The better question would be, what are you doing right? Are you offering to cook him dinner on the first date? Are you more concerned with wearing the right apron as opposed to wearing the right shoes. (Note: 50% of all men will not care what kind of shoes you wear so long as they do not have spurs that you use to dig into his side. The other 50% are simply opposed to you wearing shoes at all.)

One other possible stumbling block to you finding a date may be your standards—you need to lower them. Once you are married you will be inundated with the smells of sweaty armpit hair flowing freely in the gale of his beer-bellied belches. Why not actively look for such a fine specimen of manhood right now? Why date a larva who may or may not become a butterfly, when you can assure yourself of a lightbulb-loving moth right now? Do it—look for a big, fat, nasty man whose hairline is retreating like the French in a war. This will guarantee you a date, and his wife will be more than happy to let you have him permanently, or at least lease him for 3 years or 30,000 bodily functions.

My first inclination is to suggest a gag doused in alcohol and a 24 hour guard armed with shaving cream and a megaphone. But since when giving advice I usually feign deep pensive thought for a full 30 seconds, I will give you another alternative. When your “loved one” nags, “Bill, throw out the trash!”, or “Can you PLEASE help out with the laundry!” or, “For Christ’s sake, for the LAST TIME, bail out your brother--he’s been locked up for a MONTH ALREADY!”, all you need to do is respond, “Okay, but did you see the one-day sales at Dillard's?” This will divert her attention long enough for you to concoct your C.A.N. (Counter-Attack Nag). Then you blast back in a voice equally as pain-inducing as her bloodied-fingernails-on-the-chalkboard-screams, “Yeah, but did YOU do what I asked? Did you compile all of the players’ statistics for today’s game? Did you? No! It’s always you, you, YOU! Not to mention, I thought we were going to set aside an hour today for quality time with just you and my bellybutton. What happened? And you never rub my butt anymore. How am I supposed to fall asleep if you don’t rub my butt? And you know I like it done counter-clockwise in concentric circles- last time you purposely went in the other direction! You are so selfish. Sometimes I wonder why I let you cook, clean, and do my taxes for me.” This strategy, the C.A.N., will get her so enraged that she will stop nagging and immediately begin packing her bags and mumble something about moving in with her mother. Rest assured, now when she nags you, you will have the ability to hang up the phone. I hope that helps.

First of all, what is so embarrassing about adjusting one’s frontal wedgee while walking in the mall? Why are you so easily embarrassed? Is it because your mother never discussed with you the ways in which a woman stays fresh, even on those "heavy days"? Despite this childhood trauma, you should be able to overcome and be a proud independent "natural scent" woman. In any case, modifying another human being’s behavior is a difficult task. In some cases, the change in comportment can be achieved by presenting a small biscuit each time he chooses the socially desired option. In other cases however, the man may be more resistant, in which case behavior modification may require a bed equipped with leather-straps and a water faucet overhead with a slow yet steady drip. In most situations though, it is easiest to adapt one’s own lifestyle to the annoying quirks in your partner. Learn (through meditation or guzzling vegetable drinks) to not only accept your nub’s behavior, but to also find his pulling at his groin in public to be attractive. Soon, instead of finding that repulsive, you will say, "Ooh that’s sexy. Pick that underwear from the crevices of your scrotum baby." Now you’re both happy.

Yes. When a woman is involved, nothing is guaranteed-- except of course that she will want you to get up to open the window just when you have fallen into a deep sleep. GSA is beautiful in theory. Nub says to his bim, "Woman, will there be GSA tonight?" If she says yes, then nub knows not to do his usual 3-4 hours of "research" on the Internet. If she says no, then it is safe to play the usual games of begging and pretending to be sensitive. GSA is a beautiful thing. If bim tells her nub that today there will be GSA, then the entire day is good. Imagine leaving for work in the morning knowing that SA is G! Amazing! It puts the world in a whole new perspective- kind of like the 60’s except without the assassinations and hairy armpits. But yes, it is only a myth. Some women claim GSA would ruin the spontaneity. HA!! And double HA! (read: ha ha). What is so spontaneous about me bathing in cat pheromones and wearing my George Clooney mask everytime I want SA? Gosh.

Jerry, I will explain this in terms any nub can understand. You know how you’ve seen many a pair of bosoms, yet everytime a NEW pair of naked bosoms are presented you will STILL look. You will even look if you know can not purchase them. This same demented relationship exists between women and shoes. Just as us nubs would like a different pair of boobies for each occasion and social function-bims want shoes. Also remember women have many more colors than men. She needs shoes to match every outfit. So a color we perceive as “red”, to her may be “wine”, or “apple”. As men we can only see a few colors: red, blue, green, black, white, yellow, and miscellaneous. Most of your bim’s shoes will fall into this last category. Don’t fight her obsession with shoes and don’t try to help either. This is her affair. Just bring a magazine when you go shoe shopping. Sometimes it’s fun to play announcer. Usually the poor shoe-jockey will bring her the 64 pairs of heels she requested. Then you can give the play-by-play as shoe by shoe gets eliminated until the Sweet Sixteen tournament and then the Final Four. Don’t be discouraged though when the last pair of shoes finally wins and she sighs, “Oh, these just aren’t the ones.” It’s okay, put away the battle-axe and unclench your hand from her neck. This was her version of say, Ski-ball. She enjoyed the process. You were patient. This should translate to GSA (Guaranteed Sexual Activity), but as we have previously learned, it will not.

Clearly Jen, you are not in a long-term relationship. Cooking is more important. Sex gets old and sex gets boring. But no man ever tires of his woman cooking him a home-cooked meal. Ever encounter a disgruntled husband who moaned, “Man, my woman just cooks too much. It’s the same thing every night---juicy steak done medium rare, with mashed potatoes, home-baked bread, corn on the cob, and apple pie with crispy crust. Golly, I wish she would chill out and throw me a frozen dinner some times--- I can’t get enough of those freezer-burn-peas.”?

Ancient Saying: “It don’t matter how you look, as long as you can cook.” (Note: Sayings always carry more weight when they are “ancient.” I would have given the Chinese version, because Ancient CHINESE Sayings seem to be the MOST credible, but I have a feeling that some people might get offended by what Confusedus said: “It don’t matter how you “rock”, if you got mad skillz with the wok.”) Tip: A man loves a woman who has more recipes than pieces of lingerie. Or at least I do. If you can cook, email me--my bimancee is out of town and, uh, I’ve got the stove if you’ve got the oven-mitts. :)

Your nub is not a domesticated animal to be “tamed”. He is a wild beast that must hunt, gather, plunder, and pillage---not to mention pick, flick, crank, and spank. By nature he is a ferocious mammal that only recently learned to walk upright (and this done grudgingly). His spear has been replaced by a television remote control. His abilty to start a fire has been replaced by an ability to keep himself warm at night by expulsion of internal flames under the covers. Instead of tearing apart a leopard with his bare hands and using the skins to make you a coat, his hands tap furiously on a computer keyboard, garnering a paycheck that, well, still ends up getting you a coat, or ear-muffs, or shoes, or a handbag . . . You are not a circus-trainer and your man does not need to be tamed. (Note: this does not apply to Lithuanians whose family business includes trapeze lessons for the kids and outrageous insurance premiums on the Elephants.) Let your nub be. Consider it a victory if you can get him to come when you call, retrieve the paper when it’s 30 below, roll over when you knee him in the back, and to stop “going” on the floor.

