The worst has come. Despite The Planet’s pleas for help, no one has stepped up to be The Planet’s advice columnist. There was a brief spark of interest from one quarter, so that for a millisecond or two The Planet had high hopes of
But alas! The spark sputtered, the Goddess of Love got back onto her half- shell, and the tide turned, wafting the pulchritudinous deity back into the sea foam and leaving The Planet once again high and dry advice-columnist-wise. The Planet had earlier made its point—or cry for help—by presenting columnists who would give worse advice than The Planet, notably Rosie the dog and Hitler (see archives). The Planet thought of continuing that motif—
—but finally decided that would be beating the thing to death. No, the only solution is to man up (planet up?) and do it the Planet’s self. So despite The Planet’s patent unfitness for the job—The Planet chose not only to be born to parents unable to provide a trust fund and to pursue a career in writing, but to marry a husband who had majored in art—The Planet stands ready to dole out advice to any reader willing to release The Planet from legal liability. Who’s first? And please sign this waiver. Oh, it'a just you, Sardo.
Dear Planet: I like your dog’s advice. Hitler’s, too. But you know what you ought to do? You ought to make The Planet a Facebook page. Then it can go straight into readers’ news feeds when they open FB. That’s the whole point of “liking” something. You didn’t know that? Gosh, you sure are dumb. And you know what else you should do? You should give the page a clever name like “Robin’s Writings.” (Or maybe “Robin’s Ritings.” Or how about “Wrobin’s Writings?”) Or you could think of something else. Hell, I don’t care. You could just call it The Dade Planet since you turn up your nose at the cute names I suggested. —Sardo, who knows all, tells all
Dear Sardo: If you must know, there is already a Facebook page called the Dade Planet, which has nothing to do with me. It was started last year by an anonymous blogger who uses it to say mean things about everybody in the county and make people think it’s me.
Dear Planet: But no one is fooled, because you would never say anything mean about anybody. You’re constantly going around blessing the multitudes like Mother Teresa, aren't you? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
—Sardo, who knows all, tells all
Dear Sardo: All right already. Anyway, the whole point here is to have an online newspaper and sell ads. I don’t know if Facebook even allows business pages. Dear Planet: I don’t either, but it’s not like you can sell ads anyway if you’ve only got like 10 people reading you and some of them are your mother. What I would do—
—Sardo, who knows all, tells all
Dear Sardo: OK! Whatever you would do, you just go the hell ahead and do it. You write the damn advice column! Sardo, Who Knows All,Tells All
(Whether You Ask Him Or Not...)
By Sardo (As Told To The Dade Planet)
Now, hang on a dad-burned minute. Come back here! What do I know about writing an advice column?
Well, be that way. For that matter, I reckon my advice is as good as anybody else's. Or at least as anybody's dog's.
My first advice is: Get rid of those tennis shoes and buy some decent hiking boots. See mine? You should get some exactly like them. Do it now.
Now, if you want to give a party, that's easy. My advice is to get together a lot of people and a lot of beer. I'll make the wings. Mine are better than the kind you brought last time.
And here's a dandy recipe for more party food. This is super- easy, and deee-licious.
Festive Crock Pot Cocktail Sausages Take several pounds of smoked miniature cocktail wienies and place in a slow cooker. Add one large can Manwich, thinned with one cup Evans Williams. Serve hot.
But if you want to give advice, that's a little harder. My advice is to first of all find somebody who wants it.
Can I go now?
Editor's Note: What the heck is this? Well, Reader, don't you know the sound of sheer desperation when you hear it? In case nobody's been listening so far,
THE PLANET NEEDS AN ADVICE COLUMNIST!
That's why The Planet is exploiting its meager supply of friends, putting words into their mouths, and shamelessly robbing photos from their Facebook pages. The Planet picked on poor Sardo this week because he chanced to encounter The Planet while The Planet was reeling out of orbit from a particularly virulent crop of technical problems last Friday, furnishing the above-cited advice. Sardo also once ordered The Planet to get hiking boots just like his; and as to the recipe, The Planet has been yearning to publish that for years, as being the most perfect example of Man Food The Planet has come across in the entire galaxy. (It didn't taste bad, either.)
The Planet meant no offense to Sardo and hopes he is feeling well, and unlitigious. Meanwhile ...
Anyone who wishes to give, or receive, advice, should write to email@example.com. Do it now.