Dear Biswick,
Is it true that Mountain Dew gives a man a low sperm count? A friend of mine calls a snack of Dew and Twinkies a 'sterility biscuit'.
--Caffeinated

Jerome,
Jerome, one of the orderlies here, tells me that Mountain Dew is a kind of soda pop. In my day, we had Coca Cola, Nehi and Royal Crown. We enjoyed 'em--hell, even the ladies liked a nice sodey pop on a hot day. But I can't rightly say whether or not we tried to count our sperms. I'm sure the ladies would have wanted nothing to do with that kind of shenanigans. What would your fat friend want with counting his sperms anyway? If he's eatin' all them desserts and drinkin' the soda pops like you say, he certainly won't need the sperms, no matter how many of 'em there are. Ten? Twelve? Don't matter, not to a fatty like that. My Uncle Leo, he was a great big man. Great big. Four hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce. I can't say I ever once heard him say anything about needing his sperms. Not once.

How come my feet only smell when I wear the blue shoes?
- Susie

Dear Susie
Ah, I like the scientific questions. I really do. Give me a chance to show the youngsters what some real learning feels like. And it feels mighty nice. Yessir.

Why the hell do guyz say they're gonna call you if they really aren't gonna? And if they are intending to then why don't they?
-- Candace

Young lady, one thing you should get through your head right now: no man wants a woman who can't spell. Learn how to spell! Perhaps an old favorite poem of mine will help make this point clearer. "I before E, except after C." Does that ring a bell? You young ladies have got to learn that the menfolk need a woman who knows how to spell "embarrass." It doesn't matter if you're the Queen Of The County, if you don't know the difference between "its" and "it's," you might as well put on a habit and go on ahead and be a nun. Because only the Lord forgives bad grammar and spelling errors. And even then, only if they don't concern Him directly. He can be a real stickler about punctuation, too.

How do I know when to kiss a gu? --Beth in Dallas

If there's one thing I've learned in all my years, it's this: a lady should never, EVER kiss a gnu.

I'll admit, I had to consult a dictionary when I first read this question, for I was a might puzzled by the word "gu." That rotten turd Elmer Flatt tried to tell me it was supposed to read "goo." But why in the hell would a lady want to kiss a goo? That's just plain stupid.

No--I'll hazard a guess that Beth in Dallas just mis-typed her question--it's obvious she wanted to know about kissing a gnu. And who could blame her? It's about time this matter was settled once and for all: Beth, don't you go around kissing gnus. Or llamas. It is sometimes acceptable to kiss an ostrich, but only during the holiday season. One time my sister Doris brought home an ostrich from school during Christmas Break. I guess it must have been around 1947--Doris was studying to be a veterinarian out to the University. Well she walked that tall sonofabitch into the living room, and I about lost my religion right there on the carpet. Of course, having been in the service, I knew right what to do. I grabbed that bird up around its neck--them ostriches are plumb ugly when you get up that close to 'em--and I gave the big old bastard a wet smooch, right on its damned beak. It got a little spooked and tried to bury its head in the living room floor, gave itself a concussion, fell flat down. Just out cold. I said to Doris, "Well come on then, Miss Uppity Veterinarian, fix him!" And she cried and ran up to her room and didn't come down all through dinner. I knew she didn't have it in her to be a vet. Come to think of it, she never did graduate. Course, she's dead now. God love her.

Sincerely,

Sherman T. Biswick

biswick@smug.com

in the junk drawer: