My partner and I recently went pro at women’s beach volley ball. We made it to the finals, but the competition was fierce. I was worried they’d beat us. I knew whoever won that tournament would also get a bikini endorsement and I wanted that money, so when the opportunity came to drug our opponents drinks right before the match, I took it.
We won, two games to one.
The only problem is, now I feel guilty. Suggestions?
–Setter in Seattle
I can understand why you would feel guilty. The other team was drugged and it still took you three games to beat them. Not only should you feel guilty, you should be ashamed.
I suggest that next time you consider using stronger drugs or train harder. Probably both.
I’m normally a very quiet guy. I don’t go out much and my dating history with women was bleak, unless you count when I went to my senior prom with my twelve-year-old cousin. Of course, after less than an hour she left me for one of the guys in the band.
That all changed a week ago when I met “Jane.” She was a freshman at the local college. She was blond and built like a centerfold. Jane was even a cheerleader in high school.
I was out in a local bar and when she picked me up, I could barely believe it. I was in heaven. A gorgeous girl was interested in me. We had a whirlwind romance. I took her out to all the best fast food restaurants, sent her a dozen carnations every day—you know swept her off her feet.
Then at the end of the week it happened—we did the deed. I rocked her world for a good four minutes! I know, because every minute I stopped to look at the clock. I’ve got to tell you, I finally felt like a man, which at 44 was probably long overdue.
The next day is when the problems started. I called her at least twenty times that morning and another thirty that afternoon and she didn’t return a single one. Things went on like that for another three days until she showed up at my apartment, a scarf wrapped around her head and sunglasses on.
She wanted to talk to me. Jane was pledging a sorority and her hazing included having to sleep with me. She said that everything that happened meant nothing. In fact, she was embarrassed about what happened and she never wanted to be seen with me again. I didn’t even rate the “let’s be friends” speech. No, she told me I was creeping her out and to stop calling or she’d call the cops.
Looking back, I should have insulted her or spit in her face, then yelled at her to get out. Maybe tell her how much money I was going to make selling the video of her naked on the internet. (She hadn’t noticed the camera.) But I tend to follow my emotions first and my head second, so I kind of ended up strangling her.
My emotions still running the show, I decided the best way to get rid of the body was to cut her up into little pieces and flush them down the toilet. I tried my gonzo knives. They may cut through a tin can, but human bones are another thing. I ended up buying a hacksaw and an industrial size food processor.
The disposal worked pretty good, up until the end. I admit I got lazy and started putting larger pieces down the crapper than I should have, but I had been slicing and flushing for fourteen hours straight and I was tired.
I ended up plugging the toilet. I tried plunging, even poured a gallon of Liquid Plunger down, but nothing happened. I’m worried that if I call a plumber, he’ll figure out what happened. At the very least he’ll ask why the water in the bowl is purple. (Its normal blue mixed with all the blood and it turned that color.)
What can I do to clean out my pipes?
–Backed Up In Baltimore
Dear Backed Up,
Cthulhu would again like to state his policy that humans should not kill people, Cthulhu should. But as it is too late in this case, I order you to never do it again and I will overlook it this once.
I suggest going to your local hardware store and purchasing a tool called a snake. You will be able to work it through the pipe and it should clear the blockage.
I also suggest canceling your plans to sell the video on the web. It would eventually lead law enforcement to your door asking questions you would not want to answer.
I am eight years old and have lost my best friend Wags. We’ve looked everywhere, but haven’t been able to find him.
Mr. Cthulhu, I’m desperate. Do you know where my dog is?
–Lonely in LA
As a matter of fact, I do. A pity you did not actually ask me to tell you where your dog was. Write in again if you really want to know, but I recommend you hurry. Poor Wags does not have much time left.
Have a Dark Day.
Dear Cthulhu welcomes letters and questions at DearCthulhu@dearcthulhu.com. All letters become the property of Dear Cthulhu and may be used in future columns. Dear Cthulhu is a work of fiction and satire and is © and ™ Patrick Thomas. All rights reserved. Anyone foolish enough to follow the advice does so at their own peril.