Recently in Ask Joe columns Category

Dear Joe,
Lately I've wanted to become a better Christian (like you) and decided that I needed to go back to church. Shopping around for a church isn't exactly easy, though. I know I shouldn't choose a church based solely on the preacher but if the preacher isn't good then I find it difficult to stay interested. How do you judge whether the preacher is any good?

Dear P.R.,
For my next career (i.e., after I get fired from this job) I'm considering going into the ministry. Not only do I think it is my calling in life but to me it's the perfect job. Being a pastor would allow me to combine my three biggest passions: telling people how they should live, avoiding manual labor, and eating.

Preachers lead a cushy, well-fed existence. Basically all they do is talk and eat. That seems to be the standard format for a life as a minister. Put in an hour of work on Sunday--then get invited to lunch. Visit with the sick people in the hospital--then eat their Jello when they nod off. Grab a deacon and drop by some unsuspecting parishioner's house during dinnertime--and then, well, you get the idea. Then, after a long day of talking and gorging, you can go soak your feet in the baptistery. What more could you ask for in a career?

Unfortunately, though, it will be a few more years before I have a congregation of my own. When I become a minister then you are welcome to join my church (note: I have a preference for fried chicken and corn on the cob). So in the meantime, here a few pointers to picking out a preacher:

Ensure the pastor knows what he is talking about -- Like everyone else, preachers sometimes get lazy and don't properly prepare. Sometimes, if they think no one is paying attention, they often just start making stuff up like referring to so-called "books of the Bible" such as Nahum or Habbakuk or Haggai. Don't let them fool you. I've been reading the Bible my whole life and I can tell you that I've never seen any of those books before.

Be sure he isn't long-winded -- This becomes especially important during football season. While it can be difficult to spot a gasbag before they get started, oftentimes you can pick up on subtle clues.

For example, if he opens his sermon with, "How 'bout them Cowboys!" there's a good chance you'll be out in time for kickoff. If, on the other hand, you notice he takes a sack lunch to the podium then pray you remembered to set the TiVo.

Avoid overbearing preachers -- Though they have the best of intentions, some preachers can be a bit hard to stomach. I once had a pastor who would constantly refer to us "lost", "degenerate sinners", and "in need of redemption." Once he got wound up it would spiral off into claims that we were "wicked", "unrepentant" and "bound for hell." Now if such fire-and-brimstone rhetoric had come on Sunday morning I wouldn't have minded. But when you're playing church league softball you really expect more encouragement from the coach.

Find a minister that won't sugarcoat the truth -- While you don't want a preacher who's too harsh, you also don't want one that is afraid to be controversial. Church people are just sinners like everyone else. The only difference is that we know where to meet on Sunday to hear the best gossip.

In order to keep us on the straight and narrow we need to hear sermons on the touchy subjects that hit close to home. One of my favorite pastors used to preach about a different sin every week. Every sermon he would rail against backbiters, slanderers, hypocrites, perverts, etc. I always went home feeling the message had really touched my heart, almost as if it were meant for me. His sermons never failed to stir me, though, to be perfectly honest, I would have preferred he not end each example of wickedness with "...like Joe."

[Note: What? Another recycled post? Yes, that's right. What do you people expect from me. I've been blogging for almost four and half years so cut me some slack. Some days (like today) I just can't think of anything original to say. But lest you forget how awesome I am, I thought I'd provide a reminder of some of the things you know (but may have forgotten) about me.]

Earlier today I was reading Andy Jackson's blog when I came across a passage that really convicted me: "Any Christian blog is defined by the primary bloggers, and so I have always believed that bios should be provided unless there are unique situations that this would not be appropriate."

When I read that it made me realize that the people who read this blog probably don't have a true sense of who I am as a person. Sure, I have a bio page with the usual demographic info but what does that really tell you about me. I live here, I work here, I'm married to her, I like this, blah, blah, blah. Really, who cares? What does that really tell you about me? Nothing, right?

So I've decided to share thirty things about me-- various experiences, accomplishments, abilities, etc.-- that will really give you a better sense of who I am. I feel I owe that to my readers. This should give you a better sense of who I am:

• I once solved the mysteries of the Navier-Stokes equations but forget the answer before I could write it down.
• The Pirahã people whistle an epic tale of my grandeur.
• The Canadian Forces Dental Branch has a standing order to kill me on sight.
• At the age of four I was considered a classical banjo prodigy.
• I can Martinize in less than one hour.
• At the age of two I was kidnapped by Tibetan monks who believed I was the 17th reincarnation of the Buddha.
• I have won awards for thumping tubs, noggins, and Bibles.
• I am immune from prosecution.
• Neurologists have diagnosed me as having a rare condition which causes me to skip leap years.
• I can tear holes in the space-time continuum and repair them with a quantum duct tape that I created.
• Thomas Pynchon and I have been feuding for two decades, though neither of us can remember why.
• I'm five IQ points smarter than I look.
• When people ask "How've you been?" I want to answer "cheeky" but I usually just say "I've been fine."
• My inner child is a six-year-old girl named Erline.
• The best job I ever had was the summer I worked as a roadie for Lawrence Welk.
• I sometimes go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence but most of the time I can't be bothered with such nonsense.
• I have the temperance of a Greek god.
• I was thrown out of a G & T program after it was discovered that I was neither gifted nor talented.
• The scent of my pheromones has been known to ease birthing pains in Chinese pandas.
• It's been said that my face resembles a Picasso painting.
• On weekends I volunteer at nursing homes teaching krav maga to geriatrics.
• I invented the word "excrescence."
• I was once the answer to 43 down in the New York Times Crossword puzzle.
• Tom Wolfe wears white suits as an homage to my virtue.
• The Oracle of Delphi prophesied that I would never amount to anything.
• I have often been the hero of "Choose Your Adventure" novels.
• I am all "Sturm", no "Drang."
• I am honorably discharged.
• I once quelled a riot in Chile by singing "Muskrat Love" in fluent Spanish.
• My favorite color is blue.

[Note: Since working on other projects has cut into my blogging the past few days, I've had to post recycled material. Here is some from the bottom of the bin, a reprint from the faux-advice column I wrote for The East Texas Tribune.]

Dear Joe,
How can I get rid of my son? He's 24 years old and the laziest creature on earth. He doesn't go to school, won't get a job, and claims he can't afford to move out on his own. The truth is that he could afford to move out if he didn't spend all his money sitting around the house smoking dope all day.

I love him dearly but he's got to go. How do I get him to move out?

Dear F.P.,
Here's a step-by-step plan for getting the little pot head out within a week:

Day #1 -- The first step is to get him out of the house for a few hours. Give him $20 and while he is out giving his "tithes to the Rastafarian church" call a carpenter, preferably one that is handy with sheetrock. A good drywall specialist can have the door to your son's room sealed off in less than an hour. Be sure to have it painted so that it blends in with the surrounding wall.

When your son returns and wonders why he can't find the door to his room pretend you don't know what he is talking about and "remind" him that he moved out six years ago. Convince him that he is having a “flashback" from the time he ate those weird mushrooms.

Day #2 -- Remove all edible food from the house. Bake a liver quiche and leave it, along with a pitcher of prune juice, in the refrigerator. Now when the the little freak gets the “munchies" he'll be in for a big surprise.

