Dr. Advice

 

“Never tell your problems to anyone…20% don’t care and the other 80% are glad you have them.”

― Lou Holtz

 

Dr. Advice:     Phones lines are open folks, and I am smoking this morning.  Who do we have next there, Rod?

Rod:    We have Sally from the valley on line two, Doctor.

Dr. Advice:     Hello Sally!  Spill forth your guts.

Sally:  Hello, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Hello again, Sally.  I bet the knives in your drawers are sharp!

Sally:  That is not my problem.

Dr. Advice:     Let me guess.  Your boyfriend or husband or mother takes you for granted all the time.

Sally:  That is all true, but that’s not why I called today.

Dr. Advice:     Then it must be either a pet or a neighbor problem.

Sally:  Well, yes.  As a matter of fact, I have a problem with my neighbor and how he treats my cat.  How did you know?

Dr. Advice:     The magic screener guy told me.

Sally:  He told me this is strictly confidential!

Dr. Advice:     It’s true.  My listeners, by virtue of tuning in, have agreed not to discuss any caller’s personal problems with anyone in perpetuity.

Sally:  Ok.

Dr. Advice:     So, what are the particulars of your given problem?

Sally:  My neighbor, let’s call him Fart Face, keeps feeding my cat without my permission.

Dr. Advice:     Your soul must be tormented, Sally.  You should take the money you save on cat food, and buy yourself a lobotomy.  I’m going to hang up the phone now, Sally, so you can take inventory of your life and then turn off the pilot light on your stove.

Sally:  I have an electric stove, and just what do you mean by that?

Dr. Advice:     Rod, who we got up next?  And, no more cat people for an hour.

Rod:    We have Germy and Charlene who are recent millionaires who have a rabid dog or something.

Dr. Advice:     They actually told you that?

Rod:    Yes.

Dr. Advice:     Well, put them on.

Germy and Charlene:         Hi Dr. Advice.  Are you affiliated with Oprah?

Dr. Advice:     Only in the Biblical sense.  What can I do you out of?

Germy and Charlene:         Our phone battery is low, so if this thing shuts off, we’ll hang up and listen.

Dr. Advice:     Tell me about the millionaire thing.

Germy and Charlene:         It was about our friend who sucked some frozen sperms out of this rich guy and he had to pay us to get back his cell phone and computer stuff and Bambi.

Dr. Advice:     Really?

Germy and Charlene:         Paul Newman is going to play Germy in the movie.

Dr. Advice:     Really?

Germy and Charlene:         And Brittney Spears is going to play me.

Dr. Advice:     Really?

Germy and Charlene:         We just have to dot the t’s on the contract.

Dr. Advice:     Those t’s can be furious.

Germy and Charlene:         What?

Dr. Advice:     So, what is your problem?

Germy and Charlene:         Oh, we don’t have no problems since we got rich.  Germy just told me Oprah was on your show.

Dr. Advice:     You just missed her.

Germy and Charlene:         Really?

Dr. Advice:     Rod, let’s move on to our next caller.  Who you got up?

Rod:    Our next contestant, Dr. Advice, hails from Ypsilanti and is on disability!

Dr. Advice:     All our callers are on disability.  What’s his problem?

Rod:    Aliens.  He says they are flying over his trailer at night and spooking his hound dog.

Dr. Advice:     I’m almost ready to start believing this one, Rod.  What is it, number two million and six?

Rod:    Right you are, Dr. Advice.  I’ll put him through.

Walter:            Hello. I am, Walter, and I am an alcoholic.

Dr. Advice:     This is amazing, Walter!  You are the ten thousandth alcoholic to call this show since March!

Walter:            It was not my intention.

Dr. Advice:     So, you don’t want the prize?

Walter:            There’s a prize?

Dr. Advice:     Free tickets to the Briarbush Mall, Walter.

Walter:            I’ll take two.

Dr. Advice:     They are on their way by the magic of mail.  So, Walter, tell me what you got stuck in your craw.

Walter:            Alien’s is spooking my hound dog, Daisy Duke.

Dr. Advice:     I hate when that happens!

Walter:            So do my neighbors.

Dr. Advice:     So, how do you think I should deal with it?

