The Perfect Life 32 by Dr. Perfect

Morbid Covidity

Dear Dr. Perfect,

When this whole China Virus thing started in flu season, I didn’t believe a word of it. Of course folks got sick. I spent the first 6 months denying COVID publicly on facebook and I found that most people felt how I did. Except those damn liberals, but I ain’t friends with many of them anyhow. Well, sometime I started to change my mind. Got the vaccine and everything. But I’m so afraid to admit it to my friends and family that it’s messin’ with my life!

I’m vaxxed, god dammit! I wanna go on vacation and to concerts but I have to pretend I’m not allowed, or I’ll never hear the end of it.

Sincerely,
The Vaxidental Tourist

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Dear Vaxidental Tourist,

I can understand the hesitancy to seem vaccinated. You ventured outside the irrational skepticism and outright denial of your friends and family to join the rest of us somewhat healthier sheep.

We’re nearing our third year of the pandemic, and I feel your frustration. I just want to know when I can get Broadway tickets for Beetlejuice.

The easiest solution to your ironic plight is to convince your social circle that the vaccines have contaminated the drinking water. After the initial panic and inadvertent suicides that follow, tell them that they need to get “inoculated” against the harmful antibodies before their hearts explode. Secretly sign them up for the shot, guide them through the process, and voilà, everyone’s vaxxed.

TYou’ll see an eventual acceptance among your astute circle as they wave their “anti-vaxxed” cards. Then you can all freely participate in society with a newfound air of superiority.

Or just get drunk and tell them the truth.

Or just go to Vegas.

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.

The Perfect Life #30 by Dr. Perfect

Rescuing a Clinging Vine

Dear Dr. Perfect,

Ever since my cat was hit by a car, my separation anxiety is so bad that I follow my husband everywhere. I don’t want to miss a single moment of our life together; it’s all so fleeting.

I know this is disgusting, but I won’t let him go to the bathroom alone.

Please, help me overcome this fear. I am literally and figuratively suffocating.

Sincerely,

A loving, clinging vine

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Dear Nutcase,

I sympathize with your plight, having lost my own feisty feline some years ago. He too was struck by a car, while driving, no less.  He was the last pet I ever owned, excluding the 57 zebra fish.

When we lose something special, we can feel lost and afraid. This happened to me the other night when I realized I was out of brandy. I usually dip into the reserve stock when guests are over for cards or fundraisers or Eyes Wide Shut Tuesdays. One evening, I found my liquor cabinet absolutely empty, with only a dusty old bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I had completely forgot about. My guests were displeased, but not as much as I was.

What are boundaries, anyway? A girlfriend of mine insisted on using the toilet every time I was in the shower. I found such conduct weird, invasive, and annoying, but not deal-breakers. The relationship didn’t work but not for lack of trying. I expected from her the same things I expect from myself: absolute perfection.

Your husband may tire of your apparent clinginess, but don’t let that dissuade you. Life is fleeting. You could die tomorrow without warning, leaving behind a legacy of unfinished manuscripts and a closet full of Hummel figurines nobody cares about. (My boxes of Venezuelan vinyl records, however, will always hold value).

Accept the inevitability of death and the things that are beyond your control. Place a pillow over your husband’s face while he’s sleeping. After ten-seconds, remove the pillow. You’ll find that he’s alive and well and awake and scared. Ask him his opinion about vasectomies while you’re at it.

Attempt to do things on your own. Attend a coleslaw wrestling tournament. Only then, can you feel comfortable outside the dependency you’ve created. That is transcendence.

Perhaps the greatest co-dependency in modern history involves cell phones. Your unsanitary attachment to your husband and violation of boundaries seems normal compared to cellphone abuse. I promptly lock my phone into a safe when I get home at the end of a long, perfect day. This discipline has afforded me more time to focus on my passions, like canning and preserving food. I am so happy.

Where were we?

Don’t follow your husband into the bathroom. Just sit outside the door, breathing heavily until he returns. That should help with panic attacks.

