American Chimpanzee

Every morning my father goes on his morning walk, rain or shine. Even the days he  doesn't  want to go, he'll go. Sometimes our conversations will go like this: "Man," he'll tell me, "I  really  don't feel like going on my walk this morning." "Why don't you take a break?" I'll ask him. "What?" "If you're not feeling good, why don't you give yourself a break?" "A break from what?" "From your walk." "From my what?" "From your walk." He'll pause. Think. Chew on the idea a bit. "Why would I want to do that?" he'll finally say. "I'm just saying, if you're not feeling good." "Who said I'm not feeling good?" "You told me that you didn't feel like going on your walk." "Yeah, but I didn't say I didn't feel good. I just said I didn't feel like going on my walk. That's not the same thing....

Hard Core Advice From Hard Core's Hardest Core... John Leslie     Dear John,       My girlfriend and I are going through a very rough time after five years together, and we are now on an extended break.       I am trying hard to address my own issues through counseling, and one of those issues is dealing with being lied to. I can't stand it. I am a rather honest person, but my girlfriend is far from it. After being exposed to her little white lies for so long, I have become aggressively suspicious and controlling, and borderline paranoid. I am hoping to address this and learn to "let go," since the snooping, spying, and obsessive grilling of her for the truth is destructive.      I try to offer her opportunities to tell me the truth about things, but her first reaction is always to lie. It could be about something as innocuous as what she spent her time on in the evening, or it could be something ...

T he obdurate oaf embarked on an oleaginous odyssey ostentatiously wearing his orgulous expression like a hat he forgot was upside down.     “Potatoes make fries, chips, and vodka. It’s like the other vegetables aren’t even trying.”--anonymous    song recommendation: Mashed Potato Time by Dee Dee Sharp    Spud-Tacular!    My father’s a potato-loving guy. I don't mean that in a love-that-dares-not-speaks-its-name kind of way. He just loves potatoes. To eat them, if I still haven't made my point clear. In fact, my father likes potatoes so much you would think he was Irish. However, unlike the Irish, he does eat other foods. He just likes potatoes. A lot.       Since I brought the Irish's eating preferences up, I've always wondered (and maybe one of you can tell me) how did the great Irish Potato Famine end up killing so many Irish men and women? I mean, was potatoes ALL they ate in Ireland? Didn't they have any other kind...

Hard Core Advice From Hard Core's Hardest Core... John Leslie!     Dear John:       I am a senior in high school. My boyfriend broke up with me a month after he went off to college. We had been together for nine months, and I was devastated. He was my first real boyfriend. He treated me well and cried when we broke up. He ended our relationship because it was his first time being on his own, and he didn't want anyone tying him down. He said he needs time to figure out his life. He claims I will understand when I go to college, and I am trying to accept this.      Our breakup was amicable, even though I was upset. We still text and talk on a regular basis. I know he has no intention of getting back together, at least not now. I have seen him three times since we broke up, and every time we end up sleeping together. He told me recently that he thinks he is interested in another girl.      My friends say it's best i...

My father's best friend recently left us for that great boneyard in the sky.  After a short period, he told us he wanted to adopt a new one.    Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!          I campaigned against it, but found I was outvoted when the mail-in ballots were counted. I didn't want to accuse anyone of anything, but it looked suspiciously like election fraud to me.  Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark...

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair-it just won't behave-and damn my jeans. Jeez, I look like ten pounds of meatballs in a five pound sack. My inner goddess is sad. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, but I'm tired. And hungry. Mainly hungry. I tried sleeping with my professor for an "A," but he told me he was gay. "I didn't know you were gay," I commented, trying hard not to offend the LGBT by overusing the G-word. Maybe I'll use the word "dancer" instead. "I'm not," he commented back, "but in your case I'll make an exception." So here I am. Trying to stretch these jeans into submission. In frustration I rip them off- traitors! -and go into the kitchen for a snack. Nothing like a whole ham to make a girl feel pretty. My subconscious drools at the thought. Seven pounds of pork later, I'm standing over the sink daintily washing my hands and wiping the excess...