Walter:            I found that turning up the TV real loud helps.  Or, fail that, you just duct tape a Walkman to Daisy Duke’s head.

Dr. Advice:     Slow down, Walter. I’m trying to write all this down.

Walter:            Do you need me to spell words for you?

Dr. Advice:     No, Walter, you’ve done enough already. Rod, next caller please.

Rod:    She’s a repeat caller who goes by the name of, Bucky.

Dr. Advice:     That little nymph must have finally got that welfare check turned back on and caught up her phone bill.

Bucky:            And the heat next week!

Dr. Advice:     Please tell the welfare lady to quit calling here, Bucky.  I am not a licensed psychologist for the millionth time, and I cannot confirm your going to work disability.

Bucky:            Mama says, never give up.

Dr. Advice:     Mama should call.

Bucky:            She don’t have no phone in the trailer.

Dr. Advice:     Then I will just have to call her.  Bucky, what is your latest problem?

Bucky:            I missed my ladies time again, Dr. Advice.  This time I’m for real.

Dr. Advice:     Oh no, Bucky!  We should call the American Medical Association.  No one has ever missed her ladies time twice in the same month before.  I want you to just hold on the line while Rod gets me a brand new caller.

Rod:    You are not going to believe this.

Cooper:          Hello, Dr. Advice. Are you talking to Bucky?

Dr. Advice:     Hello, Cooper.  Are you calling from the holding pen, again?

Cooper:          No, the bowling alley across the street.

Dr. Advice:     You haven’t got a problem, Cooper, you’ve got a solution!

Cooper:          I do?

Dr. Advice:     Yes, and I will explain it to you.  By virtue of your already being at the bowling alley I have surmised some kind of transportation got you there, right?

Cooper:          My shoes.

Dr. Advice:     Are your shoes still in working order?

Cooper:          Let me check….Yes.

Dr. Advice:     Great!  Now turn those toward Bucky’s trailer and order them forward.

Cooper:          Do you want me to call you when I get there?

Dr. Advice:     Rod, you are in rare form today, I must say.  Who’s next?

Rod:    Winchester J. Seinfelt, attorney at law.

Dr. Advice:     Put him on hold and forget about him, Rod.  He’s my ex’s stupid law talker from the Ann Arbor University of Michigan.

Rod:    He says it’s important and the tow truck has your car as we speak.

Dr. Advice:     Tell him I know where he lives and fuck him in his ass.  Did you hit the cough button, by the way?

Rod:    I broke that six months ago, Doc.

Dr. Advice:     Give me another caller, Rod, pronto.

Rod:    Okay, here’s one. I didn’t have time to screen it.

Winchester J. Seinfelt:        Dr. Advice, this is Mr. Seinfelt, attorney at law.

Dr. Advice:     Bite me.  Rod, I know what you did there.

Rod:    Talk to Bambi, line four.

Dr. Advice:     Hello Bambi.

Bambi:            Hello yourself, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     You can’t be single, Bambi.

Bambi:            I am proud to say I am married to the richest man who owns yachts in every body of water on the world, and named them all after me.

Dr. Advice:     And I bet you are calling me from one of them right now.

Bambi:            Nope.  I am calling you from Charlene’s trailer.

Dr. Advice:     That would have been my second guess.

Bambi:            Are you prophylactic, Dr. Advice?

Dr. Advice:     You can’t get on the radio any other way, Bambi.

Bambi:            But, I am on the radio right now and I am definitely not prophylactic?

Dr. Advice:     Is that why you called, Bambi?

Bambi:            No. Charlene said Oprah was going to be guess starring.

Dr. Advice:     You just missed her, but she is coming back at midnight to take special calls from special friends and guess what, Bambi?

Bambi:            What?

Dr. Advice:     Charlene is on that list.

Bambi:            For real?

Dr. Advice:     I’m a doctor, Bambi. I couldn’t lie if I wanted to.

Bambi:            Shaazaam!

Dr. Advice:     And there is just one more thing, don’t tell anyone.

Bambi:            That you’re a liar?

Dr. Advice:     No, about Oprah.

Bambi:            I got to tell Charlene or she won’t know to call at midnight!

Dr. Advice:     Tell her at exactly 11:99, Bambi.

Bambi:            Can I remind my butler to remind me?

Dr. Advice:     Yes.

