I regard this column, gentle readers, as a sacred calling. I would never do anything that would cause you to question my judgment. Sound judgment, after all, is the professional advice columnist’s most precious commodity.
Nevertheless, I have stupidly auctioned off the right to give advice in this space. Once a year, some do-gooder gets me shitfaced and the next thing I know I’m raising money for some dumb charity. (This week’s column is feeding the homeless—you know, in addition to clothing them.) Auctioning off the column is risky because, fuck, what if the winning bidders are total assholes? What if they spew bullshit? What if they cruelly abuse readers seeking my counsel?
And what if they’re better at all of that than I am? Being an asshole, spewing bullshit, and cruelly abusing readers is my job. And it’s not in my best interest—I have a mortgage,...