Day #3 -- Invite Timmy, the earnest young Christian at church who is always anxious to share his new found faith, to drop by and visit your son at around 4:20 p.m.* Tell him that your son really wants to develop a personal relationship with the Lord but needs someone to explain it to him in detail. Just to be safe, have some Jehovah's Witnesses stop by at 5:10 and some of those clean cut Mormon missionaries drop in at 5:45.

Day #4 -- At 4:35 p.m., when your son is good and stoned, call your house and in your best basso-profundo voice say, “Hello. This is God speaking. Timmy said that you and I should get together and meet sometime..."

Day #5 -- Hide dog biscuits all around the house and invite the police department's K-9 narcotics unit to drop by the house at 4:40 p.m. for coffee and donuts.

Day #6 -- Tell all four armed forces recruiters that your son is really interested in joining the military. Military recruiters are like used car salesmen that make housecalls. Mention that the best time to catch your son is at 4:30 p.m.

Day #7 -- Tell your son that the two of you need to have a serious discussion. Take him for a long drive in the country and be honest about your concerns. Explain that it's really time that he moved on with his life and, after you slow down to about 20 mph, open the passenger door and kick him out of the car.

If he didn't take the hint the first six days then he's obviously fried his brain to the point where you don't have to worry about him finding his way home.

* As I learned on recruiting duty, 4:20 p.m. (aka 420) is the time when losers throughout the world set aside to get high. Ask you kid what it means. If he knows, smack' em 'cause he's a stoner. If he says he doesn't know, smack' em anyway cause he's lying to you.

[Note: Once again I'm recycling my annual Valentine's Day advice for thoughtless men.]

Over the past few weeks I've written posts on politics, religion, and culture. But today we must set aside such trivial issues and turn to more serious matters: preparing men for Valentine's Day.

If you've waited until today to make plans you'll find yourself at the Quik-E-Mart fighting other pathetic slobs for the last Whitman's sampler or single-stem plucked-in-November rose. But I have an alternative to cheap candy and wilted flowers. It's thoughtful. It's romantic. And most importantly, it's cheap.

It's the love letter.

Follow these steps in writing your love letter and you just might be able to prevent your Valentine's Day from becoming another massacre:

Buy some stationery -- You're a big boy now so throw away the Big Chief tablet you've had since 3rd grade and buy some quality paper. Keep in mind that if you don't feel like a total wuss when you buy the stationery then you purchased the wrong type.

Don't even think of typing the letter -- Unless you have the penmanship of a doctor, the letter should be in your own handwriting. If you have the penmanship of a doctor because you are a doctor, then you make enough money that you don't have to worry about impressing women anyway.

Be specific and personal -- Don't just write one letter that you photocopy and hand out to all the new girls you meet. That won't get you anywhere. You have to actually go to the trouble of copying the same letter out by hand every time you give it to a different girl.

Points will be deducted for spelling -- Pretend you're giving the letter to your high school English teacher, who will be taking points off your grade for spelling errors. Since women pass the letters around to their inner circle - which tends to include every woman in a 50 mile radius - you'll be judged by plenty of people. You might consider having a female friend proofread it for you since she'll soon be reading it anyway.

(By the way, if the letter is intended for your high school English teacher then you have issues that even I can't help you with.)

Write, rewrite, repeat -- Start out by writing a rough draft. Now take your rough draft and throw it away because it makes you sound like an idiot.

Seriously, it does. Just trust me on this one. I don't know why that's the case. It just is.

Write it again and try not to be so sappy this time. You don't want to scare her away by giving her the impression that you're some kind of freak. She shouldn't be able to figure out what kind of freak you are until she's been married to you for at least three years.

Resist the temptation to give her a note that says, "Do you like me? Check yes or no." -- This was cute and original the first 500 times she received this type of note from some faux-sensitive guy who wants to give the impression that he's being "child-like" when in reality he's just being lazy.

Unfortunately, this is the sole opportunity for a guy to be lazy and have a woman think that he's being cute. That's also why better minds have thought of using this corny gimmick long before you came along.

Give it to her before you chicken out -- Your brain will try to talk you out of giving her the love letter. It will try to convince you that that you're setting yourself up for future embarrassment. Of course, you're brain is absolutely right. But this is no time to listen to reason. Being in love has nothing to do with being reasonable. In fact, love requires that you make completely irrational choices. If we didn't there would be no romance, no marriage, and no jewelry stores.

A last resort -- If all else fails and you just can't think of anything, let me know. I'll send you a photocopy of the letter I used when I was single. Just remember to copy it in your own handwriting and to not give it to any girl whose zip code starts with 7. Otherwise, there's a good chance she's seen the letter before.

Dear Joe,
I'm getting married in two months and I need some advice. All my married (male) friends keep telling me that I don't realize what I'll be missing out on by getting hitched. I've been looking forward to settling down but now they've got me spooked. What exactly is it that I'll be missing out on, anyway?

Dear T.J.,

Let's first consider some of the benefits of being married. Gaining a spouse means having someone who will do the cooking and the cleaning. It means having someone to buy the groceries, provide comfort during illnesses, and pick the dirty socks up off the floor. Getting married is like gaining the benefits of a nurse, a maid, and a cook. That is of course, what the woman gets; I'm still not sure what men get out of the deal.

Having entered my fifth year of marital bliss I can say that there's only one aspect of being married that causes me to feel that I'm missing out. It's not the loss of control over my money or my time. After a few months you adjust to handing over your paycheck and appointment book. And within the first year you'll even be able to overcome your anxiety about losing your manhood, which she'll be storing in her purse for safe-keeping. But there is one aspect that you will find it difficult to adjust to. Once you get married you will never again be allowed to take a nap.

For a woman, catching her husband napping is the second worst thing she can catch her man doing in their bed. (The first, of course, is discovering him drinking grape Snapple on the 300 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Finding him with another woman, however, runs a close third.) Women believe that the only reason a man would want to take a nap is because he is either trying to ignore her or is avoiding spending time with her. The truth is that men take naps because we are tired. Too tired, in fact, to think of more creative ways to ignore our wives and avoid spending time with them.

Unfortunately for us, there's nothing that upsets a woman more than not having her husband's undivided attention. Women crave our attention not because of anything that they are lacking within themselves, but because it is necessary to fulfill their Master Plan of Marriage -- recreating us into the men they want us to become.

What women fail to mention before the wedding is that they would never agree to marry us if they thought we'd remain the same pathetic losers that they first met. Every wife has an ideal of what her husband can be, and given enough time and the proper guidance, knows that he can become. Every minute that he spends being inattentive is, therefore, time wasted.

That is why napping is a husband's natural defense mechanism. We men realize that we are completely screwed up, yet, for some inexplicable reason, we don't feel the need to change. Since we can rarely muster the audacity to openly show disdain for the Master Plan, we have to take a more passive-aggressive approach. By napping we can enter an unconscious state where we don't have to think about our feelings, ponder where this relationship is going, or answer questions about why the floor around the toilet is always sticky.

Of course, napping isn't necessarily our only option. But it's less painful than having our friends put us in a sleeper hold until we black out.

Dear Joe,
My dad is an old fogey who thinks that guys shouldn't wear earrings at all, but especially not at work. I say that if my boss doesn't care then it's okay. What do you say?