Bambi:            Will Oprah put a surprise under our chairs here in the trailer?  One time she gave away the cheapest Pontiacs ever made to the whole audience.

Dr. Advice:     Oprah made me promise not to tell, Bambi.  Go now, and sin no more.

Bambi:            I quit sinning when I got filthy rich, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Rod, do that magic that you do.

Rod:    You want Charlene again, or the law talker again, or the guy is trying to find his pickup truck in the Walmart parking lot?

Dr. Advice:     Give me Walmart guy.

Rod:    Shit. He hung up.

Dr. Advice:     Why don’t you try calling someone?

Rod:    You got it.

Dr. Advice:     And not the pizza joint or 911 this time.

Rod:    You’re on with mystery guest number one.

Dr. Advice:     This better not be about cats.

Mystery Guest One:   I told the kids you stopped paying your child support because you hate them and are living with whores and crack heads.  And, my new boyfriend who is a Colonel and a former Navy SEAL and a spy, said he is going to kick your ass and break your arms and pluck out your eye and skull fuck you.  In your name I ordered up prescriptions to every child porn magazine I could find on the Internets and sent a letter to the White House threatening to assassinate everybody and only used two stamps!

Rod:    She gets better every time, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Here’s some advice for our listeners, don’t get married while high on mushrooms and drunk on Jack just because she beat up the hooker who pickpocketed you.

Rod:    Amen, my brother.

Dr. Advice:     Dare I go on, Rod?

Rod:    It’s why you make the big bucks, Dr. Advice.  Bambi is back, or we could go to the power company or Big Bill from East Lansing.

Dr. Advice:     No, Hell no, and what the Hell?

Big Bill:          Sad circumstances brings me to this phone call, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Have you tried thinking happy thoughts?

Big Bill:          No.  It’s about my son.

Dr. Advice:     I am truly sorry to hear that.

Big Bill:          He got a job that he don’t get paid for at that Suicide Hot Line and that just ain’t natural.  I mean, why not pay someone trying to stop maniacs from killing themselves?  I say we should pay them to encourage that kind of stuff even faster.  Ain’t it the suicide guys who go off and shoot up all the people who don’t even know them all the time?

Dr. Advice:     A non-paying job, what a tragedy.

Big Bill:          Do you take Blue Cross Blue Shield, Dr. Advice?

Dr. Advice:     No.

Big Bill:          Then I better hang up now before this starts costing me.

Dr. Advice:     Tell you what.  Since we know each other so well, I will give you one free question.

Big Bill:          I don’t accept no charity, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     You’re a better man than I, Gunga Din.  Rod, scoop me up one.

Rod:    You’re bookie, or the guy who can’t find his pickup truck?  He called back.

Dr. Advice:     Keep it on the ixsnay ookiebay.

Rod:    I know the illdray.

Dr. Advice:     You’re on live, in front of perhaps dozens of listeners, so go ahead, Mr. Anonymous caller.

Charlie The Rat:                   Who do you like in the game tonight, Dr. Advice, and by that I mean, who do YOU like in the game tonight and by how much?

Dr. Advice:     Is that um, thing still in?  I mean, about what you told me.

Charlie The Rat:       Like a squirrel in a hen house.

Dr. Advice:     So, you like have a thousand problems, Mr. A.?

Charlie The Rat:       Or even twice that, if Mr. Vig rears his ugly head, like what happens in sports sometimes for no reason whatsoever.

Dr. Advice:     Reminds me of a double jeopardy case in the papers this morning.

Charlie The Rat:       I will definitely read up on that article.  So, we’re happy with a victory by the team at that place that holds probably at least two thousand people, or three times the capacity of that place that holds only a thousand?

Dr. Advice:     That’s my prescription, Mr. A.  And, keep working on those Indian Chill meditations which soothe your itchy trigger finger.

Charlie The Rat:       Amen with that shit, I’m telling you.  Hey, I just said, shit. Can I do that on the radio?

Dr. Advice:     Rod bleeps all that shit out.

Charlie The Rat:       By the way, that guy who eats sardines with the weight issues, says for me to tell you not to forget about, Candy.

Dr. Advice:     My dentist will see her tomorrow.

Charlie The Rat:       Okay, am I off the line now?