John, John, John. Don’t you know the things that make bims happy? Sales, flowers, fluffy animals, and smelly-good soaps. Throughout the history of the Universe, man has wondered why women are fascinated with smelly-good soap. In fact, many such men became pirates and went on long sea-journeys just to avoid women and their soaps. (But of course such men were really stinky, developed close relationships with colorful birds, and were subordinate to guys who limped with wooden legs and an eye-patch.) What would you rather put up with: stubble-faced men whose body odor resembled Richard Simmons’ ass after a work-out and who wore queer pants and ear-rings, or a young lady who enjoys a scented facial cleanser? Yeah, so she’s got the facial cleanser, the body bath, the armpit soother, the skin conditioner, the foot shampoo, and pre-make-up, pore-opening creme made from the natural reproductive fluids of African monkeys---if it makes her happy . . . And so what if she’s covering up the scent of HER sweat with the sweat of tortured cats? Don’t forget there’s also aloe-vera, hemp-seed extract, and snake venom in the formula---and your woman is the credit-card paying guinea-pig because it’s never been tested on animals! So John, just bite your lip, bear it, and spend any left over bacon bits on an overpriced autographed baseball from a guy who has more acne than a teenager locked overnight in a chocolate factory.

No she didn’t. A man’s bim does not fart. Period. Maybe before you got together she farted, but now that she’s in love she does not fart. If she persists by apologizing, simply deny it. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”, she cries. Your response: “What? Hey, what’s the weather supposed to be like?” (Just pray she doesn’t answer with “strong winds from the south.”) Never EVER admit to yourself that your woman could possibly pass wind. The truth is “The family that farts together, parts forever.” Viagra would never have needed to have been invented if nubs didn’t use the bathroom while their woman was carameling on the can. I don’t care what kind of sexy lingerie she wears, a man can’t get excited about a do-it with his woman, if when he closes his eyes, that picture of her letting out a blaring butt-belch is burnt into his brain like the “Game Over” in the screen of an old video game.

Ah yes, the old nub-who-seems-to-want-me-back syndrome. There is a simple and direct reason that he is suddenly talking to you again: food. He misses your home cooked meals. I’m surprised it took him this long. Maybe that’s because the only bim who can burn a burrito in the microwave. (Don’t be offended, I’ve done that plenty of times-but then again I’ve been diagnosed with brain damage.) You should use your investigative skills to determine if he really wants YOU back, or your food-preparing abilities. During phone conversations does he always manage to work in references to your tender thighs and juicy breasts- especially when you put them in that sauce that you make so well. Does he consistently refer to you as his little honeybun, little bbq wing, or little rib-eye steak done medium rare with a side of curly fries? These are clues. Take him back anyway. But make your demands now. These can include holding your purse at the mall, wearing a shirt that proclaims: “I’m whipped but well-fed”, and 45 minute daily trips to the smelly-good soap store where he must buy you lotions, cremes, and scented flowers while walking around barefoot and reciting non-rhyming love-poetry from memory (and not any “love-poetry” by DMX, Two Live Crew, or any one else who utilizes the word “jiggy”. Then when your nub starts to slip, just remind him of how hungry he was without you. Show him a picture of a starving child sitting in a pile of donkey-dung with a poverty-pot belly and say, “keep it up, and that will be YOU!” Cooking is power. And a woman in an apron is better than a woman in lingerie any day.

Just a year! Big deal! If you are a BFN (Big Fat Nasty) with no cooking skills than MAYBE you should stay with him. But if you do not fall into that category then you need to go to the Mall of Men (located in San Francisco) and find yourself a new nub. Why would you want to be with someone who didn’t make you feel like the super talented, gorgeous person you aren’t? See, that’s what makes a “partner” special. They make you feel fabulous even if you’re only a semi-hilarious loser with a web site who suffers from the occasional flare-up of testicular acne. I love you Mrs. Potato-Head (Random “I Love You” #1). Anyway, you probably met this nub at the bar and decided to date him because he was the one with the least armpit-afro showing from his cut-off sweatshirt. I once had a pair of socks for 14 years (much longer than your measley one-year relationship). I loved those socks. But they started smelling realling bad-like choke me with a dung-stained horse-shoe bad. Then they got a hole in the toe. Then the elastic wore out. Then they got up in the middle of the night and tried to sexually molest me. So I had to think-is that what I got these socks for?-to be rancid, inneffective feet-covering that try to attack my naked body while I sleep? No! Apply that to your relationship . . . your nub is like a multi-colored tube sock with a bad attitude-Useless! Your socks should make you feel good and keep you warm at night-not as if your standing in a swampy cess-pool of your own urea.

