Dear Uncle Ben,
Two of my friends are both into the same guy. I want them to FOLLOW THEIR HEARTS, but at least one person is going to come out of things unhappy and hurt.
They are roommantes, my bandmates, and a couple of my bestest friends.
One is being irrational because the dude he wants doesn't want him (he's into the ladies). The other made the mistake of promising her friend she'd never get involved with this guy... but now feels differently.
I'm not going to be a meddling friend, but if they come to me for advice I want to be there for them.
Sorry this question is not music-related.
!
Please do not print my name!!!!
Dear Triangle.
THis reminds me of the awful story of Qualcast, Flymo and Scotch Dave.
Qualcast was a stunner who had just won Miss Canadia 1970. She was a lesbian. Flymo was obsessed with her, but he was a Guy. Scotch Dave was in an alcoholic blur and didn't give a fuck about anyone. This one time, at band camp, Qualcast needed a lighter for her foil and gear (all the Miss Canadias in\ those days\were heavily into the Fleetwood Mack; Keith had turned them on to it at the aftershow of "Wild Horses" single release, which had coincided with the Miss Canadia heats, held in Toronto, because the Stones were tax exiles from Britain and AMerica at the time) and she happened to knock on Scotch Dave's hotel door at the hotel. Scotch Dave was a friend of one of the Stones's roadies. "Sure love come in whatever do yous wunt a wee drinky there ken, Pet?" he mumbled through sick and hamburger detritus.
Well, it was love at first sight. So often a really gorgeous chick falls for a total wanker, an arsehole, a loser, a violent brainless twat. YOU CAN'T DAM THE RIVER OF LOVE. And you can't tame a wild pony! And you're left wondering why they went for that guy, when they could of went for you, with your sensitivity, your gentillnesse, your ultra hot sex skills hidden under the guise of a whatever-you-want-me-to-be-i'll-be-it motherfucker.
Your advice, dear Triangle, is simple. QUALCAST WILL PICK THE WINNER. Dude, he might even turn over to our team and agree to fuck Flymo. We've all seen that film where the 2 cowboys go up to the hills above QUebec and discover they're true destiny. Brokeback Mountain, was it called? No; but it was an Ang Lee film... I think it was called "Hulk Wedding Banquet". That's right. Hulk agree to fake marriage Hulk friend, to pretend to Hulk Parents that Hulk not gay. But AAARRRRRRRGGGGG HULK TRICKED INTO SEX WITH FRIEND, AND BOYFRIEND GET JEALOUS AND NEARLY SPILL BEANS TO HULK PARENTS!! Hulk smash kitchen up.
I've spoken. Not much help i know, but i'm really tired and believe it or not I've got prombles of me own right now too.
UNCLE BEN
TONY PEARSON
+
Dear Uncle Ben,
I’m totally obsessed with this girl I’m friends with. She’s in a band and every time they come to my town her band crashes at my place and we hang out. Last time they stayed here I lent her some bedding cause she had lost her sleeping bag. At soon as their van pulled away I was sniffing the sheets and jerking off more furiously than I ever had in my entire life. I can’t stop thinking about doing her. When I talk to her I can’t even hear what she says anymore ‘cause I’ve just perving out in my head. It’s keeping me awake at night.
She has no idea about any of this and even worse - she has a boyfriend and he is in the band! And him and I get along really well! Now our bands are about to do a string of shows together and I’m really stressed about it. I don’t want her and her bandmates to think I’m a creep but I can’t stop thinking about putting the moves on her. So , how the hell do I keep my cool?
---Not a stalker!
Ah, Obsession - my first love!
There's nothing you can do about it really, except divert all the angst it throws up (that's English for 'barf') into your creativity, your real human beauty. If I hadn't wasted about 10 years of my adolescence being obsessed with female friends who didn't have a clue about it, i'd never have developed the central part of my Creative Human Essence, my MISOGYNY.
You remind me of the dreadful case of Flymo and Qualcast, referred to as "Policy is the best policy", ironically, in self-help literature circles. Just like you, you poor dear, Flymo was obsessed with his "friend" Qualcast, a happily married fox with awesome pins*. Flymo was always courteous and polite to Mr Qualcast, and kept his friendship with Mrs Qualcast pure, chaste, that awful word PLATONIC. (Fuck! You think Plato wasn't a pussy-freak?)
Can you imagine Flymo's horror when, after Qualcast's suicide, which was her response to Mr Qualcast's serial infidelities,
he read her diaries?
No!
Oops I pressed send when i was only halfway through. Sorry to keep you hanging, Notas T. Alker from Ottawa.
We were talking about Flymo, who read his unrequited-beloved's diaries after her suicide. She was into Flymo the whole time!
Man!
Damn!
So you see, it's not 'Policy' that is the best policy, but in fact openness.
Flymo met Qualcast's late husband, Scotch Dave Qualcast, at a bar, years after the death of his wife. "It's a lot less bovver than a hovver!" sad the scotchman with a broad grin and a big red nose. "Ah'm fuckin steamin by the way what are ye drinkin".
"You don't recognize me do you," replied FLymo.
Scotch Dave stared at him with difficulty through squint eyes which relayed 4 uncorrelating images to his mind.
"Aye ah ken who y'are yer that poof who couldnae tell QUalcast ye fancied hurr. Do ye know hink she hud aboot fifty offers every fuckin night by the way?"
Flymo punched scoth dave passionately and stomped off.
Look, it's like heroin, ketamine or jumping off a cliff: YOU'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE UNTIL YOU TRY IT!!
*legs.
__________________________________________________________________
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