Rod:    You’re talking live with Pickup Truck man, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     It’s where it always is, Cletus. Just walk out the door, smell for the Burger King, and start walking.

Rod:    He hung up.

Dr. Advice:     How many times has that guy called?

Rod:    Seventy-three, including twice today.  I suppose the first one doesn’t really count because it was related to a single incident, but the computer rules.

Dr. Advice:     Let’s just do the daily prank phone call and get it out of the way.

Rod:    You forgot to say, brought to you by Seinfelt Legal Terminators, again.

Dr. Advice:     It’s been said, next caller, Rod.

Rod:    It’s football maniac guy.  Are you sure?

Dr. Advice:     Fuck it.

Pigskinner: It’s me, Pigskinner, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Just tell me your problem today, Pigskinner, and no more Buckeye hating for two weeks.

Pigskinner:    Do you know what that Nick Satan went and done?

Dr. Advice:     Roll Tide.

Pigskinner:    I know you’re just kidding and will ignore your ignorance of that sophomoric remark.

Dr. Advice:     Go Blue!

Pigskinner:    Mother fucking right, Hail Victors!

Dr. Advice:     Tell me, Pigskinner, has the University of Michigan, the one in Ann Arbor, accepted your application yet?

Pigskinner:    Oh, they accept it every single time.  I’m waiting for them not to send them back.

Dr. Advice:     Enough chit chat, Pigskinner, speak ye mind!

Pigskinner:    I’m going to have to call you back.  My wife needs the phone to call Aunt Patty up in Bear Lake.

Dr. Advice:     Send Agnes my love, Pigskinner.

Pigskinner:    I will.

Dr. Advice:     Okay, Rod, let’s try and enter the Sane Zone for one call. Let’s do the prank call brought to you by Seinfelt Legal Terminators.

Rod:    One step ahead of you, Big Guy.  Poison control, line three.

Dr. Advice:     Help me! My wife put a ground up light bulb in the meatloaf and fed it to the whole family!

Poison Control Girl: Oh my God!

Dr. Advice:     Is that actually, poison?

Poison Control Girl: I don’t know!  I’m in charge of the web page.  I only answered the phone because I was picking it up to make a call anyways!

Dr. Advice:     You use the Poison Control Hot Line to make personal calls?

Poison Control Girl: Oh my God! You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? I could get in a lot of trouble.

Dr. Advice:     Just check the website and see if crushed light bulb glass is poisonous.

Poison Control Girl: But, there is no computer at this phone!

Dr. Advice:     Oh my God, they’re everywhere!

Poison Control Girl: I have one at my desk, but I’ll have to hang up this phone and go to the other phone.

Dr. Advice:     You have merely seconds, Neo.  Go, NOW!

Rod:    And cut.

Dr. Advice:     That was fun.  Now, an actual caller, right, Rod?

Rod:    Yes we do, Dr. Advice.  Kurt wants to know the secret about girls.

Dr. Advice:     He’s probably calling from his mother’s basement.

Rod:    Frank, people in China can hear you now.

Dr. Advice:     Quit telling people that, Rod.

Frank: Hi, can I get my advice now?

Dr. Advice:     This is what you do, Frank, listen carefully because I won’t say this twice.  Tell every girl you meet she is beautiful, but would be an absolute princess if she only fixed this or that.  Just look at her and pick an organ.  Ears work great, and so do jowls.  Sooner or later, you’ll sucker some poor girl with that line and she will stay with you simply because you make her feel self-conscious about herself and girls hate that.  Then, you use that girl to help you find even better girls, most likely her friends, and move right up the food chain until one finally sues you for everything you have and child support is garnished from your check every fucking week.  It’s called The Circle of Life, Frank, and resistance is fucking futile.  You want sympathy, call the Suicide Hot Line.

Frank: Seriously?

Dr. Advice:     How old are you, Frank?

Frank:             Fourteen.

Dr. Advice:     Jesus H. Christ, Rod, I told you to stop doing that to me.

Rod:    What can I say?  I thought it was those guys from over at WKRP were pranking us.   The same guys who made that princess have a heart attack when they emailed her that picture of the dead guy with the prince’s face shopped on it?

Dr. Advice:     Why can’t you think of stuff like that?

