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November 15, 2010 Edition

Dear Max:

I have a younger brother, and I can’t stand living under the same roof with him anymore. He drives me insane. He constantly says or does annoying things, accuses every other statement that comes out of my mouth of being racist, and can’t be bothered to do the slightest favor – I know we’re related and supposed to be at each other’s throats, but he’s still a dude. He needs to understand this in order to be around other girls when he’s older – girls appreciate when you don’t hog the computer or help them do chores.  Every time he opens his mouth, I want to go Kurt Cobain on myself. (Your mommy will know what that means.)

- Twisted Sister

Dear Twisted Sister:

I don’t have to ask Mommy: I know what you mean by wanting to go Kurt Cobain on yourself, and I know that’s a terrible idea. You mean you want to wear green cardigans and inflict the never-ending plague that is Courtney Love on the world. Don’t do it, T.S. Look, I’m down on all fours, begging you to show mercy.

(Okay, so I was down here already. I’m a dog. That doesn’t mean I’m being insincere.)

I wish you’d elaborated a little more on why he accuses everything you say of being racist, because that’s a bit confusing. It leads me to question why you’re writing in again, Mel Gibson, except that Mommy has barred me from making any more Mel Gibson jokes until 2015. That’s why I am absolutely, positively not mentioning Mel Gibson. I promise, Mommy. I won’t do it.

Little brothers exist to be annoying. Just be glad you only have one. I come from a litter of nine. Fight over the last teat sometime just to avoid going hungry, and you’ll really begin to appreciate sibling rivalry.

Meanwhile, try to be the bigger person. Take down your American History X poster. Remind him that you need the computer too, and that the gorgeous young woman he’s chatting with on Facebook most likely is actually Andy Dick.

And when in doubt, as Kurt would say, “Stay Away.”

Dear Max:

Is Billy Crystal right? Can men and women never be friends?

- Lyle

Dear Lyle:

Is Billy Crystal right? Well, sometimes he’s right. Is he always right? No. I mean, have you ever seen Mr. Saturday Night? My Giant? Memories of Me? Breaking Up is Hard to Do? Rabbit Test? Father’s Day? No? That’s okay. No one else has either.

Seriously, Billy Crystal’s been involved with more dogs than I have. And believe me, that’s a lot of dogs.

However, When Harry Met Sally is a classic, so reverence must be paid, and not just because that film provided closure to that huge demographic that had been waiting years to hear Rob Reiner’s mom make an orgasm joke.

You’re referring, of course, to Harry’s line that “men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.” These days, it would be more appropriate to clarify that as straight men and straight women. However, this movie came out back in 1989, when — as we all know — there were no gay people.

Can men and women never be friends? Of course they can. Why, look at some of the great male-female friendships in history: Timmy and Lassie.  Snoopy and Lucy. Me and Mommy. So the answer is YES.

(I hear you grumbling. I know, your question was about men and women, not dogs and women. It’s all the same, because all men are dogs. And wasn’t that Harry’s point in the first place?)

Dear Max:

This is Lili Von Shtupp. I am inthefade’s dog. I am throwing a MAJOR party when my owners go to California in September. We’re talking beer pong, Jell-o shots, dogs playing poker, giant bowls of Milk Bones…everything you could want. It would be awesome if you could come. Just keep it on the down low. My owners have been weird about me throwing parties ever since the “lost Chihuahua” incident.

Dear Lili:

That sounds like an awesome time. I’ll be there with bells on. I don’t want to wear the bells, mind you, but some dark-haired lady I won’t identify — let’s call her “Shanice Shane” — thinks it’s useful to have some auditory signal that a misplaced newspaper is about to be shredded by an adorable, if overly energetic, young stud. (Come on, who doesn’t like confetti?)

So keep a seat warm for me, and a nice, fresh spot in the backyard, while you’re at it. Let me just grab my calendar. It’s the middle of November, and your party’s coming up in… let’s see…


Oh, balls.

Damn you, mailman! Yet another letter arrives two months late!*

Man, I’ll tell you what. You bite a mailman one time, and suddenly, the entire mail system breaks down. Okay, just the mail system to my house. Also, I bit him three times. In my defense, the dude had a bacon double cheeseburger in his pocket the last time. He should have known better.

I’m very sorry I missed the bash, Lili. But maybe it’s for the best. When it comes to “beer pong” — no matter how hard I try, I can’t get a bottle of Heineken to land in one of the plastic cups.

The next time you play poker, though, I’m in, just as long as Cujo isn’t playing. I’ve never seen anyone more furious after catching a bad beat on his pocket aces. I’m all for a wild time, but I not pitching in to bribe Animal Control again. Plus, all that froth’s a real bitch to clean up.

*(What, you think don’t think I get snail mail? You believe in an advice-giving Shih Tzu, but snail mail is something you don’t buy? Really?)

Dear Max:

What is with all these 3D movies coming out? What does it mean for regular movies? Are they no longer good enough?

- Sad Face

Dear Sad Face:

First things first: You and I are going to need to talk about intellectual property rights. For example, I happen to own the copyright on Sad Face™.

Did I ever file the paperwork, you ask? Maybe not, but that’s simply a matter of discrimination. Apparently individuals of the Canine Persuasion aren’t allowed to simply roam the U.S. Copyright offices at will, and a certain someone I won’t name — let’s call her Candice Cain — thinks it would be “inappropriate” or “dishonest” or “illegal” to simply pretend to be a blind person and buy me a reflective vest so we could get in there.

I swear, it’s bigotry, pure and simple. Take a look at these big, brown eyes, especially when you’re eating anything in the general meat-based realm, and tell me I’m not the one and only Sad Face™! I’ve had enough of this. Down with Don’t Bark, Don’t Tell!

What were we talking about again? Oh, yeah: 3D movies. The answer is yes: Regular movies aren’t good enough anymore. You thought The Godfather was good, but only because you didn’t see James Caan getting shot to bits in 3D. That’s what that movie needed. You thought Michael’s hot little wife blowing up in Sicily was touching the first time? Imagine if her limbs came flying out of the screen! That’s three times the heartbreak!

But you you what works perfectly fine in two dimensions? Sarcasm.

And thank goodness for that.

Sad Face™ out.

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