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Bitter Love 1999
After four years of writing this column, I feel that the salutation "Hey Breeder" is due for retirement. It just doesn't have the shock value it once had. But instead of dropping the salutation altogether, like some alternative sex advice columnists, I'll let you address me however you want ÷ and I'll address you however I want. Here goes: Hey Asswipe! I was dumbfounded to learn that, as of this year, dogs are not welcome at Burning Man, and that anyone who dares bring one will be charged an additional admission fee. Why am I writing to a sex-advice column about this? Because my situation is unique. You see, my so-fine canine is my sex partner! Now, I know what you're thinking, but really, it's not like that. My poochie-cooch and I have a very tender, loving, mutually-satisfying relationship, that happens to go a little further than your average pet/master dynamic. I just can't bear to leave my little "golden reliever" for six whole days (and nights!) but forking over another $100 feels like I'm getting the shaft. What should I do? Puppy Lover Hey Muttfucker: You are one sick puppy. Don't get me wrong ÷ I'll be the first to admit that I've had my share of gravy train on my dick. But there's a line between adolescent experimentation and all-out bestial perversion, and buddy, you just crossed it. I mean really, a dog may be a man's best friend, and it may be okay to fuck your best friend (if you get him drunk enough), but the equation isn't exactly transitive, if you get my drift. It's a dog-eat-dog world, my friend, not a dog-eat-man world, and not only is this behavior frowned upon in the civilized world, it's not too cool at Burning Man either. So I'd recommend leaving your cocksucker spaniel at home with a trusted friend ÷ someone who won't take unfair advantage of the situation. And if you insist on bringing her, you'll have to pay for your bitch like the rest of us. Hey Fuckface! I'm a single, female, 25-year-old professional in the Nevada area, and ever since the "ranch" I was working at shut down, I've been out of a job. A friend of mine suggested I'd get lots of business at Burning Man, but I'm not sure how to go about it. Any advice? Desert Escort Hey Desperate Whore: First of all, you cheap fucking tart, there's no commerce allowed at Burning Man, and that includes illegal commerce. But that doesn't stop the drug dealers, so why should it stop you? That said, any city of 25,000 should have a red-light district, and if Black Rock City has one, I'll bet it's on Venus, around 4:00 or so. There will be a whole pork farm of cops this year though, so be discreet. If you're paranoid of being arrested for selling your nasty body like so much fish 'n' chips, you can always barter. Try making a big sign that says "Will Fuck For Food." Or, if it's not food you need, but say, a big diamond ring or whatever, you can trade sexual favors for just about anything. Then you're not really a hooker. You're just a smart girl. Lastly though, I should warn you that prostitution is a dangerous business ÷ it's a jungle in the desert, and you need someone to take care of you, sugar. I'll find you good customers, I'll give you a roof over your head and sexy street clothes, and I'll protect your ass from the wackos and creeps. And because I'm a fair kind of guy, I'll give you half of everything you make. So meet me at the cafˇ in Central Camp at midnight, or else my friend Guido and his goons will see to it that you never work again ÷ at least not without a paper bag over your head. Hey Felch Breath: I'm a studly, washed-up rock star who's married to a bimbo TV actress with big titties. At Burning Man a couple of years ago, we shot a porno of ourselves going at it for a fewe hours. I thought it was clear that the movie was just for our own personal enjoyment, but somehow it ended up on the Internet, and now everyone who's anyone has seen it. Now, I'm
ashamed to show my face at Burning Man. Some of my friends and former bandmates Anonymous Hey Tommy: Get a life, loser. No wonder everyone hates you. Confidential to Spencer T: Listen, you nutcase, I didn't get naked for you on the streets of New York and I'm not going to get naked for you in the desert, either. I've told you a million times that I was drunk that night and I don't even remember taking a bubble bath with you. So leave me alone and find some other chumps for your stupid picture. Got a question for Dan Bitter? Keep it to yourself, asshole! |
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Hey Everyone:
(I quit because they wouldn't leave me the fuck alone about the movie) told me
that most men wouldn't give a shit. Well, I suppose it wouldn't be a big deal
if it weren't for the fact that I am EXTREMELY WELL HUNG. I mean, like a horse.
So how can I have a normal conversation with people in the desert when they're
standing there, picturing my UNBELIEVABLY HUGE MEMBER underneath my shorts?
Please help me.
