by Richie Pepio
Dear Advice Columnist,
I’ve never written to an advice columnist before, but I have nowhere else to turn. I can’t trust this information with anyone else because I’m a famous athlete and it could be used against me. No one can know my identity, not even you.
The problem is: my girlfriend has not been honest with me. I’ve invested so much into this relationship and now I can’t dunk my way out of this one. I think things moved so quickly, that I missed all of the red flags, even though a bull only sees red.
We first met at a local Chicago club. She caught my eye with the way she danced the Hula, which is weird, since the Hula seemed so old fashioned. But she did things her way. And I can relate, because I wear Hanes my way.
She was different from the other girls, more genuine. There were no awkward attempts to impress me - she just looked at me with her big, round eyes and said she “likes Mike” with that quirky accent. Sure, she talked like an old-timey gangster, but her voice was just one part of a free-wheeling persona I fell in love with. After several dates, we decided to just do it and moved out to the woods together, to be closer to her family.
Once we actually started cohabitating, though, things got almost as weird as that season I played for the White Sox. We’d get these deliveries at ALL hours of the night. Just huge crates of stuff. Whenever I’d ask her what she was ordering, she’d say they were for her “pals” and the conversation would stop there.
Every now and then, we’d throw parties at our little “hole in the ground,” and she would put on this stereotypical World War 2-era Japanese accent, which I found really offensive. And when I’d ask her what she wanted for her birthday, she said “war bonds.” Which would make her seem noble if she didn’t love playing mean practical jokes so much. On my birthday, for instance, she went through all this trouble to bake me a beautiful carrot cake, only to reveal that all the candles were sticks of TNT. I mean, I was OK: when the dynamite blew up, the explosion only sent my face to the other side of my head, but come on!
One day, we were having a picnic outside with some Ball Park Franks and Gatorade when I realized her long, beautiful hair was just bunny ears tied together. Yes, my girlfriend is actually a male rabbit who dresses up like a woman as part of an elaborate ruse to hide from “prospectors” and “spinning demons.” When I tried to get back into our little “hole in the ground,” the rabbit zipped the hole up like it was a Trapper Keeper.
I realize now that the past year of my life has been a sham. When I Googled the ACME logo printed on all of her deliveries, I discovered that ACME is the arms dealer that got busted for selling “falling anvils” to terrorists. Upon seeing your handwritten advertisement for an advice column posted outside of my Highland Park home, it seemed way too coincidental but I’m in a real jam and am hoping you can help. You write with what seems to be a speech impediment, but you say you can help people, whether it’s “basketball season or wabbit season.”
Can you help me??
Number 23 Looking to be Free
Richie Pepio is a writer, actor, and improviser who tumbls @Mindctrlaltdel and tweets @RichiePepio.