“Dear Pricks”: The only advice column that matters
Dane Robert and Brandon Mendelson
Dane Robert (aka: Cornelio Prick) and Brandon Mendelson (aka: Hugeh Prick) are two jerks who answer your questions. They’re fed up with the bullcrap canned answers that syndicated columnists give to people like you. You deserve the truth, even if it hurts. Dear Abby can kiss their backside.
Dear Pricks,
Who would win a fight between you two?
- Jim
Brandon's a big pussy.
That said, Brandon’s a pussy and I’ll go toe-to-toe with him any day of the week … well, except Thursday’s. That’s sober day in the Robert household.
That delusional retard will probably claim that we’ve never met, which is only partially true. I have yet to meet his four other personalities.
Brandon: I’ve never actually seen Dane in person, so I can’t tell you whether or not he carries a knife. And if he does, whether or not that knife is bigger than mine. I’ve also been looking into carrying a sawed-off shotgun in my “man bag”.
… It’s not a purse. Shut Up.
Presuming I upgrade from “dull but useful” to “This is my BOOM STICK”, I’d like to think I’d win.
But, it’s entirely possible Dane actually reads my answers here and knows what I’m carrying.
That gives him plenty of time to prepare a careful, well-planned defense of whatever type of place he lives in. I don’t know what people in the Midwest live in. I assume they look a lot like the homes on Little House On The Prairie. If that’s the case, that asshole can hide anywhere with a sniper rifle.
More importantly, reading my answers gives Dane time to find a functional rocket launcher.
If video games have taught me anything, it’s that the rocket launcher tops everything.
So, Dane would win.
That’s okay. I’m a lover, not a fighter, so if I were to go to the Midwest to take him on, I’d be too busy f*cking women at a local college to fight him.
Which reminds me: Do you have a sister?
Dear Pricks,
Why are journalists the last — and least — to understand the subject matter which they’re reporting on?
- Steven
Dane Robert: Steven, let’s pretend for a minute that you work in the fast food industry (I’m sure it’s a real stretch). Let’s say that you’re the guy that microwaves the hamburgers into those smashed-up, pathetic-looking patties of regurgitated vomit. One day, I enter your workplace establishment and order my weight in calories, because, of all the ways to commit suicide, I’ve decided to go with a cardiac arrest. Before I pull the trigger (metaphorically-speaking), I ask to speak with the chef (which is you).
As you waddle your chubby ass out to the front counter, you wonder why someone would refer to you as the chef, and more importantly, why would your co-workers, believe that “chef” described you.
Our eyes finally meet, we’re within arms length of each other and I proceed to fire off repeated questions about the cattle slaughtering business in an attempt to better understand my fate. You’re confused (understandably) and say aloud: “I don’t get paid enough to know shit about anything other than nuking a meat patty.”
You see, Steven, these “journalists” are basically the “microwave operators” of the editorial word. Thanks to content farms and whores like Arianna Huffington, 90% of them get paid little to nothing, with the promise that someday, they’ll make it to the deep fryer. You and I both know that day will never come.
Bottom line, Steven, the only person that really knows anything is Stephen Hawking, and unfortunately, I’d rather rub semen in my eyes than listen to his electronic voice box.
Brandon: Legitimately, I have an answer for you. I’m even writing a book about it that’ll be out in April 2012 by St. Martin’s Press. The book is called “Social Media Is Bullshit”. You should buy it.
If Mick Folely were alive today*, he’d call that a cheap plug!
The short answer though? Google. Thanks to Google rewarding Web sites who post first (regardless of whether or not they’ve done any actual reporting) and Web sites that post often (regardless of whether or not they’re just “borrowing” other people’s content), Google gives them traffic.
If Google gives these Web sites traffic, they can get advertisers. And if they’ve got advertisers, they’re potentially profitable. And if they’re profitable, why would you hire someone who knows what they’re doing when what you do works?
… You know what? That’s a little too serious of an answer. So, uh, did I ever tell you my favorite RedTube video is “White Dicks In Black Holes”?
The only way that video would be better is if that chick was wearing a cape.
*Mick Foley is not dead.
Dear Pricks,
How can I become a Prick?
- Average Joe
Are you a natural born Prick?
However, if you think you’ve been blessed with the Prick gene, I welcome you to contact us here. Tell us why pooping stings sometimes. If we like your answer, we’ll plagiarize it and pass it off as our own. We’ll most likely send you an email and ask you more questions as well. At some point, we’ll add you as a guest Prick on DearPricks.com, but provide you with no compensation. If somebody more Prick-worthy comes along, we’ll stop responding to your emails until you get the hint.
This is essentially Prick bootcamp. We’ll promise you that someday you’ll become one of us, but truthfully, that day will never come. We’ll tell you that our traffic will make you famous, but really it won’t. The best you can hope is that someday, you’ll come to your senses and either quit or start a site better than ours. But, even then, Brandon will degrade you on Twitter to his 840,000 followers.
So, if this sounds good, send us an email, we’d love to chat.
Brandon: I’ve already answered this question, but I’m going to assume you’re too lazy to visit DearPricks.com and look on the “Questions Idiots Ask” page for the answer. So, here you go:
“So, you want to be a Prick do you? Well it’s actually a really easy process. You find the hottest available girl (or guy) that you know. You build up all the courage in the world to ask them out. You go out with them and you become functionally retarded. To the point that your teeth chatter and you can barely form coherent sentences. This will be the only opportunity you ever have to be with them one-on-one. From that point on, they will not be interested in you, and your disappointment and bitterness will slowly fester.
But then, a glimmer of hope comes from the sky! Your dream girl (or guy) gives you one last shot. You set the time. You get excited again. There is a renewed sense of hope! But then, your parents arrive and totally derail your plans. You run into the girl (or guy) and find them seemingly disappointed. This will be the last time you ever see this person again. And sure, you may be friends on Facebook, but it’s not the same. They have a kid now, and you are leading a boring, dull life of quiet desperation.
A life where the only thing you have to look forward to is a possible future career as someone who murders someone with words. And although you may murder many people in the future, you know each word murder will not give you another chance at this person in your life. Then, and only then when you accept misery and hatred, you can become one of us.”
By the way: That whole little rant there is based on a true story.
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