August 26, 2002 Naked, Soapy Girls & America: A Nation of Fat Fucks

Dear Readers, It's so nice to know you folks are so concerned about my well being that when I disappear for a week I get inundated with emails asking, "Where the fuck are you, you lazy ass?" If you all really care to know this summer has been packed full of drama. Death is everywhere (like flies on the windscreen, for a start). Now I'm not a mewling sissy when it comes to death-- I like to believe I have a much more realistic grasp on the fleeting nature of life than most-- but a person cannot help but be deeply touched while standing in the veterinary office watching the last glint of life slip from a beloved pet's eyes. Something about that experience made me feel decidedly uncheeky last week, so cut me some slack. And please don't assail me with stories about your own pet's passing. If you must reflect, think of all the joy and love he/she/it brought you and feel fortunate you had that in your life. That's what works for me. Now on to the petty details of life.... Ken!

Dear Ken!, Im going in to high school and im worried about taking showers with other guys, what do you do u cant avoid seing the other guys penis. What is you recomendation? Fustrated

Dear Fustrated, What, exactly, are you afraid of? That one glimpse of another guy's sausage will magically transform you into a cock sucking man-whore? You'll see dong and plenty of it but so will everyone else and they'll be just as weirded out. It's a fact of life in freshman gym class. Millions of boys before you have survived this experience and you will, too. But if you can't get your mind off the matter just remind yourself that nearby in a very similar locker room is an entire class of naked, soapy girls, their bodies glistening under the hot water. Just don't think about that too much before you hit the showers. Ken!

WHAT IS GREEN MONEY MADE OUT OF?

Green money is made of people, it's made of peeeeeople! Ken!

Dear Ken, My daughter is 13 and is pushing me for a bra. I don't want to let her by one yet since she doesn't have very big breasts what should I do? Wonder Mom

Dear Wonder Mom, My mom had me in a bra by the time I was twelve but then again she had some issues and couldn't come to terms with the fact that I was a boy. If there's one thing I've learned about raising children is that you've got to pick your battles and let everything else slide. Save your objections for when it really counts, like when she starts wearing short skirts and hanging out at the biker bar. Ken!

Dear Ken!, We believe we have come across a site that has plagarized you... see here: http://XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.XXX look for dear rusty and no puffin' please... we are concerned journalists... we would hate to have our stuff plagarized and don't want to see it happen to anyone else... l-a., j & r

Dear l-a, j & r, Thanks for covering my ass. Figuratively, of course. As it turns out the advice columnist at the site used 70% recycled material and while I'm all for recycling, this goes a little far. I don't do this for the money. Ask Ken! is strictly a personal endeavor built not on bucks but blood, sweat and tears. Stealing money is one thing but stealing a person's thoughts and feelings is something very different. The editor of the publication in question pleads ignorance and promises action will be taken. All I want is an apology. As a reward I will be sending you a photo of my ass so you many not only cover it figuratively but also literally. (And when you see the photo I'm certain you'll want to cover it. Remember, I'm not wearing a gorilla costume, that's all Ken!, baby!) Ken!

Dear Ken!, Suddenly I turned around and realized the uptight ass in line in front of me WAS ME. What happened here Ken? Before getting married I was a carefree rebel who postponed use of any lawn and garden implement in favor of 18 holes of golf, 12 cold beers, and a Saturday of college football. I mean, it was only 12 short years ago the city fined me for an unkempt front yard! I used to enjoy things and now I actually get up on Saturday morning and wash the friggin' sheets. Sheets! They only used to get washed every four months. My theory is that I am surrounded by too many women (2 business partners and a wife). It's like sensory overload with the "let's talk about this?" and let's "clean up a bit" and let's "not say what we are really thinking" and "do you really think the bathroom is clean?". Help me regain my manhood Ken. Surely there must be other married guys who feel the same. Twelve years of quicksand is taking it's toll. Where did the guy go that I loved so much. The little kid in me has been beaten back by the females. Someone throw me a line! The Eunich Formally Known As Chris

Dear Chris, Recently I was reading this article in some mouthpiece of the Bush administration political magazine about why America is a nation of fat fucks and it made an interesting point (one of the few): for millions of years humans have subsisted on a feast or famine diet. Only recently have we had greasy burgers available every two blocks. Our ancestors took what they could get when they could get it. Food wasn't plentiful so when the hunt was good everyone ate as much as they could knowing it may be a long, long time before that would happen again. It was a matter of sheer survival and it became part of our survival instinct. Now, despite being buried under a mountain of salty snacks (and the corresponding flavored sugar water to wash them down), that eat-as-much-as-you-can-while-it's-available instinct still kicks in. It reminded me that deep down, despite our fancy suits, shiny sports cars and potentially emasculating women friends we're still animals. Somewhere in there we still have the instinct to run wild and howl at the moon. If millions of years cannot quench these instincts certainly nothing in this modern world could do so. Take some time to run wild, run free. Howl at the moon. Dig in the dirt. Eat with your hands. Golf 18 holes with a couple six packs stashed in your bag. Let a little of that primal instinct rise to the surface. After all it served our ancestors well. Ken!

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