Dear T.,
I have to side with you on this one. It's perfectly acceptable for a guy to wear an earring at work. That's assuming, of course, that the guy works on a pirate ship. Pirates can get away with wearing earrings; on other men it makes them look foppish. An earring is perfectly acceptable, though, if you're going for the pirate look. Or the foppish look. Or the foppish pirate look.

But if you're going for such a look you'll want to be on the cutting-edge of fashion. Today the oversize, baggy look is in style so don't bother with a diamond stud or small hoop. Instead, get one of those 6 inch gold hoops to hang off your lobe. Wear that and I guarantee you'll be the talk of the high seas.

Why will men drive around lost for hours instead of just stopping and asking for directions?

Dear POW,
When I took my vows as an advice columnist I swore to always tell the truth. So while I'll probably get in trouble for letting you in on our secret, I have to be completely honest: We're not really directionless, we're just pretending to be lost.

The suprising truth is that we just drive around in circles acting confused because we know how much this behavior infuriates women. Admittedly, it's ridiculously passive-aggressive. But it's also a lot more fun that you could imagine. When we pass the same gas station for the thirteenth time and mutter, "Well, it's got to be around here somewhere," we do it just to see the look on your face.

That pained, frustrated expression you make when you're trying to keep from losing your last fingerhold on sanity? Priceless.

The best part of the experience, though, is when we get together with other men and compare stories about how our wife's head almost exploded while we were pretending to search for a street address. Somehow when we're pulling this stunt we retain the ability to be completely stoical and straight faced. Yet when we share this tale with our buddies we start giggling like Japanese schoolgirls.

It's a biological fact that all men are born with innate sense of direction; we couldn't get lost if we tried. What makes it even funnier is that we often confess to having this ability and yet no woman ever believes us! That is why we are able to pass on this lark down to our sons, and generation after generation, women fall for it every time.

[Note: I’m still trying to acclimatize to the pace of working on a Presidential campaign (I love saying that), so for the next few days I’ll be recycling material.]

Dear Joe,
What's the best way to get out of traffic ticket?

Dear L.B.,
Several weeks ago I was out for a ride and inadvertently ran a stop sign. Though I didn't see the sign, a cop did see me. He quickly pulled up behind my chopper and signaled for me to pull over.

Now I've been a biker since I old enough to work a kick-stand so getting hassled by the fuzz is nothing new. I also, as you can probably imagine, have quite the outlaw streak in me. So I did what any self-respecting rider would do: opened it up full throttle and tried to make a run for it. I gave it all I had but the cop must have had some super-charged cruiser because he caught up to my moped like I was standing still.

From this experience I gained a couple of valuable lessons. First, pull over right away. If the police have to chase you 47 miles until your scooter runs out of gas you can bet they won't be in a good mood when they get their hands on you. Second, always wear a helmet. When the cops commence to giving you a Rodney King-style whooping it helps to have your head covered. Since that incident I make sure I always wear a helmet when I ride. In fact, I now wear one when I drive my car. You can never be too careful.

Some other ways to avoid a ticket are:

• Pull over as far off the road as possible so the officer isn't exposed in the road. If another car comes along and runs him over it's almost a sure bet that you won't be getting out of the ticket. Also, even if you are on a four-lane highway don't stop in the middle two lanes. I found it pretty amusing but cops don't have a sense of humor.
• When the patrolman asks, "Do you know how fast you were going?" the correct answer is "No, officer, I don't." There's really no need to add that the reason you don't know is because your speedometer pegs out at 120 MPH.
• Try flirting. Tell the officer that you've always been attracted to men in uniform. He might be flattered enough by your remark to let you off with a warning. I found through experience, though, that this is only effective if you're not a guy.
• If all else fails, cry. This one, however, is only effective if you are a guy. Women have already worn out this tactic.

Most importantly, always carry your essential documents. I find its best to have my license, registration, proof of insurance, and enough cab fare to get you back if you find yourself stranded 47 miles from home.

Dear Joe,
For over a year I dated a wonderful guy. I can't exactly remember why we broke up but we had a great time while we were together. Lately, I've considered contacting him again to see if there is any spark left. Should I bother or should I move on?

Dear A.W.,

It will shock many people to hear that I was not always the saintly, upstanding evangelical that I am today. I've been bad, very bad. And when a Southern Baptist boy turns bad it usually involves one of the Gerund Temptations - drinking, dancing, gambling, or cavorting (with wild women). Since I'm a light-weight with two left feet and a face like a Picasso painting, my choice of sins was limited to gambling.

In East Texas, though, the opportunities for wagering are limited. All you really have are football pools (where you can bet on the Longhorns and consistently lose) and bingo halls (or, as one priest I knew called them, "Catholic Casinos").

It wasn't until I moved to Washington State that I was exposed to the world of casino gambling. The casinos in Washington, however, are quite different than the ones you'll find in Las Vegas. In a Vegas casino you find bright lights, free drinks, and an ambiguously gay magician working in the theater down the hall. In Washington, the casinos are dreary, dumpy, depressing, and relegated to the Indian reservations.

Now if you're like me you might not initially associate gambling with Indians. I'm still unclear exactly how the tribes got to America from India much less how they developed games of chance. Apparently though, when they crossed the Pacific Ocean they brought with them such native customs as keno and roulette.

Gambling was illegal throughout the rest of the state so I was curious why the Indians got an exemption. "The White Man stole all our land," a craps dealer explained, "and this is what we get in return." Sounds like a raw deal until you see how much loot the casinos rack in. With the money I lost to them they could buy back Eastern Oklahoma.

My gambling career started in the worst way possible: I won. If I had lost I would have been provided a quick, albeit painful, lesson. Instead, I won. Won quite a lot actually. Won more money than I make (or will ever make for that matter) as a blogger. I wondered why everyone didn't just quit their jobs and gamble for a living. It was so easy.

But that soon passed. My affair with Lady Luck ended abruptly when she started two-timing me with the blackjack dealer. The breakup was ugly and emotional but it taught me a lot. For instance, I learned the only thing more pathetic than a grown man crying is a grown man crying while being carried to his car on the shoulder of a burly casino worker whose last name ends in an animal.

It's not exactly like I had a gambling "problem" since I always knew when to quit. I would quit as soon as the balance in my checking account dropped to zero. But I realized while being dropped onto the hood of my Geo Metro by Billy Big Bear that it would have been better if I had let go sooner.

As the great philosopher Kenny Rogers once said, you have to know when to hold them and know when to fold them. So you had a great time and now its over. You can roll the dice again and hope for the best or walk away from the table with fond memories.

I say let it go. True, you won't know what could have been. But regrets, like drawing to an inside straight, are underrated.

(Disclaimer: I would like to apologize if this column has offended any of the following groups: Catholics, Native Americans, Indians, or ambiguously gay magicians. I would also like to apologize to all Baptists for having to be associated with me.)

Dear Joe,
My wedding is in two weeks and I've been asking every married couple I know the secret to a happy marriage. While most of what they say is helpful - though a bit bland - I thought you might have some special insight to share on the subject. What, in your opinion, does in take to make a marriage work?

Dear S.A.B.,
To truly learn the secret of a successful marriage you should ask someone who has failed. People who are already happily married usually have no clue what they are doing right. They just go through life hoping they don't screw it up. Once you mess your marriage up beyond repair, though, you learn exactly what you could have done better.

