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April 21, 2006 Edition

Dear Max,

If you were a stripper, what would be your favorite songs to dance to? Also, would you oil up your fur or shave to get that glistening glazed doughnut look?


Dear Skidz,

I’m asked this all the time. What is it about my hairy 18 inches that suggests “stripper”? My play list would run something like this (and tell that DJ I want the full drop – not patron-cheating fadeouts at the 1:45 mark of every number!). Not for beat, but more for pure erotic insinuation: “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?” Then for beat and also band name: “Everybody’s Working for the Weekend.” Segue into “Dancing Queen” (don’t ask me why, but chicks sure dig them some ABBA, and it really separates them nicely from their tens and twenties); maybe showcase my dancing chops with “Vogue” (don’t ask me why, but guys who go to a male strip club sure dig them some Madonna); then, after verifying my bodyguards are still ringing the stage, “Knock, Knock, Knock on Wood.”

As to the look, it’s hard to know. Oil and dog fur don’t mix. Imagine what the tellers would say when they retrieve my drop-off from the night deposit box… all those slimy bills slid under my tight, barely-there collar. Filthy rich indeed. But every time I give myself a glistening glazed doughnut look, I share Narcissus’ affliction – I fall in love with my own reflection. Slather a little raspberry jelly on my belly and it’s fill-up-my-water-bowl and lock the doors; we’re on a one-way ride to Saturated Fat City. Besides, the graveyard-shift clerk at my Dunkin’ Donuts doesn’t respect me. Totally uncalled for! If I earned stripper money, maybe I’d put something more than half and half in his tip jar when he turns around.

Dear Max:

i recently having negative thoughts whether my partner is being truthful to me. for the past several weeks she hasnt been her self lately. when she says she going to call me or email she doesnt. im very overprotected about her but i must be over reacting.


Dear anika,

Sorry to hear that you’re stricken with suspicion and doubt, uncertain whether your significant other has other things on her mind, and having so much trouble with your keyboard. Jealousy is the green-eyed monster, Shakespeare said, but what’s even more horrifying to most people is an *absence* of jealousy: i.e., the person who’s totally cool that you’re flirting with someone else at the bar or going to the U2 concert with your old girlfriend or boyfriend. What fun is that? Then the question becomes how much is too much of a green-eyed thing. As someone who’s not afraid to reach up and pull half a sandwich off a plate set too close to the edge of a table, I favor the direct approach: don’t ask Max – ask her. Is something up that’s causing her not to keep those little commitments to communicate? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get you, as the bumper sticker says. Maybe it’s nothing, but the whole “She’s just not that into you” movement has a core truism: people’s behavior toward you means something. And if my momma puts garbage in my bowl, I don’t eat it. … Well, that’s a bad example, but you get the general point.

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