by Charlie the Tuna

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San Francisco, CA, USA - This week's letters from my readership certainly put ole' Charlie in a tizzy! You people are gettin' all esoteric on me when all I'm usually in the mood to talk about is the best approach to the four F's. Let's face it: relationships are simple enough to start and even easier to end - it's just that absurd part in the middle that causes all the problems because you start believin' it's more than an economic transaction, bottom line. But I've said all this before, so let's jump right to your sappy letters.

Rackin' in Manhattan

Dear Charlie,

I have read your column in the G21 e-zine over the last two years and enjoyed it immensely. You remind me a lot of Asa Barber, the "sex" columnist for Penthouse magazine. Are you familiar with him? Is he familiar with you? You both seem to have the same basic approach to the interactions between the sexes.

So here is my situation: I've been cohabitating with a woman who is a psychologist here in Manhattan for the last six months. We met at a house party and I immediately went ga-ga for the woman. She is my age, hot body, great wit (I thought at the time) and we immediately hit it off. Slept with her a week later and a week after that she got the key to my place. It took about a month for us to figure out it was silly to pay for two Manhattan apartments when we were spending almost all of our time together anyway.

The first two months living together were great. But then I started noticing that what I had taken as ripe sarcastic wit was her habit of complaining, putting down, everything and every one all the time. It's funny if you don't have to endure it 24 X 7, like at a party or something where it sounds glib, but it gets old real fast when you realize it's the only note she plays.

So now I want to lose her, but dread the scene and my rent doubling. What do you suggest, O Sage One?

Sincerely,
Nathan Chomsky
(No relation to the illustrious linguist)


Dear Chumsky,

The first thing I find suspicious about your e-mail is that anyone who claims to have read my column over the last two years wouldn't have already mastered all my detailed explanations about how to kick an unwanted frail to the curb. How many different lessons have I given on this one topic alone?

Secondly, how many times do I have to tell you Mack-wannabes to never even let them know where you really live, let alone give them the keys to your domicile? You are creating your own problem as soon as you give up that much privileged info in the first couplah months! How you gonnah know what she's really like while you are mesmerized by the new poontang?

Asa Barber's alright, by the way, though I think he pulls his punches sometimes.

But let's cut to the chase: You're sick and tired of this frail's whinin' and complainin' about every little thing (not to mention your little thing, probably) so what's holdin' you back? Lose her! Just get up one day and - after she prepares your breakfast - say: "Hey, Esmerelda, I don't think this is workin' out. I feel like I need some space. So why don't you just pack up your little shit and get the hell out of here."

She's gonnah freak, of course. But if you don't let the cryin' and screamin' get to you, you got your place back to yourself. Then you can roll back some chicks you might really get along with.

I have no earthly idea who the "illustrious linguist" you are referring to is, pal. Is he a cunning linguist like myself?

Stay Hard.

Eenie, Meenie...

Dear "Charlie the Tuna",

I don't usually write into the writers, particularly not on the Web, where you don't really know what is what, but I have read some of your articles and think you give it to people straight. So I decided to take a chance on you.

My story is simple. I met a guy at a local club who seems like a really nice person. He was not a "bad boy" or a "cool guy" at all. He was quiet and respectful and only asked me to dance a few times and then sat and talked a bit with me and my girlfriends before going back to join the guys he had come out with. I liked that.

Anyways, after seeing him at the club two or three times I asked him if he'd like to meet somewhere for coffee or a drink. He immediately said, "A drink!" so we met at another club that I like to go to sometimes.

He wasn't any different than before, but it was kindah sketchy meeting him on my lonesome without my usual posse. But after we got to talking everything was fine.

We've been dating for about two weeks now and I think I'd like to take it to the next level. The thing is, when we're just out with each other or with our crews, I can't really tell how Peter feels about me. He's nice enough, and always very friendly, but I don't know if he feels about me in the special way I feel about him.

What do you think?

Samantha
Hood River, OR


Samantha,

Do I sound clairvoyant to you? Since you didn't send along a picture, I don't know if you're the biggest dog in Oregon or a hottie. Either way, did it ever cross your mind that this Peter dude could be gay? Have you ever seen him out with other girls? Do you know if he even considers what you're meetings are as "dates"? All I got to go on here is your side of the story.

So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that Petey is not gay, that he has dated other women before you and he's just trying the low-key, stealth attack on you. All well and good! Why don't you just come out and tell him that you're ready to make the sign of the double aardvark and see if he's rushing for the john or decides its about time to play some tongue-hockey?

Either way, you'll know where you stand with the dude.

Flame ON!

Dear "Charlie the Tuna" (Or Whatever Your Real Name Is),

Just so you know, I think your colum is despecable and I don't know why it keeps popping up in the G21 'zine like a poison mushroom in a field of crap! You are the worst excuse for a "colummist" I have read in my entire life! You should crawl back under the rock you crawled out from under!

Just so you know, I have contacked your Editor and Publisher and let him know that I and a lot of people like me will be boycotting G21 until you no longer appear on the website. There are many articles we enjy here and yours is *not* one of them.

You are a neandertal cretin with nothing of value to say to anyone. It amazes me that other people even bother to write into you now that you have turned yourself into some kind of inane "Advice" colummist!

Go Away!

Valerie Sandowsky
Chicago, IL


Val,

It's been so long since I've been flamed or threatened that I had to laugh my ass off! I asked Rod to let me put your letter on my page, instead of the usual Letters page, because I got such a kick out of it!

I'm not sure what I would do if I didn't hear from folks like you besides thinkin' that maybe I was not hitting at the core of the problem.

Which leads us nicely into to why the Learned Ones come to this here column:

THE TUNA PHILOSOPHY

This week class, because of the fact I've been askin' myself, reading about our "Esteemed Editor's" problems Down South why he EVER decided to move to that No Man's Land and I'm relieved that he doesn't have to pay no more lawyers, our Lesson is about Southern Frat Parties and Rules to Surviving Them.

1. DON'T DRINK THE PUNCH. From what I understand from Reliable Sources, you can count on Everclear or some other version of pure grain alcohol being in there. If you're a young girl who wants to keep her panties where they belong, that's not what you should imbibe. Stick to the keg of beer, that's dangerous enough for you, Sweetie!
2. "Just come up to my room for a minute" means only one thing and that ain't let me help you with your Calculus homework.
3. Yeah, everybody else is playin' the chugalug contest or the "Frazier/Friends/Seinfeld" bingo game, but that don't mean you need to.
4. That story about the pledge chokin' on his own vomit after the brothers took him upstairs to "sleep it off" is true.
5. I never met a drunk who was that good in bed, no matter how good he/she looks to you when you're drunk. You want a world-class, earth-movin', Memorable lay, one or two cocktails is about the limit. Forget the loser who thinks he's/she's a stud/vamp after you and he/she have had fifteen beers. She's/He's a legend in her/his own mind and you look beautiful as hell tonight but might just be Coyote Love material in the morning. She/He will be, too. It's just a matter who wakes up and chews their arm off first.
6. If you're a guy who didn't get deep into the drinking scene in high school, for whatever reason, don't believe that you gottah prove yourself now you're in college. You got a whole lifetime of drinkin' ahead of you. What's the rush? How many times do you want to tell that story about how you made a fool of yourself huggin' the porcelain throne all night? You think that will get you more chicks?

Here's the Lesson: Being an adult means you've got more stories about times you went out to a party and had a great time than times you embarrassed yourself, or your friends, and looked like a dumbass.

Until next time: Stay Hard.

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