Sometimes the realization comes from a self-evaluating, soul-searching process. Other times it only comes after months of counseling. It can also come, as in my case, in the form of a 40-page document from one's former spouse detailing in extreme detail all the ways in which you fell short as a husband.

Since my first wife left me for another woman, the idea that I could have been to blame came as a bit of a surprise. "Let me get this straight," I said. "You turn gay and it's my fault the marriage didn't work out?"

"Keep in mind," she noted, "that I only lost interest in men after being married to you."

While I have no idea what women can do to make a marriage work, I do know what men can do better. All of the following suggestions, therefore, are specifically for husbands:

Calvin Coolidge, a president known for being a man of few words, was so famous for saying so little that a White House dinner guest made a bet that she could get the president to say more than two words. When she told the president of her wager he simply replied: "You lose."

Coolidge understood that the less you say the less you'll be expected to apologize for later. Unfortunately, few politicians since Coolidge have learned that lesson, as evidenced by the continued outbreak of foot-in-mouth disease among politicos.

In order to avoid similar embarrassment, I've decided to take a proactive approach and issue a preemptive apology before anyone calls for my resignation:

Because I am a Christian I realize that I must take responsibility for any atrocities committed in the name of my faith. I therefore apologize for the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Salem Witch Trials, Lutheranism, and Jimmy Swaggert.

I apologize for using overheated political rhetoric. Specifically, my referring to Adolph Hitler as a Nazi and for implying that Joseph Goebbels used 'Hitlerian' tactics to advance his party's political agenda.

I apologize for being born a white American male. Even though it was my wish to be born a cocoa-skinned Ecuadorian girl, I still take full responsibility for the genetic hand that I was dealt.

I apologize for referring to stupid people as being "unintelligent."

I apologize for constantly referring to the people of France as "cheese-eating surrender monkeys."

I apologize to my brother for all the tricks I played on him that went horribly wrong. Even though the male nipple is not a body part necessary to live a full and productive life, I apologize for my role in what our family refers to as the 'Jumper-Cable Incident.' I'm also sorry for lying when I told him that since it was made of the same material as a lizard's tail, the useless appendage would grow back in a matter of weeks.

I apologize for using the word nipple on my blog.

Dear Joe,
Lately I’ve wanted to become a better Christian (like you) and decided that I needed to go back to church. Shopping around for a church isn’t exactly easy, though. I know I shouldn’t choose a church based solely on the preacher but if the preacher isn’t good then I find it difficult to stay interested. How do you judge whether the preacher is any good?

Dear P.R.,
For my next career (i.e., after I get fired from this job) I’m considering going into the ministry. Not only do I think it is my calling in life but to me it’s the perfect job. Being a pastor would allow me to combine my three biggest passions: telling people how they should live, avoiding manual labor, and eating.

Preachers lead a cushy, well-fed existence. Basically all they do is talk and eat. That seems to be the standard format for a life as a minister. Put in an hour of work on Sunday--then get invited to lunch. Visit with the sick people in the hospital--then eat their Jello when they nod off. Grab a deacon and drop by some unsuspecting parishioner’s house during dinnertime--and then, well, you get the idea. Then, after a long day of talking and gorging, you can go soak your feet in the baptistery. What more could you ask for in a career?

Unfortunately, though, it will be a few more years before I have a congregation of my own. When I become a minister then you are welcome to join my church (note: I have a preference for fried chicken and corn on the cob). So in the meantime, here a few pointers to picking out a preacher:

Ensure the pastor knows what he is talking about -- Like everyone else, preachers sometimes get lazy and don’t properly prepare. Sometimes, if they think no one is paying attention, they often just start making stuff up like referring to so-called “books of the Bible” such as Nahum or Habbakuk or Haggai. Don’t let them fool you. I’ve been reading the Bible my whole life and I can tell you that I’ve never seen any of those books before.

Be sure he isn’t long-winded -- This becomes especially important during football season. While it can be difficult to spot a gasbag before they get started, oftentimes you can pick up on subtle clues.

For example, if he opens his sermon with, “How ‘bout them Cowboys!” there’s a good chance you’ll be out in time for kickoff. If, on the other hand, you notice he takes a sack lunch to the podium then pray you remembered to set the TiVo.

Avoid overbearing preachers -- Though they have the best of intentions, some preachers can be a bit hard to stomach. I once had a pastor who would constantly refer to us “lost”, “degenerate sinners”, and “in need of redemption.” Once he got wound up it would spiral off into claims that we were “wicked”, “unrepentant” and “bound for hell.” Now if the fire-and-brimstone speeches would have come on Sunday morning I wouldn’t have minded. But when you’re playing church league softball you really expect more encouragement from the coach.

Find a minister that won’t sugarcoat the truth -- While you don’t want a preacher who’s too harsh, you also don’t want one that is afraid to be controversial. Church people are just sinners like everyone else. The only difference is that we know where to meet on Sunday to hear the best gossip.

In order to keep us on the straight and narrow we need to hear sermons on the touchy subjects that hit close to home. One of my favorite pastors used to preach about a different sin every week. Every sermon he would rail against backbiters, slanderers, hypocrites, perverts, etc. I always went home feeling the message had really touched my heart, almost as if it were meant for me. His sermons never failed to stir me, though, to be perfectly honest, I would have preferred he not end each example of wickedness with “…like Joe.”

[Note: Once again I'm recycling my my annual Valentine's Day advice for thoughtless men.]

Over the past few weeks I've written posts on politics, religion, and culture. But today we must set aside such trivial issues and turn to more serious matters: preparing men for Valentine's Day.

With only 24 hours left you need to start making plans now. Wait much longer and you'll find yourself at the Quik-E-Mart fighting other pathetic slobs for the last Whitman's sampler or single-stem plucked-in-November rose.

But I have an alternative to cheap candy and wilted flowers. It's thoughtful. It's romantic. And most importantly, it's cheap.

It's the love letter.

Follow these steps in writing your love letter and you just might be able to prevent your Valentine's Day from becoming another massacre:

Buy some stationery -- You're a big boy now so throw away the Big Chief tablet you've had since 3rd grade and buy some quality paper. Keep in mind that if you don't feel like a total wuss when you buy the stationery then you purchased the wrong type.

Don't even think of typing the letter -- Unless you have the penmanship of a doctor, the letter should be in your own handwriting. If you have the penmanship of a doctor because you are a doctor, then you make enough money that you don't have to worry about impressing women anyway.

Be specific and personal -- Don't just write one letter that you photocopy and hand out to all the new girls you meet. That won't get you anywhere. You have to actually go to the trouble of copying the same letter out by hand every time you give it to a different girl.

Points will be deducted for spelling -- Pretend you're giving the letter to your high school English teacher, who will be taking points off your grade for spelling errors. Since women pass the letters around to their inner circle - which tends to include every woman in a 50 mile radius - you'll be judged by plenty of people. You might consider having a female friend proofread it for you since she'll soon be reading it anyway.

(By the way, if the letter is intended for your high school English teacher then you have issues that even I can't help you with.)

Write, rewrite, repeat -- Start out by writing a rough draft. Now take your rough draft and throw it away because it makes you sound like an idiot.

Seriously, it does. Just trust me on this one. I don't know why that's always true. It just is.

Write it again and try not to be so sappy this time. You don't want to scare her away by giving her the impression that you're some kind of freak. She shouldn't be able to figure out what kind of freak you are until she's been married to you for at least three years.

