It dawns on us here at FDP HQ that many of our readers are complete losers (don't look around the room, we're talking to you), and so may be in need of some relationship-advice services.  And since the service industry is going absolutely B-A-N-A-N-A-S right now, this seems like a profitable venture for the ol' Eff Dee Pee.

So with that introduction, please allow one of our most esteemed writers, bobkerolls, to take the e-floor.


Thank you.  Many of you reading this are asking, "But bobkerolls, how can you help my love life?  What is the capital of Bulgaria?", to which I can easily reply, "Are you fucking kidding me?  I've been in lots and lots of relationships, basically a new one every year, so I know what make them tick.  And Sofia."

Now since I imagine that many of you are past the initial stages of relationshipping (determined your sexuality, obtained your first restraining order, know the trick about applying hard suction to the belly-button) we can safely move on to the more advanced techniques.  In fact, I will give you the five lessons I learned from my most recent relationship, so that you will be completely caught up to my hyper-developed level:

LESSON #1: PRETEND TO BE A FAMOUS ASTRONAUT

My last girlfriend, who was named either Amanda or Amber (I could never figure out which), was initially attracted to me because I told her I was a world-famous space shuttle navigator (never say pilot - it's too good; you want to seem believable).   "One day," I would tell her, "I will make pilot.", and then I would look down and shake my head.  She would say reassuring things like "I know you will, honey, I believe in you.", and I would look up and smile and say, "Sure..you're right. Say, is it sex-thirty yet?"

  
Everything was bliss for several months.  I would leave in the morning for astronaut training (in reality: call-center worker.  Listen, I realize many of my readers are call-center workers, and will bristle at being placed on the opposite end of the spectrum from astronauts in terms of job-sexiness.  Please do not take offense from me just because I think your job is bullshit.)

Then one day it all came crashing down, and from the most innocuous of beginnings...

Amber(?): Honey, if you are world famous, how come you don't have any celebrity friends?

Me: Are you kidding?  I guess this is something you can't understand, not being a celebrity, but I will explain it to you in as many non-celebrity words as I can, to make it easier for your pedestrian mind to understand: Celebrities don't like to hang out with other celebrities. 

Amanda(?): But I...

Me: Oh, but it's true!  For instance, when was the last time you saw a picture of Jack Nicholson hanging out with Carson Palmer (the ridiculously famous and succesful quarterback of the Cincinatti Bengals)?

Amandaber: I...

Me: Or!  When was the last time you saw Gallagher hanging out with the lead singer of O.A.R.? And since they are both only popular on college campuses, they probably have lots to talk about.  Or when was the last time you heard about Angela Lansbury chilling with Tim Robbins (this last one I threw in to see if she would react to the name Angela - she did not.)

Amberanda: I'm pretty sure that...

Me: Look, sugartits.  I'm sure it's hard for you to fathom, but look at it this way - who is impressed with celebrities?  Non-celebrities, right?  That is who makes them famous.  Therefore, it is in a celebrity's best interest to cultivate this as much as possible.

Angela:  That...that actually makes a little bit of sense.  But what about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie?  And all of those other famous people that are married to each other?

Me: (patting her on the boob, reassuringly) There, there, don't work too hard on this.  It's so obvious: it is a ruse to fool the media.  Sort of a celebrity version of a beard...a celebeard if you will.  That way the media stops asking why people like me only hang out with people, well, with people like you, frankly.

Angelina: Well then how come I never hear about you on the news, or find you when I do Google searches for your name?

Me: That's uh...that's because I use a psuedonym, so people won't stalk me...US...at home.

Afroman: Oh?  What is your pseudonym?

Me: uh...Roman Polanski.

LESSON #2: PLAN SHIT OUT BEFOREHAND

Assface: Are you telling me that you are Roman Polanski?

Me: More correctly, he is me.  

Aswan Dam: Are you crazy?

Me: Why?  Just because I killed those kids or whatever he...I...did?

LESSON #3: DO NOT PICK ROMAN POLANSKI AS YOUR PSEUDONYM

Arbiter of Justice: Look, Fist...

LESSON #4: TELL PEOPLE YOUR NAME IS FIST ROCKWALL

AOL: Why did you just shout "Lesson four, tell people your name is Fist Rockwall"?  I'm starting to think you are lying to me, and that you have mental problems.

Me: Am...baby...if I wasn't so successful and awesome would I be able to afford to take you to Red Lobster for your birthday whenever that is?  By the way, let me get $20 - they just came out with a Star Trek themed scratch-off ticket, which is basically God forcing me to play.

At this point she broke up with me, which leads me to my fifth, and most vital lesson:

LESSON #5: DONT WASTE YOUR MONEY ON THOSE STAR TREK THEMED SCRATCH-OFF TICKETS, THEY ARE BROKEN.