Rod:    I will, the very second you make me not an intern.

Dr. Advice:     Just give me the next caller already.

Rod:    Pickup truck guy, or the secretary at the Toyota store, Glenda?

Dr. Advice:     Glenda.

Glenda:          Hi.

Dr. Advice:     Hi.

Glenda:          It’s me again.

Dr. Advice:     Computer says it’s your first time.

Glenda:          It’s right. I usually call the girl show, but it’s all repeats this week.

Dr. Advice:     I need the demographic.

Glenda:          I’m a Republican.

Dr. Advice:     And that is your problem.

Glenda:          No it’s not.  I want to know if I should sleep with my boss for a raise?

Dr. Advice:     I say, yes, you go, Girlfriend, because I know you already did, you home wrecking whore.

Glenda:          He lives in a condo!

Dr. Advice:     And I hope you die in a fire there someday, maybe even on Christmas.

Rod:    Pickup truck guy is back, and he’s mighty angry, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Just tell him he can open his eyes now and give me the next caller.

Rod:    The IRS?

Dr. Advice:     The one after that one.

Rod:    The Free Clinic?

Dr. Advice:     Keep going, Rod.

Rod:    Cindy sounds like a hoot. Line one.

Cindy:                        Hi Daddy!

Rod:    Or, line two, Fred, from Ecorse.

Dr. Advise:     Fred, my man, how’s it hanging?

Fred:   Like a monkey from a coconut tree, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:  Lay it on me, Frank, and don’t hold back anything.

Fred:   I’m Fred.

Dr. Advice:     Same difference

Fred:   If you say so.  Anyway, I need you to settle an argument for me.  If I were to want to buy a helicopter, which one should I buy.

Dr. Advice:     The Bell 206 Jet Ranger. It’s the most reliable helicopter out there, and at the most reasonable price.  It’s easier to handle than most jet propelled luxury machines, so you could even train that monkey of yours to fly it.  They have excellent resale value, as well.

Fred:   Do NASCAR allow them on the track infields?

Dr. Advice:     With only a three day notice.

Fred:   Thanks, Dr. Advice.

Rod:    There are no more callers at this exact moment in time, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Now comes the portion of the show when I call one of you, the listeners, with one of my problems. Dial a number, Rod.

Rod:    Ring, ring.

Voice:             Hello.

Dr. Advice:     You’re on the Dr. Advice radio program beamed out across three counties from one hundred feet of tower in your demographic area.  I, am Dr. Advice, and I have chosen you as the person to reveal a most compelling problem to.

Voice:             How ironic. I happen to be a rather noted psychiatrist, myself.

Dr. Advice:     Wow, this is ironic.  I actually wasn’t trying to do that.  Anyway, you don’t have to actually help me, just listen.

Voice:             Are you lying down?

Dr. Advice:     Yes.

Voice:             Well then, sit up.  Too much blood flow to the brain is counter-intuitive to proper psychiatric methodology.

Dr. Advice:     Okay, now I am sitting up.

Voice:             Can I bill you for this?

Dr. Advice:     We have Blue Cross Blue Shield.

Voice:             Good. Proceed.

Dr. Advice:     I hate my job. I hate my friends.  I hate my coworkers.  I hate cats.  I hate the liberal media.  I hate England, and all its stupid people.  My boss drinks wine coolers, my wife left me for a law talker, and now I have to lower myself to public transportation. I need my fingers and my knee caps, and I got betting disease.

Voice:             Don’t go postal. Call the Suicide Hot Line and I do mean NOW!

Dr. Advice:     Don’t worry, I control all that shit with my drinking problem.

Voice:             I’ve never billed by the minute before. Can we just round it up to an hour?

Dr. Advice:     I feel so much better now, round it out to two hours. Rod will tell you where to send that check.

Rod:    And, we are out of there.

Dr. Advice:     Was there a full moon last night, Rod?

Rod:    Maybe, Dr. Advice, or perhaps it’s just the new billboard we put up in Inkster!

Dr. Advice:     Well, one monkey don’t stop no rodeo, Rod.  Give me another caller.

Rod:    We have Spike, who was killed in the Viet Nam war, Dr. Advice.

Spike:             And I didn’t even know it until recently.

Dr. Advice:     Our first Zombie!  Rod, make a note!