[Note: Using an original post is fresh, using it as second time is lazy, using it a third time, though, and it becomes a tradition. This entry, therefore, is officially my birthday tradition.]

Today is my 37th birthday and so I will celebrate this milestone in my life the way I do every year: by checking the life expectancy calculator to see how much longer I have to live. It turns out that if all goes well I can expect to be around for about 39.5 more years. At this point I have almost officially reached the point of being �middle-aged.� Unfortunately, I am totally unprepared for my mid-life crisis.

The typical mid-life crises cliches aren't very helpful. My wife is already out of my league (31, good-looking, and makes more money than I do) so the idea of trading her in for a trophy wife isn�t a plausible option. I can�t simply dump my job in order to go �find myself.� I tried that two years ago and within a week I found myself broke and with a new job. I�m also too poor to afford a sports car so it appears I�ll be spending my mid-life crises tooling around town in a Dodge Neon.

Obviously, I'm off to a bad start.

While I figure out what to do next, I�ve decided to take stock of my life by reviewing what I�ve learned over the past three and a half decades. Mining my past for nuggets of wisdom, however, has been a slow process: So far I�ve only made it back one week:

Dear Joe,
Why can't a woman over the age of sixty find a man?

Dear D.G.,
The first question is why a woman over sixty, a woman who has lived long enough to have gained maturity and wisdom, a woman who should understand what is truly important in life want to find a man. The second question is what is such a woman doing reading this blog.

For a woman of any age, finding a good man is a daunting task. Before the age of forty, women find that all men are either (a) already married, (b) gay, or (c) idiots. Since the good ones are already taken, women have a choice of either stealing someone else�s man or stealing someone else�s man - and then converting them. Over the age of forty, women have a similar difficulty since all men are (a) still married, (b) still gay, or (c) dead.

Because women live longer than men, the pool of available bachelors dwindles considerably after the age of sixty. According to government statistics, women can expect to live to the age of 80 while men can expect to check out around the age of 74. These figures, however, are skewed by the inclusion of married men, who tend to live longer than their single cohorts. Remember all of those �confirmed bachelors� that you used to see when you were younger? Remember the 35 year old Hugh Hefner wannabes? You know where they are at the age of 60? They�re trading pick up lines with Satan down at Club Hades.

Dear Joe,
I�m a New York Catholic who moved to the Bible Belt about a year ago. Every day on my drive to work I pass several churches: Pentecostal, Southern Baptist, and Methodist. What exactly is the difference between them?

Dear H.C.
To the casual observer, all Protestants appear to be the same. On closer inspection, however, subtle differences in form can be detected that make each denomination distinct. Take, for example, acceptable norms of behavior. Southern Baptists are expected to refrain from drinking beer and dancing. Pentecostals can�t drink beer either, though they can dance -- at least in church. Methodists, however, can both drink beer and dance, though, presumably, not during church services.

There are also differences in the style of preaching. Methodist reverends speak in dulcet tones, Baptists ministers speak in fiery tirades, and Pentecostal preachers speak in tongues. Go to a Pentecostal service for the singing, the Methodist�s for the liturgy, and the Baptist�s if you want to be out of church in time for the start of the football game.

There are also differences in theology but I don�t think anyone really understands what those are.

Dear Joe,
My husband can never remember to put the lid back down on the toilet. How can I fix this problem?

Dear A.,
There are a few things you could do: 1) Install a urinal for him so that you won�t have to worry about it, 2) Use superglue to seal the seat in the down position, 3) Realize that maybe he would appreciate if you would put the seat up for him every once in awhile.

Dear Joe,
My dad is an old fogey who thinks that guys shouldn�t wear earrings at all, but especially not at work. I say that if my boss doesn�t care then it�s okay. What do you say?

Dear T.,
I have to side with you on this one. It�s perfectly acceptable for a guy to wear an earring at work. That�s assuming, of course, that the guy works on a pirate ship. Pirates can get away with wearing earrings; on other men it makes them look foppish. An earring is perfectly acceptable, though, if you�re going for the pirate look, or the foppish look, or the foppish pirate look.

But if you're going for such a look you�ll want to be on the cutting-edge of fashion and right now the oversize, baggy look is in style. So don�t bother with a diamond stud or small hoop. Get one of those big gold 6� hoops to hang off your lobe. Wear that and I guarantee you�ll be the talk of the high seas.

Why will men drive around lost for hours instead of just stopping and asking for directions?

Dear POW,
When I took my vows as an advice columnist I swore to always tell the truth. So while I�ll probably get in trouble for letting you in on our secret, I have to be completely honest: We're not really directionless, we�re just pretending to be lost.

The suprising truth is that we just drive around in circles acting confused because we know how much this behavior infuriates women. Admittedly, it�s ridiculously passive-aggressive. But it�s also a lot more fun that you could imagine. When we pass the same gas station for the thirteenth time and mutter, �Well, it�s got to be around here somewhere�� we do it just to see the look on your face. That pained, frustrated expression you make when you�re trying to keep from losing your last fingerhold on sanity is priceless.

The best part of the experience, though, is when we get together with other men and compare stories about how our wife's head almost exploded while we were pretending to search for a street address. Somehow when we�re pulling this stunt we retain the ability to be completely stoical and straight faced. Yet when we share this tale with our buddies we start giggling like Japanese schoolgirls.

It's a biological fact that all men are born with innate sense of direction; we couldn�t get lost if we tried. What makes it even funnier is that we often confess to having this ability and yet no woman ever believes us! That is why we are able to pass on this lark down to our sons, and generation after generation, women fall for it every time.

[Note: You're probably better off just skipping this post. Seriously. Just check back in on Monday.]

Dear Joe,
The past few months I've been getting serious about a girl I've been dating. I'm starting to think that she may be the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. The only problem is that when I was younger I "sowed my oats" a bit too much. There are a lot of things in my past that I am not sure I want her to find out about. How much do I really need to tell her about my wild, crazy past?
G.S.

Dear G.S.,
As a rule of thumb, if your past involves a police record, divorce court, incriminating videotape, liberal doses of penicillin, or White House interns then you should probably mention it. If not, then you can probably be excused from bringing it up.

All of us have skeletons in our closest, though some of us have more than others. (When I got married I had to rent a storage unit to hide mine.) When she asks about your past just shake your head pensively and say that you're too embarrassed to talk about it. If she is like most women she will respect your wishes and not bring it up again for, oh, five to ten minutes. After that she will grill you like a CIA interrogator at Guantanamo Bay.

When you finally break under the pressure, confess everything. The key to handling the situation, though, is to tell her at the right time and in the right location. From past experience I can safely say that telling her on the Jerry Springer show is probably a bad idea. While it may seem like the most appropriate place to tell her about your affair with her better looking step-sister, I found--to my dismay--that woman hate finding out secrets on daytime television.

Dear Joe,
My stepson just turned seven and has been asking a lot of questions about where babies come from. I always thought I would be ready to answer when I had kids of my own but now it's not so easy. I told him we would soon talk about the "birds and the bees" but he keeps asking. I can't put the poor kid off much longer. What is the best way to explain it?

Dear Joe,
I'm getting married in two months and I need some advice. All my married (male) friends keep telling me that I don't realize what I'll be missing out on by getting hitched. I've been looking forward to settling down but now they've got me spooked. What exactly is it that I'll be missing out on, anyway?

