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Polar Ice Caps

Dear Adam, I'm freezing, and I'm huge. But every time I burn off a few tons, people freak out. Al Gore thinks I'm ana, but I'm just trying to feel good about myself. I don't understand where other people get off telling me how big I should be. They say it's not easy being green. Pshaw. Try being arctic blue for a day and see how you like it. What should I do to get people off my case?

--Bipolar at the Ends of the Earth

Dear Bi,

My advice is simple: melt already. If you want to trim down, I say go for it. The truth is, I think the globe on the whole could stand to be a little bit warmer, and up to this point you've been bringing down the curve. So if you want to melt, melt.

The rest of the world will have to deal with their own issues, that's no concern of yours. You deserve to be warm just as much as the rest of us. You've spent long enough isolated in frigid waters. It's time people on the equator find out what it's like to be submerged. You just need to think about you right now.

We'll be fine. Don't read what they say about you in the papers, it will only give you a complex. The important thing is that you believe in your decisions. Have confidence. Stay strong. Melt away already. The world will just have to get used to a new you.

Oompa Loompas

Dear Adam, I work at a candy factory at Wonka's Midwest Branch. Actually, I live there. My boss is nice . . . a bit quirky. But I'm an illegal alien. I miss my family. I can't vote. I feel slightly guilty that I haven't paid a dime of income tax for the past 40 years. And I'd like to take a break from experimenting with radiation and pulling fat kids out of high-powered suction tubes. I want to test the waters of employment elsewhere, but I'm afraid if I ask my boss for vacation time, he'll ship me back to Oompa Loompa Land. What should I do?

--OverWonked in Omaha.

Dear Wonked,

I feel your pain. From what I know of your predicament, your boss is a shrewd businessman who puts a premium on trust and loyalty. If you violate that trust, you lose, you get nothing, good day, sir. If you want to try something new, be honest and forthcoming to your boss. Stay positive. Tell him about your goals outside the candy factory, and he may give you the opportunity to follow your dream. But that's the smaller issue here.

On a grander scale, you need to think about your fellow Oompa Loompas. You have a lot more influence over the situation than you think. Your boss created a loophole in the traditional international outsourcing trend by bringing you and your fellow expatriate OLs out of your home country. Instead of exploiting the weak economy of Oompa Loompa Land, he brought you across U. S. borders. He certainly showed you compassion, but he also exhibited blatant contempt for immigration and employment laws. Bottom line: your boss is a nice guy, but he's breaking the law.

My advice? Rally together as OLs. Formally demand the opportunity to apply for work visas and eventually citizenship. Avoid the temptation to unionize. Just stay organized and civilized, and you should be fine. Your boss might be more of a dreamer than a detail person, so appoint your most anal Oompa Loompa as a spokesman. He can help your boss address his employment problems without compromising his core business goals--this will only serve to build trust and create a win-win for everyone.

I know, you didn't really ask. You aren't really real. Still, though, think about it.

Texters

I know you didn't ask, but . . . the texting has got to stop. I h8 it. U should 2.

Pushing out those repeated threads of truncated text is turning your hands into acidic balls of lactic waste. By the time researchers do any meaningful studies on the longterm effects of texting, your thumbs will be permanently petrified into a Picasso-esque portrait of pain.

And we non-texters are getting sick of seeing the tops of texting heads as they stare into the digital abyss. Seriously people, Ferris had it right. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around every once in awhile, you might miss it.

Texting melts the polar ice caps. It depletes your soul. It causes fallen arches. It fixed the 1919 World Series. It used to be a member of the Communist Party. It stole Claire's baby. Every time a text alert rings, a demon gets its tail.

For all these reasons and more, do your thumbs and the rest of the world a favor by following this threefold unwanted advice: 1) Throw your phone away; 2) Talk, don't text; 3) Try to use a complete sentence every once in awhile.

Dude Talking On His Cell Phone in the Car

Dude. Get off your cell phone. You're going to kill someone. I guarantee your call is not that important.

What are you doing, talking about work? If your job were really that important, you'd be there already or you wouldn't have left. But you did leave. You don't live there. You have a life. Live it.

Maybe you're on the phone with your family. Or your friend. Or a telemarketer. None of those people want you to die. Then again, they probably have better things to do than talk to you. Get off the phone.

And think of what you're missing. You're missing the guy in the car next to you picking his nose. You're missing the lady in the truck behind you singing, "A Moment Like This," at the top of her lungs. You're missing the lake on your left, the park on your right, and skyline up ahead. Heck, you barely missed me when you almost ran me over. Hang up. Or flip down. Whatever. Just stop talking.

And I don't care if you have a headset. It's not your hands I'm concerned about, it's that brain of yours that is somewhere else. Please, drive, pay attention, and don't kill me. That's my advice. You'll never ask, because you have to take this call . . . but I'm texting you right now. GOTP.

Hillary Clinton

Okay, Mrs. Clinton, you ran a fine campaign. You showed everybody that America is ready for a female president. The only question is, are you ready to be a female?

For the first half of this campaign, you rode the soiled coattails of the Clinton name. For the second half of the campaign, you have ridden Obama into the ground. But the entirety of your campaign, with the exception of one tiny moment, has had nothing to do with you.

America is ready for a female presidential candidate who acts like a woman instead of like a male presidential candidate. And it's not because they don't believe a woman can be every bit as authoritative as a male presidential candidate, it's because they don't even like male presidential candidates. Voters like candidates who appear to be real people (see your husband). But for 99.99% of your campaign, you've chosen to carry yourself like a male presidential candidate.

The only time you acted like a woman, and the only reason Obama hasn't completely iced the nomination, was during that one interview when you actually showed a genuine emotion. You talked about eating pizza. You spoke at a normal volume. You did not, contrary to media reports, tear up. You just seemed real. For you to win the presidential election, you need to seem human a lot more frequently than once every 15 years.

Actually, there was one other time when you seemed human, and that was when you said that no matter which Democrat won the nomination, the nation would be in good hands. Well . . . I could not care less if you or Obama gets the nomination. If you don't quit now, neither of you has a shot at the White House.

So act like a real person and quit. It worked for Al Gore. He won an Oscar, a Grammy, and a Nobel Prize. That could be you in five years. If Al Gore can make people think he's human, there's hope for anyone (or anything). That's my advice . . . even though you didn't ask.