

  John Romero: Gotta Love Him
Do you ever fantasize about John Romero?  Because I sure do - I can't help but wish I were him, or with him, or Quaking with him, or brushing his hair or something.  He just seems to be able to do all sorts of great shit with the greatest of ease and something about that or about him just makes me love him for some reason.  So what would you tell me, an ordinary average joe, who loves John Romero?  Hey you know him right?  Could you introduce us?? 

-Crackhead

I don't think so.  Uh to the best of my knowledge I have never knowingly fantasized about John Romero.  I mean have some compassion, dude.  How could I lust after a guy who has better hair than I do?  It's just not possible.  But I guess I can understand your affliction. Loving someone from afar is never easy, no matter how much crack you've been smoking, and I can respect your passionate feelings on the matter.  So, I'll tell you, it's just fine to love Romero... from afar.  Not behind, not above, not below... afar.  It would be best for everyone involved if you just kept this little nugget for your own use, mmkay?  And no, I won't introduce you.  I won't be playing matchmaker for a love connection like this one anytime soon.

Embarrassment Spotlight
A stinky butt and a cute nurse.. oh, it's just a recipe for disaster.  Take a gander at the humiliation of XeneX, the wonder pooper.

This was about six or seven years ago.  I was about 15 years old.  I was in the hospital because I had just had my appendix removed.  If you have never had abdominal surgery before, let me tell you that it leaves you
rather uncomfortable.  It's not easy to go about your business with a hole in your belly.  It hurts to do anything.  It hurts to stand.  It hurts to walk.  And you will curse all of your friends who come to cheer you up by making you laugh because it hurts to laugh, too. You're not allowed to eat anything for 24 hours before the surgery. They insert an IV into you so that you don't die, and they had some difficulty doing that for me.  They couldn't find a vein in my arm, so they ended up poking it into my wrist.  Needless to say, that's more painful.

After the surgery, I stayed in the hospital for about four days.  They don't let you eat anything more than ice chips the first day of recovery, but after that it's yummy lime green Jell-O and soggy sandwiches.  The IV stayed in, no doubt filling me with pain killers. The hospital meals were prepared and brought to me by this young student
nurse.  I think her name was Emily if I remember correctly.  She was beautiful.  I pressed my call button every ten minutes just so she'd come back and talk to me.  She was really very sweet, too.

Anyway, as soggy and insubstantial as the sandwiches and lime green Jell-O was, it was only a few days before nature required that I...release some waste, so to speak.  So I stiffly get out of bed looking like Frankenstein in a smock, my backside shamelessly exposed to the world, and I waddle on over to the bathroom.  I managed to get on the throne and take care of nature's little request.  And then........ panic!  I suddenly realize that ... errr ... cleaning up is going to be a major problem.  I am right handed, and I happen to have an IV tube painfully shoved into my right wrist.  I try to go around the back and between the legs, but the tube won't reach that far without painfully yanking at my veins.  I try to use my left hand, but twisting my body around in that direction with a five-inch gash in my belly is impossible.  In desperation I make an all out attempt with my right hand, painfully stretching the IV tube to its limit, and an alarm on the IV machine starts beeping like mad as blood from my wrist begins to fill
the tube.

I manage to turn off the beeping machine, and I take stock of my situation.  I realize that I'm going to have to get my mom, who as luck would have it was visiting with me at that time, to take care of her little boy's predicament...

"Uhh, mom?" I say to the door, sheepishly.

"Your mom went down to the cafeteria," a sweet voice replied.  Ack!  It was Emily, the beautiful student nurse!  Her voice was unmistakably sweet!  "Can I help you with something?"  Oh no!!  No! No! NO!!

"Uhhhhhh... Well, I ... ummmmm..."  To my own horror I hear myself saying that I am having trouble cleaning myself!  And so she comes in to help me!  There I am standing in that little bathroom with my fecal stench in the air and my polka-dotted hospital gown bunched up in my hand with blood oozing from my wrist, and this beautiful student nurse comes right in.  And yes, folks.  She did it.  I don't know how, but she did it.  She cleaned me up good.

I didn't see her again after that.  I'm sure she decided to stay away from me to save us both the embarrassment.  But it certainly was too late for that.

 


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