Woah (an ancient Native American phrase for a feeling of consternation, or surprise-it also means Hello, Goodbye, Peace, and Moccasin with Magic Velcro), why SHOULD you forget about the ex? Clearly she did something for you that the current bim does not. But as we all know from the wisdom of Grandma Harriet, “you always want what you can’t have. The grass is always greener on the other side. Break it up with a stick until you find it.” You must analyze the situation. Do you still want your old bim? Did she have the mad cooking skillz? Was she hot under the apron? But is that enough to sustain a healthy relationship? (It is for me, because I define a healthy relationship by a balance of the 6 food groups: bread, milk, vegetables, fruit, meat, and bbq wings.) So, make note of whatever your old bim gave you that you’re not getting from your new bim. Then every day, make a checklist and constantly compare her to your old flame. (Women love this. They thrive on competition and will claw out the eyes of any bitch trying to steal their bird from their nest.) Then when your woman starts to make a list comparing you to her old nub, she will be reminded why she chose YOU in the first place. Because you are more compassionate, more loving, more sensitive, more willing to help with the chores, have a jammee that does NOT resemble an undernourished Cauliflower-uh, wait a second, if you think you might match up about as favorably as Leonardo DeCaprio challenging a NAVY SEAL to a fistfight, then we should rethink this strategy. Ok, tell your bim that you love her, but during intimate encounters you would like her to wear an ex-bim mask. The mask has the picture of your ex-bim but has a hole for your new bim’s mouth. She may find this crass at first, but just explain that you kiss with your eyes closed anyway, so while your kissing HER, you won’t even remember you’re trying to think about another girl until you open your eyes. Ok, no, that’s stupid advice. I got it. You actively stalk and KILL your ex-bim and then, naturally, your conscience will force you to suppress this vicious act of violence, and in turn, you will forget that this evil bim ever existed. Then you can proudly tell your new lady that she has NOTHING to worry about. You murdered the ex, and now you are ready to live your life with the one you love-unless of course she turns on you like the last girl-then you’ll have to hunt her down like a fleeting doe under the scope of your rifle. Then kiss her on the forehead and wish her a good-night. Happiness is a warm gun-so says my Grandma Harriet (who ironically, is a 8 time widower.)

Tip #1, it is usually not the best idea to ask a man whose name is Hog-Wild about questions in the realm of etiquette. But, being a business entre-manure, I know how one is SUPPOSED to act. So let’s say there’s 5 of you, three with your company and two from the client’s company at this lunch. You start gagging like you were Linda Blimp and you swallowed your nose. Your face is turning blue. Your eyes begin to look like a water-color painting. You feel your soul begin to exit your physical body. What should you do? Well, if this was a FAMILY lunch, sure, you would grab the water pitcher and pour it over your head just to bring attention to you state of uncomfortable death. But in a BUSINESS setting, this comportment is totally inappropriate. You never want to draw attention to yourself. Who are you to be so selfish as to choke on a large piece of veal parmesan, when you KNEW you’re supposed to chew each piece 1,000 times. Drawing the focus away from the discussion and towards your pathetic swan dive under the table would be very obnoxious-almost as bad as excusing yourself and leaving your used linen napkin on TOP of the table-UGH! So Thomas, the PROPER thing for you to do, would be to 1) recognize that you are a TEAM PLAYER, 2) team players do not compromise the team in ANY situation, 3) take one last deep breath of garlic and hot peppers, and 4) politely wave good-bye and shake hands with your associates as you slump down in your seat to exit this world and enter that big executive office in the sky-you know, the one that has a leather recliner with built-in heating massage and toilet facilities-you’ll never wear pants to work again! So in the immortal words of O.J. Simpson, “Don’t be a little bitch, Die Quietly!”