I’d offer more compromises, but I just got a call from a famous actor, seeking advice. Apparently, he proposed to the woman he left for another woman after their relationship fell through. Why does he assume anyone will want him?

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.

The Perfect Life # 28 by Dr. Perfect

Dear Dr. Perfect,

I want my husband to get a vasectomy, but he’s a really light sleeper. What should I do?

Worriedly,

Nervous-at-Night

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Dear Nan,

Both sexes are in constant struggle about the shared the responsibility of birth control. Some would say that it all comes down to the sperm. Others would say the egg. But we all know you can’t create a drooling poop-machine without both.

If you’re considering performing the procedure on your husband, ensure that your equipment is sterilized. Slip some Nyquil and tranquilizers into his hot cocoa. I would also sincerely hope that you both remain masked during the nocturnal surgery, COVID concerns and all.

Maybe you’re a doctor or just a nut, but we can agree that you’re quite determined. My father often joked that I was an accident. It was his go-to dad joke. “Your mother couldn’t afford birth control,” he would say. “I refused condoms,” was another.  He would tap into this wealth of material at the most inappropriate times, like a grandpa’s funeral.

But once I turned eighteen and poised to hop on the Union Pacific toward a journey of self-discovery in California, he admitted that I was very much planned and that they were proud of me. “I know, Dad,” I said.

He admitted that he underwent a vasectomy when I was in my terrible twos. A few years later, he got a reverse vasectomy after discovering the joy of parenting, unaware that my mother had already had her tubes tied by then.

My parents were a hoot.

The steps to a perfect life aren’t hard. Cut out all the negative static and embrace a path of insulated self-empowerment that would make the Minutemen proud. They were a feisty bunch of go-getters during the American Revolution. Speaking of history, do you know when the first vasectomy was performed? I don’t, but I assume it was on a hamster or rodent or something.

Some things are forever. Fortunately, vasectomies, tattoos, and marriages aren’t. I’m on my second Star Trek/Star Wars crossover fan fiction manuscript, eagerly awaiting a Random House deal. Wish me luck!

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.

The Perfect Life #27 by Dr. Perfect

A Best Man for the Worst Groom

My best friend from college has asked me to be his best man at his wedding, but I am not sure I can do that since he cheats on his fiancé all the time and brags about it when he is drunk. Wouldn’t I the better man if I told his fiancé about all this? Or should I talk to him about this?

Maybe they are in an open relationship, but since I am not her best friend, I never hear her confessions. But really I wonder if she’ll have morpions nesting on her wedding dress, the very thought of which makes me itchy. What is the perfect thing to do? How can I live with myself?

Torn

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Dear Torn,

This is a strangely familiar scenario that I probably saw in a buddy comedy or soap opera. Its biblical origins are also noted. Why are you hanging out with such scumbags in the first place? It’s true that we don’t always choose our friends, but perhaps it’s time to change up.

I’d certainly avoid being pulled into some bizarre love triangle. Those never turn out well, despite what you might read in tawdry romance novels, which I adore, by the way. By now, I’ve been a groomsman more than I can remember. I’ve performed best man duties twice for my louse of a half-brother, who couldn’t keep a marriage together if his life depended on it. Imagine giving two different speeches to the same person.

Third time’s a charm, they say.

Why is that? Do we statistically improve at something by its third iteration? I know it’s just an expression, but so is “pass the potatoes.” Remember that one? You couldn’t walk across the street without someone saying it, generally implying sex for money. We live in a filthy world.

This groom seems to be to his knees in illicit affairs, but if experience has taught me anything, any man that boastful is generally embellishing or trying to compensate for something. This isn’t to suggest that he’s making everything up. I would just subtract about half of those claimed encounters from the scorecard.

Could they be in an open relationship? Anything’s possible. I’ve received several letters from lost souls, asking about open relationships. It absolutely can work if you’re both moral degenerates.

I assume that the groom wouldn’t classify his predilection for romantic trysts as cheating, open relationship or not.