Dear T.J.,

Let's first consider some of the benefits of being married. Gaining a spouse means having someone who will do the cooking and the cleaning. It means having someone to buy the groceries, provide comfort during illnesses, and pick the dirty socks up off the floor. Getting married is like gaining the benefits of a nurse, a maid, and a cook. That is of course, what the woman gets; I'm still not sure what men get out of the deal.

Having entered my third year of marital bliss I can say that there�s only one aspect of being married that causes me to feel that I�m missing out. It�s not the loss of control over my money or my time. After a few months you adjust to handing over your paycheck and appointment book. And within the first year you'll even be able to overcome your anxiety about losing your manhood, which she�ll be storing in her purse for safe-keeping. But there is one aspect that you will find it difficult to adjust to. Once you get married you will never again be allowed to take a nap.

For a woman, catching her husband napping is the second worst thing she can catch her man doing in their bed. (The first, of course, is discovering him drinking grape Kool-Aid on the 300 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Finding him with another woman, however, runs a close third.) Women believe that the only reason a man would want to take a nap is because he is either trying to ignore her or is avoiding spending time with her. The truth is that men take naps because we are tired. Too tired, in fact, to think of more creative ways to ignore our wives and avoid spending time with them.

[Note: This post was originally written in 2002 for my newspaper's humor/advice column.]

Dear Joe,
Last week I was talking to a salesman for a company that my firm does business with. I had met this guy several times before but this was the first time we had really had a chance to talk about anything other than business. Out of the blue he asked me if I would like to go out “on a date" sometime. At first I thought he was kidding. But after I realized he was serious I told him I wasn’t gay. He was embarrassed and apologized and I haven’t seen him since. Ever since then I have been racking my brain trying to think of what could have given him the impression that I liked men. Do you think I could have been given off some type of “signal" or what?

Dear T.G.,

Oddly enough I had a similar incident happen to me recently. You’ll recall that a few weeks ago I asked for comments on my [newspaper column]. Out of the overwhelming response I received (a total of three emails) one reader said they thought I was cute and would like to go out with me sometime.

Naturally I was flattered until I saw the name and noticed it was a guy’s name. It wasn’t even one of those names that could be either a boy or girl name like Tracie, Kim, or P.Diddy. It was definitely a guy.

I started to wonder if maybe something I had written had left him with the impression that I was gay. I decided to ask some of my closest family and friends if there was anything that seemed, well, “gay" about me. Big mistake.

I turned first to my main source of information on the gay community, my ex-wife. Since she is a lesbian I thought she might be able to clear up the matter for me. I asked her why the guy would ask me out.

“Because he thinks you're gay too," she said.

“Couldn’t it be that he was trying to, I don’t know, convert me," I asked.

She assured me that gay guys don’t hit on straight men and that I must have written something to make him think I was one of his tribe. I sent her the suspect columns to get her impression. When I called her back, my ex and her partner, were laughing hysterically. They had read the part where I said that I was a “manly man" and thought this was the funniest thing they had heard in years.

(For those of you who are keeping a list, being told by a pair of lesbians that you are not very manly ranks #17 on the All-Time Biggest Blows to a Man’s Ego.)

Dear Joe,
My parents are driving me crazy. I�m fifteen but they treat me like I�m ten. They act like I am incapable of doing anything right. Everything I do is wrong. All I ever hear is how when I�m their age I�ll see things differently and that I�m too young to understand. They don�t realize that the world has changed since they were my age. Kids know more at fifteen nowadays than eighteen years olds used to know. Help me out, Joe. What can I do to get them to understand me?

Dear F.T.,
Don�t be too hard on your parents. While you may not agree with their approach I'm sure you realize that they have good intentions. The are a number of reasons they treat you as if you don�t know anything. They love you, they want to protect you, and, most of all, they realize that you don't know as much as you think you do.

Now don�t get me wrong, I�m not saying that teens lack intelligence. Just because they can�t figure out how to properly wear baseball caps (hint: the bill goes to the front) or jeans (e.g., they should be worn around the waist, not around the thigs) doesn�t mean they aren�t bright. Intelligence, though, as I�ve discovered, is an overrated attribute. It�s not as if you can�t get a job without it (I'm living proof).

What is essential in life is wisdom. And that can only be acquired with age and experience. It�s sort of the consolation prize adults get for screwing up their lives. Your parents have gained wisdom while you, alas, are still lacking. It�s not that they don�t understand you. They understand more than you think. They�ve been in your shoes and have discovered that the dumbest statement in the English language is, �I have to learn for myself.�

Here is a preview of some of the things you�ll be learning after you finish that long slog through puberty:

Dear Joe,
I am engaged to be married to my girlfriend of two years. But I'm also in love with someone else, who unfortunately is married. When I look at my fianc� I think, �Yeah, we can be happy together.� I know I love her but I don't necessarily feel 'in love' with her. And this other woman ...well, she occupies my thoughts a lot. We were good friends at one time. I just feel like she (the married one) is a true soul mate and here I am settling for something less than par. Am I totally screwed up or what?
J.K.

Dear J.K.,
After years of reflection I've come to the conclusion that the reason many people get divorced is because they get married. While I can't know for certain, I suspect there would be fewer messy divorces if people avoided getting into messy marriages in the first place.

Unfortunately, your situation is a bad Jenny Jones episode waiting to happen. Your problem isn't necessarily that you�re totally screwed up (though, that too seems apparent) but that you have the wrong concept of what love is all about. From the way you use terms such as �soul mate� and talk about loving your fianc� but not �feeling in love� it appears that you've either been reading romance novels or watching too many chick flicks. You certainly didn't pick up that lingo by hanging around with Manly Men. Would Clint Eastwood talk about not �feeling� in love? Would John Wayne pine over a �soul mate�?

No and no.

Manly Men (and I include myself in that category despite my tendency to wax my chest hair and faint at the sight of snakes) share an understanding about life. We know that some of the best things in life make absolutely no sense whatsoever. Some of the things we most desire can cripple us, lead to our ruin, or even lead to an untimely death. Yet we boldly choose them anyway. This is why Real Men play football, go to war, and get married.

Dear Joe,
My girlfriend is driving me nuts. She will never say directly what she means. Instead she beats around the bush and expects me to know what she meant rather than what she said. Why don�t women just say what is on their mind? Are they speaking some foreign language that I�m not aware of? I need some help.

Dear A.V.,
When asked to rate the qualities they admire most, women often claim to value honesty above all else. This is, of course, rather ironic since honesty is the trait they least tolerate in men. Admitting that, yeah, now that she�s mentioned it, she does look kind of chubby in that dress, will not win a man praise for his integrity. Most likely it will simply lead to a trip to the ER to have a size 8 stiletto removed from the side of his neck.

Women, of course, are smart enough to know that nothing is more detrimental to a relationship than being truthful. Watch them when they are talking to members of their own sex and you�ll see what I mean. Women can barely tolerate one another as it is; if they were to tell each other what they really thought (�Which dog groomer gave you that hairstyle?�) it would be the end of civilization as we know it.

While you may not be able to read her mind, you do need to read in between the lines. Here is a brief guide to what people say and what it is they really mean:

Dear Joe,
How can I get rid of my son? He's 24 years old and the laziest creature on earth. He doesn't go to school, won't get a job, and claims he can't afford to move out on his own. The truth is that he could afford to move out if he didn't spend all his money sitting around the house smoking dope all day.

