By Harold J. “Harry” Pemberton III, Editor-in-Chief
Welcome to my brand-new advice corner, “Ask Harry.” You send in your troubles, and I sling you the primo wisdom. I’ve been around the block more than once, so buckle your seatbelts and keep your hands inside the rollercoaster of life.
Letter 1:
Dear Harry,
My husband insists on watching football every Sunday, but I want him to spend time with me instead. How do I compromise?
Harry says:
“Easy, dollface. Football is just guys in tight pants chasing a leather egg. If you want him off the couch, you gotta make Sunday a competition. Challenge him to an arm-wrestling match during halftime. Winner picks what happens next. That way, he either watches the game or ends up regrouting the bathroom tiles. That’s what I call a touchdown of love. Groovy, huh?”
Letter 2:
Dear Harry,
I just moved to town and don’t know how to make friends. Any tips?
Harry says:
“Say no more, slick. When I was the new kid in town back in ’78, I walked right into the Sycamore, slammed a quarter into the jukebox, and played ‘Disco Duck.’ Made me the talk of the town for weeks. These days, you should strut into Dunkin’, slam your phone on the counter, and loudly demand they play your Spotify playlist. Everyone will know you’re the bee’s knees. Boom — instant pals.”
Letter 3:
Dear Harry,
My teenager won’t stop rolling their eyes at me. How do I get some respect?
Harry says:
“Ah yes, teenagers — the Rubik’s Cube of humanity. Don’t sweat it, champ. Next time they roll their eyes, you roll yours right back — but bigger and louder. Out-eye-roll them. Bonus points if you throw in a dramatic sigh and mutter something like, ‘Whatever, man.’ Show them you still know the lingo. Respect restored, family harmony achieved. Radical!”
Signing-off:
Remember folks — life’s a milkshake, and you gotta be the straw. Keep it hip, stay groovy, and don’t flip your wig.