The global face of Kevin, the fragrance, deigns to answer all your trifling questions...
Dear global face of Kevin, the fragrance:I have a holiday dinner crisis on my hands! I’m expecting 16-18 hungry, hungry guests and I just don’t know how I’m going to please all these picky people! My mother-in-law, Nadine, is DEATHLY allergic to chicken, but my sister Bertha ABSOLUTELY REFUSES to eat anything that “once had a face”! And that isn’t even the worst of it! Burt, my cousin’s second husband, is always ragging on me for serving “gourmet hoity-toity crap” instead of the hamburgers and fries that he likes! So I’ve got him griping while, at THE EXACT SAME TIME, I’ve got my brother’s wife looking down her nose at me for not making the same perfect cranberry sauce that she can make! Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t spend five years at culinary school in Paris, Theresa! I CAN'T WIN! And you might not believe this, but I don’t even know how to seat these people! Earl’s mad at Betsy for something she supposedly did to Rick and Rick’ll of course pitch a fit if he’s not sitting close to Amber, who–according to him–is the only one of us who can keep up a decent conversation about Adirondack crafts, but if Amber has to sit across from Jolene, they’ll be staring daggers at each other all afternoon because of that Christmas tree stand scandal from five years ago! Whatever should I do? Help, global face of Kevin, the fragrance: HELP!
—Befuddled in Baltimore
Dear Bafaddley in Birmingham
Your troubles bore me. Go away, please. But, before you do, be so good as to tell the global face of Kevin, the fragrance, if you like his striped belt. It doesn’t look too affected, does it?
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Dear global face of Kevin, the fragrance:
I fear that I am slipping into an abyss of despair and existential horror. Every morning, it takes an act of sheer, futile will to force myself to crawl out of bed. From there, I wander numbly though the asinine rituals that I have now come to recognize are all my life, or any life, consists of. As I shuffle around this dreadful void we all society, I listen to the merriment and repulsive ignorance (for is there any difference between the two) of those around me, and it has no more affect than bilgewater upon the hull of a rusted, sinking freighter ship. I have long since given up any hope of anything “changing”, but–theoretically speaking–if I wanted to seize one fleeting moment of pleasure from this barren slog we call existence, what would I do?
Depressed Swede
Dear Depressing Weed,
Get your balls waxed. If you happen to be a woman, have them wax the area where your balls would be if you were a man. If this area is not completely smooth, your life will be bad. That’s a guarantee. Now be a dear and freshen my drink, will you?
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Dear global face of Kevin, the fragrance:
I’ve been married to a wonderful man for fifteen wonderful years. I feel blessed that the Good Lord has sent me a husband who loves, cherishes and provides for me. We share all our dreams and desires, enjoy mutually-fulfilling intimate moments, and consider ourselves best friends in addition to soul mates bound in eternal holy matrimony. There is only one dark cloud on our horizon, and it’s such a small thing I hesitate even to mention it. Basically, I sometimes worry that my husband–an absolute gem of a man, mind you–might be killing and eating runaway children. He treats me like a queen, true, but I’d have to be deaf not to hear the rumors. And he does spend a lot of time in his workshop. And the police have come to question him a little more than usual recently. Should I confront him with my suspicions, or should I just try harder to be his helpmate?
Confused Lady
Dear Ladyboy,
Cannes is over. Nice is over. St. Tropez is so over I don’t even recognize it anymore. This season, I’m looking at Malta. Malta and Nicosia are the only two places on the whole Mediterranean a person ought to be seen these days. It’s tragic. Tragic, I tell you.
Does my hair look alright?
(Feel free to submit your own questions to the global face of Kevin, the fragrance, in the comments section! And, in case you were wondering: yes, I am sort of ripping off the Onion a little bit...)