I love him dearly but he's got to go. How do I get him to move out?

Dear F.P.,
Here's a step-by-step plan for getting the little pot head out within a week:

Day #1 – The first step is to get him out of the house for a few hours. Tell him you found $20 in the washer and were wondering if it was his. While he is out giving his “tithes to the Rastafarian church" call a carpenter, preferably one that is handy with sheetrock. A good drywall specialist can have the door to your son's room sealed off in less than an hour. Be sure to have it painted so that it blends in with the surrounding wall.

When your son returns and wonders why he can't find the door to his room pretend you don't know what he is talking about and "remind" him that he moved out six years ago. Convince him that he is having a “flashback" from the time he ate those weird mushrooms.

Day #2 – Remove all edible food from the house. Bake a liver quiche and leave it, along with a pitcher of prune juice, in the refrigerator. Now when the the little freak gets the “munchies" he'll be in for a big surprise.

Day #3 – Invite Timmy, the earnest young Christian at church who is always anxious to share his new found faith, to drop by and visit your son at around 4:20 p.m.* Tell him that your son really wants to develop a personal relationship with the Lord but needs someone to explain it to him. Just to be safe, have some Jehovah's Witnesses stop by at 5:10 and some of those clean cut Mormon missionaries drop in at 5:45.

Day #4 – At 4:35 p.m., when your son is good and stoned, call your house and in your best basso-profundo voice say, “Hello. This is God speaking. Timmy said that you and I should get together and meet sometime..."

Day #5 – Hide dog biscuits all around the house and invite the police department's K-9 narcotics unit to drop by the house at 4:40 p.m. for coffee and donuts.

Day #6 - Tell all four armed forces recruiters that your son is really interested in joining the military. Military recruiters are like used car salesmen that make housecalls. Mention that the best time to catch your son is at 4:30 p.m.

Day #7 – Tell your son that the two of you need to have a serious discussion. Take him for a long drive in the country and be honest about your concerns. Explain that it's really time that he moved on with his life and, after you slow down to about 20 mph, open the passenger door and kick him out of the car.

If he didn't take the hint the first six days then he's obviously fried his brain to the point where you don't have to worry about him finding his way home.

* As I learned on recruiting duty, 4:20 p.m. (aka 420) is the time when losers throughout the world set aside to get high. Ask you kid what it means. If he knows, smack' em – he's a stoner. If he says he doesn't know, smack' em anyway cause he's lying to you.

Dear Joe,
The other day my girlfriend broke out an old photo album that coincidentally had a bunch of pictures of old boyfriends. Every one of them were really good-looking. I was just joking around and asked her if she thought I was the most handsome guy she has ever dated. She didn’t say anything. Then I asked her if she even thought I was good-looking. She hesitated and said that wasn’t what she found attractive in me. Needless to say, I kind of freaked out. My own girlfriend doesn’t think I’m attractive. How am I supposed to deal with something like that?

Dear L.R.,

I’m a homely guy.

Oftentimes when I make that statement people assume that I must have a low self-esteem. People assume that if you don’t find yourself attractive then you must have some psychological issues. But for me that’s not the case at all. In fact, I have a ridiculously high estimation of myself considering that I’m basically a moron.

What I lack in intelligence, however, I make up for in self-awareness. There is no shame in being ugly as long as you are aware of that fact. Unfortunately, there are too many people running around that have no clue just how terribly unattractive they truly are.

I do my best to point it out to as many people as I can but, sadly, I can’t reach everyone. You need to take an honest look at yourself and decide if you fall into the ugly category.

There is a broad spectrum on the ugly scale with plain being on one end and carnie worker reject being on the other. Homely, where I fit in, falls somewhere in the middle. To be honest, I wish I were even uglier than I am. (Contrary to what my friends say I do think that it’s possible.) Being ugly has distinct advantages that beautiful people miss out on.

If you decide that your girlfriend was right and you are rather hideous then don’t despair. Here are just a few of the reasons why you shouldn’t want to be good-looking:

[Note: If you are the type of person who is offended by inter-service rivalry between branches of the American armed forces, then please do not read this post. If you�ve never served and you�re offended, then all I can say is that �it�s a military thing� and that you wouldn�t understand. If you�re a veteran and you�re offended then please don�t embarrass your branch by admitting this in public. And if you think �inter-service rivalry� means poking fun at the Merchant Marines then you�re probably in the Coast Guard.]

Dear Joe,
My nephew has decided to join the service and has narrowed his choice to either the Air Force or the Marines. Since you were in the military I thought I�d ask you which you thought was better. Any suggestions?

Dear U.D.,
Let me first say that I have the utmost respect for all of the groups that serve our country. The Army, Navy, Marines, and Boy Scouts all do an outstanding job and have my deepest admiration. The Air Force, being very similar to a military organization, gets my thanks as well. And while I have a soft spot for all veterans I must admit that I am not completely objective since I served over sixteen years on active duty in the Marines. Three of those years were spent on recruiting duty.

As a recruiter I learned a lot about the youth of America. I learned, for instance, that teenagers really are as dumb as they appear to be. They are particularly ignorant, I found, when it comes to matters pertaining to the military.

More than once I received an incredulous stare from a teenager that couldn�t comprehend the differences between the various services. For example, I found that most kids had only a vague awareness that the Navy has ships. Their idea of the Navy had mainly been formed by repeated viewings of Top Gun. Imagine the young recruit�s shock to discover they would be �seeing the world� from the deck of a frigate rather than the back seat of Maverick and Goose�s F-14.

Hopefully, your nephew has considered all the differences between the two branches in forming his decision. In order to help out I�ve included a few factors that he might want to consider:

Over the past few weeks I've written posts on politics, foreign policy, environmentalism, and bioethics. But today we must set aside such trivial issues and turn to more serious matters: preparing men for Valentine's Day.

With only 24 hours left you need to start making plans now. Wait much longer and you'll find yourself at the Quik-E-Mart fighting other pathetic slobs for the last Whitman�s sampler or single-stem plucked-in-November rose.

But I have an alternative to cheap candy and wilted flowers. It's thoughtful. It's romantic. It's cheap.

It's the love letter.

Follow these steps in writing your love letter and you just might be able to prevent your Valentine's Day from becoming another massacre:

Buy some stationery -- You're a big boy now so throw away the Big Chief tablet you've had since 3rd grade and buy some quality paper. Keep in mind that if you don't feel like a total wuss when you buy the stationery then you purchased the wrong type.

Don't even think of typing the letter -- Unless you have the penmanship of a doctor, the letter should be in your own handwriting. If you have the penmanship of a doctor because you are a doctor, then you make enough money that you don't have to worry about impressing women anyway.

Be specific and personal -- Don't just write one letter that you photocopy and hand out to all the new girls you meet. That won't get you anywhere. You have to actually go to the trouble of copying the same letter out by hand every time you give it to a different girl.

Points will be deducted for spelling -- Pretend you're giving the letter to your high school English teacher who'll be taking points off for spelling. Since women pass the letters around to their inner circle - which tends to include every woman in a 50 mile radius - you'll be judged by plenty of people. You might consider having a female friend proofread it for you since she�ll soon be reading it anyway.

