Dear Uncle Howie:

I think I may be obsessive-compulsive and I wanted your opinion on the matter. I just can't help but to peep up women's skirts. I've been thrown out of the mall, a park, a baseball stadium, and even church over it, but I just can't stop myself.

It starts out innocently enough. I'll be sitting on the bleachers, watching a ball game, then I must black out or something because I'll faze back in and I'm under the bleachers with an eyeful of panties, or--more often than you'd think--outright poontang.

I don't mind so much the panties nor the poontang, but what bugs me is when the ladies notice me under the bleachers and call the cops. A couple times I even spent the night in a holding tank because of it. How can I stop myself from blacking out and looking up women's skirts? I'm afraid I'll end up doing time for this.

Mortally Embarrassed

Dear Mortally Embarrassed:

Hey, I know you! You're the circus midget that lives in a itty-bitty trailer down at the end by the duckpond. I read about you and your peeping problem in the Police Blotter a whole bunch of times. What was your name again? Fandango? Jingles? Something like that.

Okay, little dude, back to your problem. I'd say the best way to prevent yourself from blacking out and then waking up with a faceful of panties, poontang, and/or law enforcement would be to stay the fuck away from places with bleachers and pews with women sitting in them. Stick with rodeos and NASCAR races and normal guy stuff. The only women who sit on bleachers in those places ain't gonna be wearing skirts. Bingo, your problem is solved.

Dear Uncle Howie:

My husband got flash-fried in flaming grain alcohol when his still exploded in the trailer, and I miss him something fierce. That side of the bed looks awful empty without him passed out drunk in it, but I ain't ready to go leaping into another marriage just yet. What should I do?

Recently Widowed

Dear Recently Widowed:

Hey, I know you! I read about your trailer exploding in the local news. Plus, I seen it after the fact. You're that chick in the singlewide up near the top of the driveway, the one with all the cats running around the yard.

I heard through the grapevine that your hubby used to be a homeless bum until you married him. And he had a real drinking problem. He wasn't a pants-shitting alkie yet, but he was fixing to hit that milestone soon. If your old man hadn't blowed hisself to smithereens trying to distill his own hooch, you would have eventually found him belly-down on the living room floor with flies buzzing around the butt of his shit-stinky Levis. So you can take comfort in the fact that you never had to witness THAT.

As for the empty spot in your bed, why don't you put all them cats to good use? I know I seen at least a dozen cats in your yard. A dozen cats takes up about as much space as that scrawny homeless drunk you're mourning. Pile all them cats onto the empty spot on the bed and sleep next to the catpile until you're ready to date again. I suggest you get over that worthless drunk and start dating real men pretty quick. You never know what you're missing and besides, you ain't getting any younger.

Dear Uncle Howie:

Aaaaagh, I'm in so much pain. My heart is all busted up into tiny little pieces. The love of my life got married, and every other woman I'm in love with has a restraining order against me. I can't even count how many times I've ridden out of the trailer park in the backseat cage of a police cruiser for admiring my beloved through a trailer window.

Maudine ain't got a restraining order on me because her husband is a big hairy muscley cop, and he just whomps the shit out of me any time he catches me peeping at his wife.

Please help me, Uncle Howie. I ain't been laid in nearly a year, ever since me and Dick and Holmes all went out and picked us up some skanky dive-bar poontang.

Lonely Blueballs

Dear Lonely Blueballs:

Let me get this straight. It's been less than a year since you got laid and you're bitching already? You gotta be kidding me. You think YOU got problems? Lemme tell you something, bro. I ain't been laid in FOUR years. So stop sniveling.

Besides, there's something you can do. Does the old crazy cat lady up in space #8 have a restraining order against you? If not, you need to show up to her trailer with a big bouquet of flowers, 'cause she's about as desperate as you are.

So, what are you waiting for? Bust a move. If you don't, I'll take a crack at her myself. She's about 25 years older than me, outweighs me by 50 pounds, and she wears a ratty bathrobe most of the time, but when did something like that ever stop a guy like me? Come on, now, get your ass in gear already!

Let me put this another way. Fuck her or I will.

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