Spike:             I ain’t no Zombie, Dr. Advice.  I’m on disability.

Dr. Advice:     No!  That I would have never guessed!   So, Spike, tell us your story.

Spike:             Well, my sister went to that wall in Viet Nam where they put your name if you are dead, and there it was, right there for everyone to see.

Dr. Advice:     Wow.  How did you die, Spike?

Spike:             Shell fragments.  I got a purple medal.

Dr. Advice:     And, what is the problem you need advice for?

Spike:             I don’t.

Rod:                If we had any sponsors left, we would switch to a commercial right now, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Sounds like a great time for my weekly rant of the week, Rod.  Do we have the time?

Rod:    Only over the producer’s dead body, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Then bring on the next guest, Rod.

Rod:    We have a young lady who claims to have been an extra on a Seinfeld episode.

Dr. Advice:     And her problem is?

Rod:    Coming right up.

Candy:           Hi, my name is, Candy.  And I have my problem is my drinking.  Now, I don’t drink too much, I just drink too often.

Dr. Advice:     Well, even that can be a problem I would imagine.  What line of work are you in, Candy?  Or, should I guess?

Candy:           Stripper.

Dr. Advice:     I was thinking doctor.

Candy:           Thank you.

Dr. Advice:     Now I am going to hang up on you, Candy, and Mr. Rod is going to give you a number to call.

Candy:           But, I—

Dr. Advice:     Rod, next caller please.

Rod:    We have two more from the Suicide Hot Line, or Jack who wants to know whether or not he should report a hit and run accident.

Dr. Advice:     Good morning, Jack.

Jack:   No one was hurt, except that Honda.

Dr. Advice:     Well, Hondas don’t count anyway.

Jack:   That’s what I always say.

Dr. Advice:     So, Jack, tell us exactly what happened.

Jack:   Freak accident, really.  Probably, technically, you could say it was an Act of God, because there was nothing I could do.

Dr. Advice:     Go on.

Jack:   I blew a radiator hose in my Camaro and it sprayed anti-freeze all over my front tires.  Dale Earnhart himself couldn’t have pulled that car out of that spin any better than I did.

Dr. Advice:     Where were you when the accident happened?

Jack:   Behind the wheel.  Where else would I be?

Dr. Advice:     No, I mean, which road was your car traveling down?

Jack:   I was actually traveling up a small rise at the time.  Not down.  Are you hearing the words coming out of my mouth?

Dr. Advice:     Forgive me.  Please go on.

Jack:   I was on the freeway.

Dr. Advice:     And, how fast were you going?

Jack:   Don’t even know. That speedometer’s been broke for two years.  But, honestly, I was probably a might bit over the limit.

Dr. Advice:     And, the Honda?

Jack:   I don’t know how fast he was going, and the guard rail and the water barrels caught him just fine.  Set off every air bag in that Honda.  I got movies of it on my phone camera.

Dr. Advice:     So, you stopped?

Jack:   Yeah, I’m not a complete asshole, you know.  He was pretty woozy there at first.  That’s when I convinced him that semi-truck had bumped him, which was partially true because there was a semi-truck there and I accidently made it swerve a bit, too.

Dr. Advice:     Jack, you need to report this to the police immediately.  Rod, who do we have next?

Rod:    A cow whisperer, or a Tarot Card reader.

Dr. Advice:     Give me the cow guy.

Rod:    Jeb, you are on live!

Jeb:     You don’t need to holler.  I’m right here on the telephone.

Dr. Advice:     He’s ADHD, Jeb.  What can I do for you?

Jeb:     Do you own a cow?

Dr. Advice:     No.

Jeb:     Then why the Hell did you take my call?

Dr. Advice:     Because, you called, Jeb.  You called me.

Jeb:     I bet your mother called you, Special, didn’t she?  Did you ride the short bus?  Don’t ever call me again, you moron!

Rod:    Sheila, talk to Dr. Advice.

Sheila:           Dr. Advice, do you want to hear what the cards are saying? No?  Yes?

Dr. Advice:     Not really, Sheila.  Do you have a problem you want to talk about?  I mean, other than the obvious ones.

Sheila:           I live in constant fear, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     That’s terrible, Sheila.  What are you afraid of?