(By the way, if the letter is intended for your high school English teacher then you have issues that even I can't help you with.)

Write, rewrite, repeat -- Start out by writing a rough draft. Now take your rough draft and throw it away because it makes you sound like an idiot.

Seriously, it does. Just trust me on this one. I don't know why that's always true. It just is.

Write it again and try not to be so sappy this time. You don't want to scare her away by giving her the impression that you�re some kind of freak. She shouldn't be able to figure out what kind of freak you are until she's been married to you for at least ten years.

Dear Joe,
My girlfriend and I have recently started talking about getting married. She is a passionate and fun girl but she can�t cook at all. That shouldn�t be a big deal but I am getting tired of always having to eat out. I love her but is love enough? What should I do?

Dear R.K.,
When I was just a boy my dad pulled me aside and gave me some advice on choosing a life-long mate. �Cooking lasts,� he said, taking another shot of Pepto-Bismol, �Kissing don�t.�

From the tone of his voice and the smell of Rolaids on his breath, I could tell that he came by this discovery the hard way. (My Mom wasn�t just a bad cook, she was completely confused about food. We never did convince her that Spam wasn�t a vegetable.)

Times have changed, though, and it�s rather chauvinistic to think that a woman�s place is in the kitchen. Equality of opportunity means that women are moving into areas that have historically been the domain of men: the corporate world, the clergy, the Laz-E-Boy, etc.

But I empathize with you. It�s a tough choice to make between your heart and your tummy. After all, as my old man convinced me, passion fades, hunger pains don�t.

Dear Joe,
This letter is in response to the question you received from R.K. about his girlfriend who couldn�t cook. Considering the fact that he stated �I love her, but is love enough?� there is no way that I cannot write to you and present these two questions: a) Does he know how to cook? If so and he loves her so much maybe he could teach her how! b) Should she marry a man that loves her�but?

Dear Joe,
What’s wrong with people from Texas? Ever since I moved here two years ago people ask me if I’m a Yankee. (I’m not. I’m from California.) Why is it that people in this state are so quick to judge someone strictly on their accent?

Dear P.J.,
In Texas, life moves fast. Having to make quick judgments means we often don't have time to waste on such trivial matters as thinking for ourselves. In order to save time we’ve developed certain shortcuts in order to size people up. One of the main ways we do this is to judge strangers by their accents. Fortunately, the process is rather simple since Texans only recognize three types of accents: Yankee, Californian, and Foreigner.

The Foreigner accent is a rather broad category that covers all people from such non-native English speaking countries as Germany, Korea, and Australia. It’s rather easy to pick out and generally shows that someone has the good sense to leave their third world country - France, for example - and come to the Promised Land. Texans have no problem with foreigners.

The Yankee accent covers everything north of the Red River. (Technically, this includes people who live in Amarillo too, which makes them a bit suspect.) You can pick them out not only by the funny way they talk but because they are far less educated then we are. For example, when you give them directions and tell them that the Interstate is “over yonder a fur piece" they look at you like you’re an idiot. Any group of people that can’t even follow simple directions must come from a terribly backward state. We don’t have a problem with Yankees either, provided they are looking for the Interstate in order to go back to where they came from.

Dear Joe,
Lately I�ve wanted to become a better Christian (like you) and decided that I needed to go back to church. Shopping around for a church isn�t exactly easy, though. I know I shouldn�t choose a church based solely on the preacher but if the preacher isn�t good then I find it difficult to stay interested. How do you judge whether the preacher is any good?

Dear P.R.,
For my next career (i.e., after I get fired from my current job) I�m considering going into the ministry. Not only do I think it is my calling in life (well, maybe) but it appears to be the perfect job. Being a pastor would allow me to combine my three biggest passions: telling people how they should live, avoiding manual labor, and eating.

Preachers lead a cushy, well-fed existence. Basically all they do is talk, then eat. That seems to be the standard format for a life as a minister. Put in an hour of work on Sunday�then get invited to lunch. Visit with the sick people in the hospital�then eat their Jello when they nod off. Grab a deacon and drop by some unsuspecting parishioners house during dinnertime�and then, well, you get the idea. Then, after a long day of talking and gorging, you can go soak your feet in the baptistery. What more could you ask for in a career?

Unfortunately, though, it will be a few more years before I have a congregation of my own. When I become a minister then you are welcome to join my church (note: I have a preference for fried chicken and corn on the cob). So in the meantime, here a few pointers for picking a preacher:

Ensure the pastor knows what he's talking about -- Like everyone else, preachers sometimes get lazy and don�t properly prepare. Sometimes, if they think no one is paying attention, they�ll start referring to so-called �books of the Bible� such as Nahum or Habbakuk or Haggai. Don�t let them fool you. I�ve been reading the Bible my whole life and I can tell you that I�ve never seen any of those books before.

Be sure he isn�t long-winded -- This becomes especially important during football season. While it can be difficult to spot a gasbag before they get started, oftentimes you can pick up on subtle clues.

For example, if he opens his sermon with, �How �bout them Cowboys!� there�s a good chance you�ll be out in time for kickoff. If, on the other hand, you notice he takes a sack lunch to the podium then pray you remembered to set the TiVo.

Avoid overbearing preachers -- Though they have the best of intentions, some preachers can be a bit hard to stomach. I once had a pastor who would constantly refer to us congregants as �lost�, �degenerate sinners�, and �in need of redemption.� Once he got wound up it would spiral off into claims that we were �wicked�, �unrepentant� and �bound for hell.� Now if the fire-and-brimstone speeches would have come on Sunday morning I wouldn�t have minded. But when your playing church league softball you really expect more encouragement from the coach.

Find a minister that won�t sugarcoat the truth -- While you don�t want a preacher who's too harsh, you also don�t want one that is afraid to be controversial. Church people are just sinners like everyone else. The only difference is that we know where to meet on Sunday to hear the best gossip.

In order to keep us on the straight and narrow we need to hear sermons on the touchy subjects that hit close to home. One of my favorite pastors used to preach about a different sin every week. Every sermon he would rail against backbiters, slanderers, hypocrites, perverts, etc.

I always went home feeling the message had really touched my heart, almost as if it were meant for me. His sermons never failed to stir me, though, to be perfectly honest, I would have preferred he not end each sentence with "�like Joe."

Dear Joe,
What's the best way to get out of traffic ticket?

Dear L.B.,
Several weeks ago I was out for a ride and inadvertently ran a stop sign. Though I didn't see the sign, a cop did see me. He quickly pulled up behind my chopper and signaled for me to pull over.

Now I've been a biker since I old enough to work a kick-stand so getting hassled by the fuzz is nothing new. I also, as you can probably imagine, have quite the outlaw streak in me. So I did what any self-respecting rider would do: opened it up full throttle and tried to make a run for it. I gave it all I had but the cop must have had some super-charged cruiser because he caught up to my moped like I was standing still.

From this experience I gained a couple of valuable lessons. First, pull over right away. If the police have to chase you 47 miles until your scooter runs out of gas you can bet they won't be in a good mood when they get their hands on you. Second, always wear a helmet. When the cops commence to giving you a Rodney King-style whooping it helps to have your head covered. Since that incident I make sure I always wear a helmet when I ride. In fact, I now wear one when I drive my car. You can never be too careful.

Some other ways to avoid a ticket are: