The Luv Doc: Lactometer

Editor's Note: This "question" was originally submitted in Russian, so its original meaning might be somewhat erroneous due to the limitations of Google Translate. Even still, the Luv Doc refuses to let a nearly impenetrable language barrier, brutally comprehensive economic sanctions, or a geographic separation of several thousand miles deter him from his mission to provide terrible advice to people of all nationalities, regardless of their dubious moral standing. If Uncle Joe can fist bump Mohammed bin Salman and Michelle Obama can spoon hug George W., then certainly the Luv Doc can proffer advice to a humble Russian lactometer salesman.

Dear Luv Doc,

Would you like to buy a lactometer for your milk that also includes a thermometer and a hydrometer? Please to respond quickly with your full credit card information and mailing address.

– Most earnestly, Sdvillmekhe Sdvillmek

If you don't mind, I'm just going to call you "Ivan," because, quite frankly, your first name is a bit of a mouthful – at least po angliski. I have no doubt that in Cyrillic, "Sdvillmekhe" can probably fit easily on a hockey jersey or a toe tag, but here in Texas any name that drags on more than two syllables gets a nickname. It's why Beto is running against Greg for governor. If a Texan is calling someone Roberto or Gregory they're either sentencing them to prison or letting them know they better get their ass inside for supper. Anyway, kudos to you, Ivan, for overcoming such a profound disability to pursue your true passion: milk density.

I don't know where you land on milk density, Ivan, but I like my milk thick. Don't come at my flakes with that runnyass 2% reduced fat bullshit. I like some milk that takes its time oozing out of the jug … like toothpaste … or soft serve … or that refrigerated premade cookie dough the lazy parents always get. Yes, the same parents that buy 2%, because everybody's a goddamned vascular specialist these days. Well, guess what? My grandpa drank whole milk his entire life and he lived to the ripe old age of 62, when he died kneeling beside his tractor from a massive heart attack – probably caused by the suspense of waiting for his lunch milk to ooze its way out of his thermos.

Once I translated your email, Ivan, it got me thinking that if Grandpa had a lactometer he might have been able to measure the specific density of his lunch milk and thereby known exactly how long it would take to ooze out of the thermos, thus alleviating the anxiety that surely lead to his demise. I know there are some who might claim that a lifetime of rapacious ingestion of high-cholesterol foods – milk, eggs, cheeses, well-marbled steaks, huge slabs of bacon, and voluminous amounts of high-starch foods fried in the fat of that bacon, which was always kept in an open Folger's coffee can right next to the kitchen sink – might have clogged my grandpa's arteries with enough arterial plaque to kill a thoroughbred, but I am pretty sure that it was the viscosity of his milk and not the narrowness of his arteries that ultimately caused his demise.

I suppose there is a good chance one of your fancy Russian lactometers might well have saved my grandpa's life, but for me, Ivan, you're a day late and a ruble short. I can't be blowing good American dollars on high-tech Russian milk measurement devices on the eve of what all the conservative yellow journalists are saying will be a deep recession – one that will probably last until November 9, when the Democrats get slaughtered in the midterms because of the "terrible economy" and the insanely short memory of American voters. That said, I wish you well on your inspirational journey to success.