If he’s already cheating, he doesn’t respect his fiancé. Respect is crucial in sustaining a relationship. Without mutual respect, any union would wither and die, just like the movie industry.

A fair-minded, timid person would hesitate to get involved. That’s why I officially sanction you to intrude into their personal lives with the fervor of a 1970s TV detective. Firstly, tell the groom that his behavior deeply offends you. Then go behind his back and inform the bride-to-be of the terrible mistake she’s about to make. Perhaps she needs to change up as well to a suitor already in her life who is more attentive to her needs. There I go citing my romance novels again.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, which is another common expression/cliché thought of by some passé know-it-all. Stop waffling around and act. Follow the groom around to see if his stories add up. Take pictures and even dabble in some blackmail, which is always good for a lark.

It’s never too late to involve yourself in other peoples’ affairs like some doddering busybody IRS tax collector. Take heart in the fact that if you don’t expose this charade, someone else will. And if you choose to let it be, don’t be surprised when you’re called back to be the best man a fourth or fifth time.

Consider an anonymous call from a payphone or something. Be creative. Life is not a porno movie, as I’ve learned in encounters with cable repair technicians, teachers, real estate agents, and police officers. These professions have yet to make a pass at me.

The best option, however, is to save all the juicy details for the best man toast. You could land a debilitating blow that won’t be soon forgotten.

That’s if you’re an outright sociopath.

Whatever you decide, let me know. I’ve got a pool running with the other advice columnists. Most of them think that you’re going to fold, but I have faith that you’ll do the right thing, whatever that may be in this crazy world.

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.

The Perfect Life #24 by Dr. Perfect

For Love of Vices

Dear Dr. Perfect,

My family has been arguing non-stop for 48-hours. Maybe you can help us.

Who is the best Vice President in American history: Dick Cheney or Spiro Agnew?

Sincerely,

A Passionate Historian

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Dear PH,

I commend your adherence to heated family political debates outside the bold strokes of presidential narratives. For once, someone is making the case for or against Vice Presidents as opposed to tossing them into history’s dustbin. VPs are like the Art Garfunkel of the executive branch, largely relegated to clerical duties during their tenure. Sometimes they even become president after languishing in the shadows for years.

Their names often elude the average American, who can barely muster the will to find the right pair of socks in the morning. Those we do remember only stand out if they’re lucky. Some names just stick. Teddy Roosevelt, for instance, was sworn in after President McKinley’s assassination by a deranged anarchist. Gerald Ford took over after Nixon’s completely unwarranted resignation, and Lyndon Johnson killed his boss for the top spot in 1963. It was a crazy time back then.

Not all VPs ascended to the presidency after assassinations, conspiracies, or scandals. Some just leveraged the popularity of the president they served, thoroughly unable to retain the same magic or prestige. Harry Truman, George Bush Sr., and our current Crypt Keeper-in-Chief are perfect examples of this underwhelming phenomenon. But Truman did drop an atomic bomb on Japan, so that’s saying something.

What irks me the most about your family’s argument is their complete lack of historical perspective. Dick Cheney can’t hold a candle to Martin Van Buren, and Spiro Agnew wasn’t fit to shine Levi P. Morton’s shoes! (His friends called him LP). Don’t settle on those two Republican lightweights, when there are luminaries to choose from. What about Aaron Burr? He was Thomas Jefferson’s VP and most famous for shooting Lin-Manuel Miranda in the Broadway musical Hamilton.

George Clinton (our fourth VP) is noticeably absent from your list too in a glaring oversight. He served under both Thomas Jefferson and James Madison in addition to starting a Parliament-Funkadelic collective in the seventies. What of Millard Fillmore, who succeeded to the presidency after the death of Zachary Taylor in 1850?

He was a member of the Whig Party, one of the coolest cliques in American history. And I supposed we can just forget about Andrew Johnson and the enormous task of succeeding Lincoln after the Civil War. The poor bastard.

