T-Bone’s Connected to the A-Bone

Welcome back my friends to the show that never trends. Pinky Tourette here, arbiter of taste and aspiring mammal, with a mailbag full of question and a thimbleful of answers. Let’s get right to it, shall we?

Elon M. of Cloud Cuckooland asks: I bought a really great crib at Ikea for little X Æ A-12. It’s transparent, with a plastic top to keep him from climbing out and interrupting my critical work on Twitter. When I got home, however, the instructions included the picture below. What the heck?

Excellent question, Elon. I have long maintained that children should be seen and not heard, except they shouldn’t be seen either. Best to keep them encased at home in terrariums (terraria?), preferably soundproof, so their parents can ooh and aah over how cute their chubby bubalas are without impinging on the patience of the rest of us. While Thee Tourettes currently employ a private Embraer Legacy 600 to whisk them between gigs in decadent comfort and shameful debauchery, we’ve spent more than our share of time in steerage, and can state with absolute authority that although parents of infants think they own the goddam plane – letting their rugbrats scream and cry and kick the backs of seats and run up and down the aisle like little lords of the fly – in a just world babies would be stowed safely in the overhead compartment, preferably soundproof, while the parents suffered in their iron maiden seats like everybody else.

Rudy G. of Leaky Temple, NY asks: If I married my niece, would I be my own uncle?

No, Rudy, you’d be a felon. That is, assuming you’re related by blood. Otherwise it’s not quite illegal, just deeply creepy. It’s called an avunculate marriage. Also called a Jerry Lee Lewis once removed.

Tessica B. of Stunted Runt, LA asks: I ran out of hairspray so I spritzed some floor epoxy on my head and now I can’t get my hat off. I’m worried how this will impact my job as a Rockette. Thoughts?

Not to worry, Tess. A very similar thing happened to Slash. Hasn’t hurt his career any.

Iris Minge of Lake Coppasquat, NJ asks: Why is it that guys consistently piss on the floor and not in the toilet?

That’s easy, Iris. Because guys are dogs and as such are genetically predisposed toward pissing ON things, as opposed to women who are felines and piss IN things. Guys are lumbering lugs who have to mark their territory. Women already know they own the whole fucking realm so they don’t have to bother. Which isn’t to say they won’t piss in something you treasure dearly. That’s the very definition of “catty.”

Albert E. of Relativity, NJ asks: What is the next number in this sequence: 1, 2, pi, infinity?

You nearly stumped us with this one, Al. After rigorous scientific analysis by a team of quantum physicists at MIT in consultation with our financial advisor, the esteemed CPA, CFA, C02 Rufus T. Firefly, we have plumbed the fragile laws of time, space, and calculus to determine that the answer is none other than… Schrödinger's marmoset. Now I’ll ask you one. Why is that “uncanny” is not the opposite of “canny”? Give up? For the same reason a small sphinx is not called a “sphincter” or a small test a “testicle.” You’re welcome.

Karen of Privilege, USA asks: At my baby’s gender reveal party one of the topless jugglers accidentally bumped into the tattooed walrus, kicking over a flame cannon and igniting the neon zeppelin overhead, accidentally starting a teensy fire, destroying my fiancé’s ancestral home and the surrounding 12,000 acres. Now I’m worried we’re won’t get any gifts at the baby shower. Any suggestions?

Absolutely, Karen. Give the baby up for adoption. You are most assuredly not parenting material.

Dr. Doogie H. of Conspiracy, WY asks: In a monumental breakthrough of xenogenetic research, inside our secret laboratory housed within a converted Airstream Caravel 16RB parked just off I-80 where we “conveniently” ran out of gas thanks to an Illuminati plot engineered by Grigori Rasputin and Hilary Clinton, we have ascertained that rats and bats are far more crafty and intelligent than previously recognized, and are INTENTIONALLY bioengineering and disseminating deadly diseases among mankind in an attempt to depopulate the planet so they can take over. Furthermore, they are all Democrats. Please help us spread the word about this insidious plot to eliminate humans and elevate rodentkind to planetary supremacy.

Sure, Doog. Word.

And on that note we climb aboard our white steed to gallop off into the sunset, while a haunting theme song echoing Morricone worms its way into your skulls and the credits roll, followed by additional credits listing the streaming platform’s execs and assistants and relatives and neighbors, followed by 10 more minutes of credits listing the dubbing voices in 32 countries, followed by seven more minutes of credits for the production companies. All for a three-minute short. There in the distance, you can see it coming, slowly approaching. It’s almost here. You’ve nearly made it. Getting closer… closer… and… Success! You’ve arrived!

The end.