Sheila:           The cards, Dr. Advice.  The cards are telling me to do things.

Dr. Advice:     Good things?

Sheila:           No, very evil things.  Things so evil they cannot even be spoken about.

Dr. Advice:     Okay, I’ll bite.  What kind of evil things?

Sheila:           Things with fire and knives and acid and poison.

Dr. Advice:     Stay on the line, Sheila.  Uncle Rod is going to re-direct this call to the ocalya olicepay, but first he’ll need your address to send you out a home version of our game.

Sheila:           Thank you, Dr. Advice.

Rod:    We have Brad ready and waiting, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Hello, Brad.

Brad:   Dude, I can’t believe I got through.

Dr. Advice:     Well, welcome aboard.  What can I do you out of?

Brad:   I want to know if I should get married or not.

Dr. Advice:     Do you love this woman with all your heart and soul?

Brad:   I do.

Dr. Advice:     Would you be willing to see her through great sickness and disease for extended periods of time?

Brad:   Yes, I would.

Dr. Advice:     Do you want this woman to bear you children?

Brad:   I do.

Dr. Advice:     Do you believe this woman would care for you in sickness and disease for extended periods of time?

Brad:   I do.

Dr. Advice:     Do you trust this woman with every material thing you possess including savings accounts, credit cards and retirement funds?

Brad:   I do.

Dr. Advice:     Then run from this woman as fast as you can to the closest hooker and don’t leave until you cannot remember this woman’s name.

Brad:   I will.

Dr. Advice:     Nailed that one, didn’t I, Rod?

Rod:    When you’re hot, you’re hot, Doctor.  And, here comes Janice who had cosmetic surgery go horribly wrong.

Dr. Advice:     That is simply terrible.  Janice, talk to me.

Janice:           I’m hideous, Dr. Advice, simply hideous!

Dr. Advice:     Tell me what happened.

Janice:           Well, the doctor never told me not to lie in the sun after the surgery, and I did and for a long time.  I accidently fell asleep and when I woke up it was almost like they had exploded.  It was like 100 degrees that day.

Dr. Advice:     I can only guess what.

Janice:           And now I have these jagged, discolored scars all over them and it’s just hideous I tell you.  The doctor said I should have at least left my top on, but not until after.  So, I’m trying to sue him for a million dollars.

Dr. Advice:     I don’t understand.  What do you need from me, Janice?

Janice:           Well, the lawyer said I needed a doctor to write me a document saying my body is hideous and the plastic surgeon is to blame.  So, I called you.  I can send you some before and after pictures if you like.

Dr. Advice:     By all means.  Rod will tell you where to send them.  Janice, thanks for calling.

Rod:    We are plum out of callers, Dr. Advice.  Got any ideas?

Dr. Advice:     I’d just like to make a disclaiming statement here for something that keeps popping up no matter how many times we disclaim it.  One, we do not invite homeless people into the studio to fake our callers.  Two, I am not really a doctor and this show is for entertainment purposes only.  Three, we do not track the addresses of our callers except in cases where police have traditionally expected cooperation.  We do not discriminate irresponsibly and have a strict tolerance policy specific to and inclusive of all individuals and animals relative to this station.   You too can advertise with us. Visit our web site for details and cost schedules.  If you’ve got a demographic, we’ll get you traffic!

Rod:    We really need to get a sound effects machine.

Dr. Advice:     Is it Scam the Shrink time, Rod?

Rod:    It’s always Scam the Shrink time, Dr. Advice.  Let me push a few buttons on my control panel here and bring up the random list of local psychiatrists, and there we go.

Voice:             Dr. Fishburn’s office.  This is Maedia.

Dr. Advice:     I need to make an appointment please.

Maedia:          And what would this appoint be for, Sir?

Dr. Advice:     I have sexual issues.

Maedia:          I see.  Do you have insurance?

Dr. Advice:     Blue Cross.

Maedia:          I see.  When did you want to see Dr. Fishburn?  He has an appointment Thursday at 2. Are you available then?

Dr. Advice:     Yes.  What should I wear?

Maedia:          Pardon me?

Dr. Advice:     I’ve never been to a shrink before.  What should I wear?

Maedia:          Any appropriate clothing, I suppose.

