THE GUINNESS GUIDE TO LIFE

Some of you lost little latch-key lambs out there need a guiding, experienced hand in this second-rate flea-market called life. Your parents haven't taught you shit about the real world and you're paying for their filthy sins. Here you are, all alone in the cold, miserable streets getting ready to give up the pooper for a Wendy's value meal from some guy in a limousine with a faded paint job and a mildly suspicious looking driver named Rufus. Life sucks worse than a hand vacuum at a bulimia support group. Fortunately for you, ol' bitter and weird Uncle Guinness is here to set your cherubic and clueless ass straight. Follow my advice, young one. You'll make it through life without too many wanton endangerment charges on your record.

MAKE SURE SHE'S NOT TUCKING IT.

I know you little bastards these days. You watch too much of that “gonzo pornography” shit. You meet a girl at the club. You shove Jaeger Bombs down her throat. You whisper some cribbed lines from reality TV into her ear, get her home, get her naked, AND IT'S STRAIGHT TO THE ASS! Jesus, guys, learn some fucking romance, already. There's more to life than brown-eyes, and it might just save your life. If you go for the pussy after the amateurish blowjob, you might get some nice clam digging done. On the inverse side, you might find out that the average-bodied, starry-eyed Sears catalog model you brought home HAS A DICK. If you bend her over and go for the ass first, your booze-soaked senses might not notice the pee-pee she cleverly tucked to make her bulge less noticeable. Trannys have their shit together these days, fellas. Be smart and take preventive measures. Grab your intended's crotch AS SOON AS YOU MEET THEM. Otherwise, you're liable to wake up in an all-night porno theater's parking lot with a bouquet of plastic funeral flowers shoved up your ass, a condom wrapper dangling from your mouth, and HIV-Positive blood all over your pants. This advice has insured that such a thing has never happened to me, and will never happen to me again.

DON'T ACCEPT MONEY FOR SEXUAL FAVORS UNLESS YOU NEED DRUGS.

The feminists were right as rain during their second-wave; Prostitution is a filthy, blood-money soaked profession in which women are treated as slaves to make pimps rich and U.N. Ambassadors sexually satisfied. You're better than that, sister. Don't ever consider prostitution to be a last resort, no matter how desperately poor you become. That is, unless you need to score some narcotics. That's A-OK. There's something noble about spreading them legs so wide your pelvis cracks in the promise of some sweet, sweet blow coming your way. Daddy's also got them rocks for you, honey-pie. He might even have some good old-fashioned Afghan smack waiting for you to slam into your already collapsed veins. Our economy is fucked-up because we're not internalizing it enough, and giving it to your Saudi pimp is only going to send that income out of the country. Go for the straight trade of dope for pussy. The john will applaud you for your financial acumen and you'll be hailed as a patriot. Quick tip: Invest in good knee-pads and Preparation H.

KILL YOUR FIANCEE'S PARENTS.

“Parents just don't understand.” Truer words were never uttered in Top 40 rotation. It was a rotten, cumbersome business with your own parents: Waking up in the afternoon. Playing it cool at the breakfast table while they tried to politely suggest you get a job. Waiting for them to head out to a movie. Following them to the neighborhood swinger party they were instead headed to. Waiting outside the house, following them to the bluffs as they left, then running their car off a cliff. Your beloved isn't going to have much in common with you; Their parents are alive, happy and healthy. You're going to have to change all that. A brutal double-murder made to look like an accident will put you on level ground as far as having something in common. Sure, they'll be bummed for a while, and will possibly need years of therapy and anti-depressants, but what is that compared to building a foundation for your love?

KILL YOURSELF.

This is the best advice anyone was ever given. Look, the world is dying. You know it, I know it, and so do over nine-thousand nameless scientists. We all agree: YOU are the cancer upon the planet. You're the one causing global warming, with your breathing, farting and pissing all over the place. No one loves you. No one cares, not even the voices telling you to load the gun and put it in your mouth. So let the planet live one extra day and end it all. Do it in the most painful and humiliating manner possible, so people know you're not a poseur. Leave a suicide note addressed to your friends and family, informing them that swinging from the ceiling fan really hurt and you suffered for hours. Our mother Gaia will thank you for it in the afterlife. Of course, if the atheists are right, well, you're fucked, but we'll still appreciate your sacrifice.

This advice I've given to you will see you through the most violent of life's storms. It worked for me, and I have faith it will work for you as well. Now, I have an appointment to get to, so I'll end this here. Parole hearings don't go well if you're late.