Q16: My mother keeps nagging me over stupid irrelevant things in life, like just because I won't wear a Polo shirt she bought for me I'll screw up my life because I make wrong decisions. How do I put an end to her boring detailed complaints when I really don't give a rat's ass about what she's saying? Liz from Hanoverton, OH

Hi Liz. Shut up for a second and start enjoying being 15 or 16 or whatever age you are. Because when you’re an old man like me (I’ll be 73 at the turn of the Fall Equinox), you’ll wish you had your mom hanging around to nag you about silly things. She’s right you know. If you don’t wear the proper shirt, you could be ostracized from society--or even worse--hired as Assistant Fashion Manager at J-Mart. Shirts have long been a symbol of status in our civilized world. The button-down, white collar symbolizes financial success but with a cost of conformity. The blue collar shirt symbolizes a hard-work ethic, and a do-it-yourselfer. And then of course there is the stained-shirt collar which represents Jeremy the Bloated Jew and his refusal to wear a bib while scraping his tongue along the spaghetti plate. So choose wisely my young, yet loyal (and I suspect limber) lady-friend. And stop smoking! You know it’s bad for you! And I don’t care what Tina told you, DON’T DO ECSTACY-you never know what kind of crap they pollute it with (even if you’re sure it’s good because you’re getting it through your best friend’s cousin’s neighbor who’s dad is a cop.) And finally my impressionable, rebellious, teenage-princess-I know you don’t give a rat’s ass about what she’s saying-that’s because she probably delivers her “important tidbits of knowledge” in a high-pitched yodel that makes Gilbert Gottfried sound like a soothing ocean tide. Who the heck wants to be yelled at? So MY advice to you is when your mom starts yelling like a naked baboon who has just been introduced to a mirror and has consequently discovered the hideous look of his own ass-you calmly respond with two words: “Bite it.” Most likely her countenance will turn to stone, then fire, then her eye-sockets will crack open like raw eggshells, right before she grabs the nearest toilet-cleaning-tool to go NYPD on you. So unfortunately, since you are living under her roof, you must deal or face the consequences. Just threaten her like I always did to my mom: treat ME bad now, and I’ll treat YOU bad later-like when you’re old and stuff and you need to be taken care of by a “personal assistant”, instead of me letting you live in my home like most family-oriented sitcoms--I’m going to trade you to a roving band of Mexican Glue Bandits looking for some old bones to grind into adhesives for the black market. Usually that made my mom straight---well, that and her fear of Grandma ever seeing that compromising video I found of her and dad.

First of all, wanting your bim to dress up in a uniform for sex is one thing-that can be cool-- but a bus driver? That’s sick! Who the hell wants their fine lady to look like a lard-assed, mass-transit operator, specializing in long-term sedentary travel? Get her to dress up like a nurse, or a secretary, or an elderly lion-tamer. Second, if you’ve been married for any length of time and she’s still willing to do-it, that means she’s yet to discover the repugnant, puke-inducing man that you are-that’s good! The problem with most marriages is, that after a short while of living together, the woman who pledged her life to you finds your hidden stack of magazines that target men aged 18-65 who enjoy post-operative well-endowed women in bikinis. Then she learns that you consider the actual toilet-water to be only a “suggestion” on where to aim your morning’s full bladder. The more intimate knowledge she acquires about you, the more she finds you about as attractive as a poorly-groomed Siberian Husky in the middle of a major bowel movement. Consider yourself lucky she still even WANTS to do-it! Besides, why would you want her to be on top anyway? It just makes it that much harder to reach the remote. Give up on this one and concentrate your argumentative energies on the more important aspects of your marriage, like the division of the chores and whether or not it is okay to stick the bar of soap in your butt while taking a shower.