Dr. Advice:     Appropriate clothing?  To a psychiatrist’s office I could wear a clown suit and that would be appropriate when you think about it.

Maedia:          Sir, perhaps—

Dr. Advice:     I’m sorry.  I was just kidding with you.  I’ve had a rough start to my day. I’ll be wearing a Brooks Brothers pinstripe suit and Denali loafers.

Maedia:          I see.  Be sure to bring your insurance card.

Dr. Advice:     My body guard will be with me, as well.  Oh, and you cannot give me any drugs no matter how much I beg.

Maedia:          We don’t keep medication in the office, Sir.  I’ll need your name please.

Dr. Advice:     Jack Mehoffer.

Maedia:          That is an interesting name.

Dr. Advice:     If you say it slowly enough, it’s really quite romantic.

Maedia:          Thursday at 2, Dr. Mehoffer.

Dr. Advice:     Don’t wear panties.

Rod:    And, we are out of there.

Dr. Advice:     Any callers yet?

Rod:    No.

Dr. Advice:     Run one of our give-away specials, Rod.  That always draws them in.

Rod:    Okay, Dr. Advice, our next caller will win a month’s worth of bus passes.

Dr. Advice:     Who could resist that offer?

Rod:    Not Tamika from Willow Run, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     Good morning, Tamika, on what may I give you advice?

Tamika:          Hey Dr. Advice.  I really need them bus passes since the City took away my car just because of them parking tickets I shouldn’t even have to pay because I was run out of gas at those times.

Dr. Advice:     I couldn’t agree more, Tamika.  Is that why you called?

Tamika:          No, Dr. Advice, I called about my Internet Provider.  Every time I plug my computer into my telephone it don’t be working.

Dr. Advice:     Does your computer have an 800 BAUD modem and a dual core processor with sufficient RAM and bandwidth to power the CPU with the networking main frame and reverse osmosis filter?

Tamika:          Let me go and check, Dr. Advice.  I’ll be right back.

Rod:    And we have Bill who can’t get his assault rifle to eject a dud bullet.

Dr. Advice:     Hello, Bill.  Are you trying to clean a loaded firearm?

Bill:     How’d you know that?

Dr. Advice:     Is it a Russian assault rifle or American, Bill?

Bill:     I buys only American, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     So, it’s an M16 or an AR15, right?

Bill:     Yes.

Dr. Advice:     Just use the forward assist and try to not look down the barrel at the same time.

Bill:     Thanks, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     And, Bill, you are not planning on going on some shooting rage right now, are you?

Bill:     No, not at this time, but you can never be too careful nowadays.

Dr. Advice:     Indeed, Bill.  Rod, anyone else call in?

Rod:    We have Cherylynn who wants to ask about a tattoo, Doc.

Dr. Advice:     Go ahead, Cherylynn.

Cherylynn:    Hi, Dr. Advice.

Dr. Advice:     What can I do for you?

Cherylynn:    I need your advice on a marriage proposal I got from my pen pal in the prison up in Jackson.  He’s doing life, but he says his appeal is looking real good and he could get out any time.  He thinks if he is married it might help.

Dr. Advice:     What is this eligible young bachelor in prison for, Cherylynn?

Cherylynn:    All kinds of stuff, Dr. Advice, but he says he’s rehabilitated now.

Dr. Advice:     And what has this got to do with a tattoo?

Cherylynn:    He wants me to get a tattoo because he can’t buy me no wedding ring.

Dr. Advice:     Well, since one of our sponsors is the Devil’s Ear Tattoo parlor now with locations in Ecorse and Inkster, I think you should go ahead and get that tattoo, Cherylynn.

Cherylynn:    Thank you, Dr. Advice.  I will!

Rod:    You want to do the mailbox feature now, Dr. Advice?  No one else is waiting.

Dr. Advice:     Go ahead and read one, Rod.

Rod:    Dear Dr. Advice, you told me to lose weight and have that wart removed from my nose and I would find a man to love me.  Well, I did, and I did.  Now I am happily married and have four beautiful children without having to get pregnant.  My new husband has a good job and doesn’t beat me like the last one.  Thank you, Dr. Advice. You truly changed my world.

Dr. Advice:     And some people wonder how I can do this bit.

Rod:    Not me, Dr. Advice.