advice from a mad heiress
dear mad heiress,
what qualities do you look for in a live-in sniper?
sleepless in district k9-13, outer manhattan
beyond the obvious (references, clean stimtest, serial number and license), i do a periph vision check, run a trace on digit spool history (inlcuding pers apps), and look for evidence of ageism in targetting preference. they have to mix well with drones and with my suite of robotics. make sure to have them fire off a round or two while you walk from room to room. you don't want to incur the added expense of retrofitting them with an aftermarket silencer. the best pers protection is the kind you don't even notice, i always say.
oh, and for the holidays, splurge and buy them a few hundred sub-sonic, booster stage reentry rounds. (i favor the toys+ nightgaunt infiltration brand). they will love you forever.
dear mad heiress,
a turkish diplomat put his hand on my antennae. what should i do?
shy shoggoth in fresno
i went to lithuanian hall and john waters was there.
bewildered in baltimore
first of all, do not panic. most american maverick auteurs are only violent if cornered or denied the final cut. we're not counting sam peckinpah here. however, if an additional american director, say david lynch, should be spotted in the same vicinity, proceed in an orderly fashion to the exit. if you are within walking distance of a government-sanctioned fallout shelter, go there immediately. do not attempt to drive on the main roads. avoid busy intersections. much like the epic battles of godzilla and mothra, encounters between acclaimed american art film directors can result in devasting collateral damage for those within the immediate vicinity.
she's 17 and i'm 124. how young is too young?
ageless in elysium
if you've had a complete subdermal retrofit, all bets are off. enjoy!
lately i have been receiving baffling commentary in regards to the considerable cloth yardage i cloak myself in on a regular basis to support my delicate frame. how much is too much?
i am reminded of my dear uncle edgar, who, upon losing a bet with a shadowy slav aboard a steamship, hiked his way across the russian taiga in 1953. on this journey, he cloaked himself in seventeen layers of fabric, fur, and wool. by the end of his great trek, only three layers remained. six he traded in exchange for provisions. four he ate. three he used to fashion primitive shelter, and one he could not account for. the other three hang proudly on my family’s wall, a reminder of edgar’s timeless achievement. the lesson remains as true today as it was then: one can never have too many cloaks.
i never know what exclamations to use around the young people with whom i work. help?
we've all been there. with that in mind, here's a quick list of exclamations that today's youth are not using:
by bertolt brecht’s paper-thin moustache!
crustless sandwiches of terror, i cannacht go through with it!
well, i’ll be bejeweled, like an upright wigger!
blazes, my signal-to-noise ratio is absolute toffee!
of ice barges and velvet poo sticks!
i’ve got a bad case of post-grunge tugboat captain fever!
hot molasses banjo bojangles! i feel a free-form interpretive wind dance comin' on!
so, at least now you know what not to say, which is a start. my personal fallback is "spooljack captain. razzle fanfic haze in a post-hashtag counter-hashtag landscape. artisinal beard." it's oblique enough to make most people wonder if they too should be using it. say it like you mean it!
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