Your family’s dismissal of Dan Quayle, VP under George Bush Sr., needs to be addressed as well. Quayle served his office with distinction and honor, while being ridiculed as a child and a buffoon by the liberal media. The knives were out the minute he criticized Murphy Brown—the late-1980s sitcom that featured Candice Bergen as the eponymous journalist and news anchor. Her character had a kid out of wedlock, and Quayle made a speech, criticizing the show for its empty values. We could sure use some of that patented “Quayle magic” today.

He may have been the butt of many jokes during his heyday, but the man had magnificent hair, unlike Dick Cheney. He also didn’t shoot his friend with a hunting rifle last time I checked or preside over two endless wars. Under Quayle and Bush Sr. we only had one war, the Gulf War, and it was over in a jiffy. We gave Saddam Hussein the proverbial kick to the keister, and all was well.

Spiro Agnew, Nixon’s shady henchman, may have had thick hair, but he resigned too easily.  Didn’t he know how things are done in Washington? When you’re accused of bribery, extortion, and criminal conspiracy, you double down on your innocence until the next news cycle. Deny everything and let the chips fall where they may. Simply put, he was no Dan Quayle. He wasn’t even an Al Gore. Now, there’s a VP with moxie, and who knows his way around a PowerPoint™ presentation. Time for your family to go back to the drawing board.

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.

The Perfect Life #23 by Dr. Perfect

Dear Dr. Perfect,

Are fart orgasms real? My granddaughter insists they area, and she keeps sending me TikTok links that I am too afraid to open? Am I missing out?

Nervously yours,

A grandmother who loves but doesn’t understand her granddaughter

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Dear kindly grandmother,

Remain guarded against unsolicited TikTok links from your granddaughter. I get Instagram messages all the time from anonymous weirdos, heralding some video that I “just have to see.” Like most messages, I ignore them, even from buxom, scantily clad women, asking if I “want to have some fun.” It’s depressing to think they’re fake accounts, so I just assume I’m naturally desirable and ignore them at my peril.

I confirm that fart orgasms or fart-gasms are a real and natural occurrence. You can trust your granddaughter on that. They’re just one of life’s little comedic joys, reducing our most intimate moments to a Farrelly brothers’ film. During the act of love, flatulence can occur upon reaching an orgasm. This happens when our body’s muscles are relaxed and therefore more susceptible to such outright embarrassment.

There are also flatulencies so gratifying in their release, they can cause unexpected orgasms on their own accord. This causes the subject to lift their head back in euphoric ecstasy, with their eyes rolled and mouth agape, blissfully unaware of what has transpired.

The experience, I’m told, is akin to a sexual orgasm due to the intense, sudden release of gas combined with endorphins to produce a moment of undiluted bliss. Unfortunately, anyone else within range of this phenomenon as it happens is most likely to be repelled and potentially traumatized.

Most high school sex ed classes gloss right over this and leave generations of pimple-faced, pubescent noobs in the dark. And as we know, most sinister things happen in the dark, including fart-gasms. Sex is funny. I get a kick out of all the moaning and slobbering and the eventual look of disappointment when she says, “you’re done already?”

Shakespeare applied his own steamy pen to sex comedies under the guise of “romance” in plays like “Much Ado About Nothing” and “Love’s Labour’s Lost.” In my opinion, nothing quite matches the hilarity of two dimwitted teenagers offing themselves in “Romeo and Juliet,” but for some reason, it’s classified as a tragedy.

If you wish to learn more, read my book, “Dr. Perfect onSex: From the Art of Seduction to the Shame of Regret,” out now from Simon & Schuster. I believe fart orgasms are covered in Chapter Five.

If your granddaughter continues to harass you, you’ll need to take her aside and tell her that you’ve learned all there is to know about sex from your vast collection of erotic fiction paperbacks. This will make her curious. She might pick one up and start reading, only to have her wild expectations about sex remain unfulfilled.

That’s all I really expect from my readers.

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.