Bad Guru: Don’t skirt issue |

Bad Guru: Don’t skirt issue

Barry Smith

Dear Bad Guru,I have a friend who really likes to give me advice. Sometimes, whenhe’s doling some out that he thinks is particularly deep and profound, he insists that I close my eyes first, presumably so that I can fully absorb the words he is offering without visual distraction.The other day he was giving me some such advice and as I sat there with my eyes closed, I peeked. When I did, I saw that he was doing some peeking of his own up my skirt.I didn’t say anything, as I didn’t want to let on that I had violatedhis trust by opening my eyes. Plus, it occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t so much peeking up my skirt as reading my aura. Or something.Signed,Easily ExposedDear E.E.,Did the dilemma your friend was advising you on have anything to do with your undergarment style or color? If so, then this upskirtward gaze is understandable, and demonstrates the devotion of a true friend.If this could be the case, but you can’t remember what your question was, then try this: wear an even shorter skirt, sit across from him and request some insightful words regarding a tax issue that’s been troubling you. If he peeks again, then you’ve eliminated at least one variable.Before you jump to conclusions, though, consider that your friend may be working on a new anatomical divination method.In the early 1800’s, phrenology, the practice of determining one’scharacter and personality by &quotreading&quot the bumps on their heads, was all the rage. This science, though now discredited, was developed by Vienna physician Franz Joseph Gall.Though he had a pretty good run of it, a recently discovered journalentry reveals that Gall developed this pseudo-science because he secretly &quotjust really liked fondling people’s heads.&quotDear Bad Guru,The radio speaks to me.I don’t mean that I hear a song like &quotStairway To Heaven&quot and I think that it’s a sign from my dead relatives or that I hear &quotHey Joe&quot and that this is my cue to go out and shoot my old lady. This is not what I mean. I don’t even listen to classic rock stations.No, I mean my radio literally speaks to me. I turn it on to listen toNPR and instead I hear, &quotGood morning, Will, I really like that shirt you’re wearing today. Hey, how’s that toast? You sure love that strawberry jam, don’t you? Oops, got a little bit on your tie. Looks like you’ll have to change it before you go to work, which is inabout 10 minutes, so you’d better hurry.&quotThis only happens at home, and the information is all frighteninglyaccurate; my name, my love of jam, my shirt, all of it.And I’m not delusional. I’ve turned the radio on when friends are over and they hear it, too.&quotHey, Will. Is that Sandra I see there with you? Are you two gonna play Scrabble again tonight? Watch it, Sandra, Will likes to cheat. Ha ha.&quotIt would be creepy if it weren’t so annoying, but it sounds justmetaphysical enough that I thought I’d ask Bad Guru about this phenomenon.Signed,All I Hear Is Radio GagaDear Gaga,Could be that you’ve tuned your home radio into the &quotFrequency of the Ethers,&quot which exists down at those low numbers where NPR is usually found.However, it’s more likely that your closest neighbor has a Mister Microphone and some binoculars.Dear Bad Guru,I’ve come unto the world at the End Times to usher in a thousand years of peace. I fulfill prophecy. I know this because I have discovered my name in The Bible.I don’t have a question, I just thought you’d want to know.Signed,FredDear Fred,Bad Guru isn’t convinced that discovering your name in the biblequalifies as fulfilling prophecy, especially if your name is &quotFred.&quot Bad Guru doesn’t recall a &quotFred&quot mentioned in any bible he’s ever seen, not even in the so-called lost books.You know that very first page in your bible, the one where it says,&quotHappy Birthday Fred&quot? You do realize that that part wasn’t written by God, right? That was written by your Aunt Helen, who, despite the heavenly effects of her rum cake, doesn’t have the authority to declare you a messiah.Aspen-based writer Barry Smith moves his lips while writing this column, and hopes you do the same while reading it. E-mail him at or visit his Web page at

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