Dear High School Freshman Who Works at Defiant Seagull,
My best friend and my boyfriend are up to something behind my back. On one hand, I don’t want to ruin my life-long friendship with Cynthia. After all, she is the one who introduced be to the joys of superficial, wait no, superdeeduper, teenie-bopperness. On one hand, she trespassed on sacred property of mine, in fact, my only ticket to real romantic drama in my life such as what shade of chiffon to wear to the prom. What should I do?
-Forever Disillusioned with Facial Glitter and Cher from “Clueless” in Key West, FL
Dear ‘Dissed,’
If you want to hear about a real soap opera melodrama and teenie bopper life come to Seagull. I have witnessed heart-wrenching embraces between fathers and estranged sons in the hygiene aisle on many a Sunday afternoon. Old Spice does wonders on paternal relationships gone awry. Concerning your romantic situation, however, I recommend you ask Jobo, our Hispanic butcher who insists the “J” in his name should be pronounced like “H.” World-renowned psychic Cleo-yes-taht-really-is-my-accemt-and-these-are-authentic-gold-pirate-earrings claims taht the name “Jobo” describes a happy nature, and the ability to establish trustworthy relationships with others. The catch is, you gotta know the password to get Jobo to open up: “Here’s a twenty for a stash.” He has been hardened by suffering the tragic wage-inequities and heart-wrenching deportations typical of frisky illegal aliens. Jobo only hangs with gamers, and by default Colombian drug lords disguised as wealthy and respectable businessmen. Jobo has 6 wives, 3 concubines, 4 mistresses, 6 fly girls, 1 cyber crush, and 2 personal escorts. At any rate, he’s a genius; rarely does one find a connoisseus in matters of the heart, except for Casanovas such as myself of course unfairly plagued by what dermatologists call carbuncles, furuncles, and pus. Life sucks. Word