Wayne Diamante, corporation and permanent UN Security Council member, answers his readers’ questions in this week’s PRO TIPS with Wayne Diamante. If you have a question you’d like answered send it to firstname.lastname@example.org
This year, for Mother’s Day, we’d really like to knock mom’s socks off with a special gift showing just how much we appreciate everything she does for us. Any ideas?
Your admiration is laudable in the face of the Hallmark commercialization which so often characterizes Mother’s Day. You could follow the advice of the hyphened last name types on NPR and get her a Pajamagram … Two words: BOR-ING. Or you could get her something she’ll really appreciate: a Blood Diamond. That’s right. Nothing says “I love you, Mom!” like artificially expensive precious stones with value added human cost. Imagine her surprise when she opens that box and says “HOLY SHIT, A DIAMOND!” and you say, “Not just any diamond, mom. It’s a motherfucking Blood Diamond. No less than 14 enslaved Congolese miners died getting that from Africa, to the Netherlands, to right here at Kay Jewelers. You’re welcome and we love you. When’s dinner and why is the laundry not dry?”
Every Kiss Begins with Kalashnikov,
Do you know a good recipe for toilet wine?
If you want to fit in with the right crowd, it’s called pruno. Additionally, I’m thinking Jenkem is a little more your style. When I, in between crying about being hungry and actually being insanely hungry, was a Zambian street tough in the ‘90s, we used to blaze some wild-ass airplane glue called Genkem. Then they took the gas out of it and we had to find a different fix; something cheap, plentiful and powerful enough to make us forget about praying to die so we could escape living hell. What you need to do is find some raw sewage—I’m talking about pure excrement here—and stuff it in a can and then cling-wrap that shit over the top for a week. Carefully take a knife, ice pick, box cutter … really any of the worst possible things you could possibly want to have around while you were out of your fucking mind, pop a hole in the top and literally inhale that shit, son!
It’s weird to say “son” and think about destitute children at the ends of the Earth huffing fermented doo-doo.
I’ve decided to take the plunge! Years of backyard enjoyment, coupled with dwindling savings and crippling unemployment have lead me to pursue my lifelong dream—I’ve decided to take my avian voyeurism into the field and become a full time bird-watcher! Do you have any tips, or tricks for spying that one of a kind feathered friend?
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Ohmygodyouareafuckingdork. What? I mean, “Good luck!” Bird watching, at least what I gather from the experts at Ducks Unlimited, takes a lot of patience, camouflage and bait. What you’re going to want to do is get inside the mind of the bird you’re after. Success entails deciphering in which order your subcortical demands occur: food then loosely consensual reproduction, or loosely consensual reproduction then food. You’ll likely want to mimic the lusty mating call of your target species, or a distress call for the more loyal varieties, like crows. Crows are fucking loyal as shit BTW. But who wants to see a crow? They’re everywhere. Just like dogs and people. BOOM.
Think about it,