Hi all, I’ve got big news: Pro Tips is heading to the silver screen! Rumor has it, one R. Redford is cast to play yours truly, opposite a female lead I’m not at liberty to reveal, but her name rhymes with, ahem, Mangelina Brolie. Here’s a little teaser from the media campaign:
(voiceover)
He was a loner with nothing to lose.
She was alone, with a defective blouse.
She needed advice.
He had a tip.
(queue music)
Pro Tips with Wayne Diamante
Cool, right? I’ll probably be pretty busy with the screenplay for the foreseeable future, but feel free to keep sending in your questions and I’ll do my best to tell you what your problem is.
Dear Wayne,
I’m concerned with the rampant proliferation of semi-autonomous technologies taking up space in my life. It seems like the gadgets I acquire to simplify things actually end up afflicting me with an inescapable ennui: as if the more I submit to my artificially intelligent handlers, e-schedulers and preference generators, the less I am required to participate in my own existence. I can fairly feel Google logging me away in a non-descript server warehouse; all my interests and desires mapped neatly over some algorithm generated archetype. As I catalogue my likes and dislikes for the machines I hand myself over to, I increasingly find myself defined by the suggestions they generate … Jesus … maybe I do really like 311 and want Groupons for Texas Roadhouse? My god, Wayne, when does it all end?
— Dave
Hello Dave,
Barring some sort of technology apocalypse, we’ve crossed the Rubicon, baby: Alea iacta est. Truth be told, I’ve had a robot write Pro Tips for years. All I do is sit around, barely concealed in a tattered robe, bounce a rubber ball off my “Baywatch” poster and and say things like, “Tonya! (the robot’s name is Tonya) Tonya! Download another email!” And then she reads a question in her Stephen Hawking voice and computes an answer that sounds like something I would probably write. I bought her on eBay. She’s built on the Roomba platform, but instead of a vacuum she’s a vaporizer-bong, word-processing email server. I could have added Bluetooth and a Fleshlight for another $150, but that seemed gauche. The point is, I suggest you embrace that which you can’t escape. Sure, you can fight for your individuality and go un-gently into that proverbial good night, but what will you get in the end? No sleep and angry neighbors. Just take another Soma and strap yourself into a fresh diaper. Or don’t. Your call.
— Wayne
Dear Wayne,
When it comes to deodorant, I’m what you call a “power-user.” Commercial deodorants and antiperspirants are simply not adequate for the amount of B.O. I’m radiating. Any advice?
— Florian
Dear Florian,
From time immemorial, we Diamantes have been an aromatic people. Our family archives extend all the way back to Imperial Rome and the following recipe has been passed down to more than a hundred generations of Diamantes. I am greatly pleased to share the bounty of our ancient, family wisdom with you. On the first eve of the new moon, mix two duellas Portland cement to eight duellas buttermilk, stir and leave overnight. In the morning, divide into four equal measures and mix with one scrupulum of powdered snake penis and one scant congius of a sworn enemy’s blood. Enjoy with toast. Results vary. Side effects include increased B.O., incarceration and snake penis.
— Wayne
