Ray's Place: Pornography Addiction, Insomnia, and Impotence

No, it ain't Pat's diary, it's the return of my column! You asked, and I answered. Thinkin' this will be a weekly thing! If I didn't get to you this time, I got lots more saved up for next.

Here. We. Go!

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How much is too much to spend on OnlyFans subscriptions? 

—Omnithea

Dear Omnithea,

It really don’t matter, so long as you’re not playin’ video games. Charley plays damn video games all day long, and he’s so addicted, he even has this little plastic video game machine he brings to the dinner table. He tries callin’ it “e-sports” or some nonsense like that, so I come back at him all, "You got arms like a boneless eel, Popeye gonna eat your ass." But I guess people his age all eat ass these days so that didn’t mean to him what it meant to me.   

-=RAY=-

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Dear Ray, I have recently started experiencing insomnia for the first time. You seem like a man who has never suffered for lack of beauty sleep. What are your tips for getting a guaranteed snooze on?

—Jon

Well, Jon, it used to be pretty much a lifestyle guarantee that I’d pass out every night, full from kisser-to-wisser on Tanq and ribeye, or whatever we were skompin’ downstairs. Usually I’d wake up to find The Police blasting on a bluetooth in the downstairs bathroom, with the door closed and nobody in it (those were scary moments, openin’ that door), or discover that somebody with a Sharpie had written BOCEPHUS real small on the white leather couch, which still ruined the whole thing. 

These days, I’m livin’ a little healthier, and I got this boss nighttime routine dialed in with my energy trainer Clariñgo.

• First, I set my iPhone to minimize blue light at night (the screen for this is buried way deep in the settings, but he drew me a flowchart of how to find it).

• Second, I go outside on the lawn and do Spiderman Vs. The Volcano for ten minutes. If you don’t know this one, you get buck naked and lay face down, spread eagle, touchin’ the earth. This helps neutralize the blood so it ain’t all cloggy.

• Third, I go in the kitchen and eat some brominated artichoke dip with a glass of negative water (ionic charge thing).

• After that, I get in bed and fall asleep listening to The Great Equations on my AirPods—somethin’ about huge equations just totally opens the mind up to the wonders of the universe, and I am out like a light. 

Hope this helps, Jon!  

Smackitude,

-=SMUCKLES=-

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Dear Ray, As an all-around dude who naturally excels at everything you do, have you given consideration to advising on classic simple foods that are easy to make while shitfaced, like the bologna tortilla or cold canned soup shooters? J.   

Dear J.,

I would never drink cold soup. N-e-v-e-r. You ever had gazpacho? I’m like, “nope.” That’s salsa. Try again, Spain or whoever. It’s kind of like that “is a hot dog a sandwich” Buddhism riddle: “is cold soup a soup?” No. It’s just obnoxious. Callin' cold stuff soup is like tryin’ to pass off ketchup as the jelly on your PBJ, since a tomato is a fruit. Which it ain’t, because get this: nobody thinks a tomato is a fruit, ‘cause it tastes like frog ovaries. Science can suck me hard above the fist when it comes to classifyin’ a tomato. 

Sorry to get cranky on this one. I don't dick around with soup.

Ray.

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Ray, How's it going with the balding thing? Have you accepted or managed to reverse it? And what does accepting baldness look like for you guys - is it whatever the fuck Pat's doing? Thanks, JR 

JR, 

Man, a few years back I went on a real jag with the chemical method of regrowin’ hair. Minoxidil, fluozepam, doxatremaline, formazecan, maltesealol, and even this trendy new one called He’s A Boy (boycaldelyde). I was pissin’ hot Vaseline fragrance and havin’ heart palpitations, plus I couldn’t log out a peter to save my life (embarrassing, but I was single at the time, so I let it roll a while). I’d get maybe some silky fuzz on the pate, but it’d go away like one hour after I stopped it with the trick-or-treatin’. 

Once I finally got fed up with all the tinnitus and shudder-knee, I flushed all that crap. (Sorry, impotent fish.) After about a month of bein’ hair-sober, I went on a walk through the forest one afternoon, and stepped on a mushroom (accident). I felt this warmth at the top of my head, and normally I would have been nervous about the connection, but there was just this real calm assurance-type energy all around me, and for the rest of the afternoon I basked in the realization that absolutely nobody cares if I’m a little bald. I even asked some hikers if they cared that I was a little bald, and they said no, but didn’t elaborate.  (I was trippin’ a little, too, I realized later.)

So, think about it. You ever seen a nice-lookin’ lady out with some hideous golem orc man, veiny old dome straight outta Thanos’s shorts? You sure have. Hair is like socks, dude: if you got personality and confidence that radiates vitality, nobody notices your socks.   

—Raymòón The Owl

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Confidential to Marcus M: On salads I prefer blue cheese dressing.