Luv Doc: Embarrassing Stupidity

Dear Luv Doc,

Over the years, you have dispensed a lot of really god-awful advice and, in the course of doing so, have defiled the back of the Chronicle with gratuitous profanity and, more often than not, embarrassing stupidity. Do you ever wake up in the morning and think, "What value am I contributing to the world?"

– Continually Dumbfounded

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As anyone who knows me would surely tell you, I am my own worst critic. So if you're going to start pissing in my qualitative punch bowl, you should know it's already dark as a blood orange and unsettlingly frothy. It also has the repulsive aroma of Okie trash-can meth.

Now, you might ask how I know the aroma of Okie trash-can meth. Here's how: research, motherfucker. I put in my time, and to be honest, anyone who has snorted a few rails of crystallized cat piss and played all-night bingo is probably worth listening to, even if you wouldn't want to invite them over to your house.

Look, I'm not saying that this column is the journalistic equivalent of The Four Agreements, but it has its moments. In writing, as in life itself, there's really no wrong way to go. OK, hold on. That deserves a caveat. There is a wrong way to go: Hitler. Hitler went wrong as fuck. Obviously an extreme example, but you have to admit, some choices are unilaterally bad while some just don't appeal to our aesthetic sensibilities. For instance, Red Hot Chili Peppers made something like 20 albums, but they never killed a single Jew. If a Jew died in an oven because of Red Hot Chili Peppers, it was a successful suicide.

I am at peace with the fact that there are certain people whose aesthetic sensibilities are offended by the Luv Doc. I could name names, but why be a dick? Besides, mainly they're offended by the way my advice is packaged (usually a literary flaming bag of poop, because I have a flair for the sensational), and not the advice itself.

Yes, there have been some mulligans – like the time I told a woman to burn her co-worker witch-style for bringing her chest cold into the office (she knew I was joking ... right?), or the time I told a woman to vomit in her car to keep her boss from mooching rides (probably didn't do the research on that one), or the time I told a woman the best way to get a guy's attention is to grab his crotch. (While that is pretty much indisputable in a practical sense, in a legal sense it is assault, which comes with certain legal ramifications – or so my daughters tell me.) So my bad on that one, too, but all in all, I would say I am batting at least .261 on good advice, which, in baseball parlance, is slightly above average. You're welcome, world. And remember, if you don't have a paper, just put this in your browser: austinchronicle.com/columns/the-luv-doc.