You’re right. He does love that computer more than you. And who could blame him?! His computer is properly referred to as a “system” if it is bombastic. Just like if your stereo is wack, it is a “radio”, but if it has CD, Tape, 18 different equalizer presets, 2 mic inputs for karaoke, and can pick up short wave radio transmission from Tokyo, it is a “system.” Think about it. His System can play movies, calculate complex mathematical equations, and store up to 84,138 pictures of nude women--- can you do that? No. You can’t even calculate the sales tax at the department store, much less show a movie across your forehead. But K, I WILL help you. You need to offer him something his computer can not. Food. True, he can most likely bake a potato on top of the monitor (but make sure you apply the butter AFTER you remove it from the monitor or else the screen can get cholesterol problems), but only YOU can make a delicious meal. But WATCH OUT! Because at present, he can download recipes from the Internet, and download a Russian Bride to cook them. So before he can put 2 and 2 together to make dinner, put on that apron, and whip him up some steak WOMAN! That will surely get his attention or your money-back on this free Expert Dating Advice.

Preying upon? What are you some kind of vulture? Are you calling these beautiful young women worms! How gross! Or are they the dead carcass that you feed upon? You’re not preying upon them, you’re simply introducing them to your kitchen. You will let her decide for herself whether she wants some snotty-nosed, under-the-legal-drinking-age kid, or you-a sophisticated, close-to-employment, MAN, with the fat F.E.P. (Future Earning Potential.) Feel no mercy on the boys entering college. That’s why Al Gore invented the Internet---so he wouldn’t have to spend lots of naked-time with Mrs. Gore---and such these boys can learn about college women the way I did, dirtydormroomsluts.com. You my unconfident nub, must walk with aplomb towards these naïve bims, thrust your hand out and say, “Hi, I’m everything your mom wants for you in a husband, so let’s try out your bed.” And if she complains that she has a room mate, you’ll just flash those sophisticated white teeth, and with your winsome smile proclaim, “The more the merrier, I’ve got room on my lap for 2.” Now if this was some freshman-punk mouthing off, her face would contort in the shape of those balled-up dress socks in your laundry. But since it is YOU, a sophisticated senior, she will immediately hike up her dress and start whistling the tune to Happy Days. Don’t be a Richie Cunningham all your life. Be The Fonz for once. In either case, you’ll get fat and bald, so why not enjoy it while you got it.

Not a problem. Though the Hogsta is heterosexual 99.9% of the time (discounting the 30 minutes a day I spend watching Ricky Martin music videos), I believe I can help you. Influence is often best achieved when you can manipulate someone into coming to a pre-determined conclusion on their own volition. So here is what you do.

You want to make his bim begin to think that her nub is a homo. If she thinks he is heterosexually-challenged, she will almost certainly lose interest in him. This is because most women find the thought that their man’s booty is being fondled, caressed, and worshipped by another man to be somewhat disturbing.

To accomplish this, you simply need to drop subtle hints. First become his friend. Then encourage him to dress better. Teach him to dance. Leave a suspicious receipt in a place where his bim is sure to find it. When she sees a receipt that reads "Juice, eggs, mayonnaise, Men’s Health Magazine, rubbing alcohol, Village People Cassette, Gay Pride Flag", she will be sure to flip.

She will then be out of the picture and you can now concentrate on wooing this hunk.

Note: There are some tactics that will definitely NOT work. It is strongly advised that you do NOT try to challenge the bim head-on. These types of direct strategies have been attempted in the past, and all were unsuccessful. Do NOT publicly provoke her into entering a banana-peeling contest with you, or a milk-chugging contest, or the infamous "Guess-what-vegetable-you’re-sitting-on" game.