Whatever you do, don’t give advice

Brian Lecuyer

Brian Lecuyer

As strange as it sounds, hassle-free furniture stores often pester you into buying expensive futons. This is just a warning to all who dare venture into the realm of furniture purchases. It has nothing to do with anything else. NOTHING. Anyone who thinks a hidden message telling them to walk around campus naked exists somewhere in the above text is just plain old foolish. Or maybe insane.

Either way, when the eagle flies at midnight, the drunken hick will ring the chimes, and the cows will seductively dance with the moon. This is your clue that everything is in place. Don’t worry; it shouldn’t be that cold outside.

This column is about lousy advice. I have received my fair share of it and probably given out much more (no, you don’t look too drunk to drive; yeah, you two would make a great couple; extended warranty, how could you lose?) than I prefer to admit. Regardless, I, and everyone else, still give horrendous, stupid, moronic advice with an enthusiasm and zest that defies logic. Do we not know the suffering we cause? Probably not. We’re too busy feeling good about ourselves and how, by gosh, we care about our friends. We care enough to tell them what to do.

Often times, we care so much that we give them the advice that we ourselves would never follow. We say such things as, “You need to live life like this is your last day on earth. Carpe diem, Good sir/madam!” After our friends leave, we grab a cola out of the fridge watch a rerun of Seinfeld, take a nap and watch Dumb and Dumber on TBS for the 22nd time. When our friend calls us five hours later because every member of the opposite sex that he/she wanted to carpe diem with rejected him/her, we listen intently while thinking about all the advice our friend needs.

Advice like, “Have you tried drowning out all your troubles in booze? It works for me! Like this one time, I bought a really expensive futon . . .”

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