ow. OW.

Holy fuck.

well fuck me..

He's like the nutty, sweetly overconcerned grandfather we all want to punch in the balls.

@Sarcastro: ha!

Good thing Cary wasn't around in the war years! One night stand with a Marine was considered civic duty back in those bad ole days.

She was just supporting the troops. That's called patriotism, goddammit.

@BalknChain: A clusterfuck?

Well, when It Absolutely, Positively Must Be DESTROYED Overnight -- Call The USMC. And, when it absolutely be given crazy talk advice, call Cary.

he can't help but think that way... I mean his cartoon face just SCREAMS XXX giant head hardcore fetish. he can relate... or just really, really wants to.

plus he got to type a couple f-bombs. SO naughty! teehee!

Someone just give him a book deal so he'll shut the fuck up already.

This guy is a total lunatic.

Now I want to see Cary's advice to Priya Venkatesan.

Please don't ever let him find out about FnFF. I feel so cheap.

Hope Cary hasn't driven the advice-seeker to suicide with this kind of crazy talk.

I can also read minds and what her friend thinking now is "Cary is a crazy-ass motherf*#@er."

I guess he writes his own masturbation porn.

Wait...is Cary a Marine?

He's having flashbacks to his *own* one hazy night in a hotel room with Marines story. Still hurts, eh big guy? The worst part is, that PFC said he'd call and he never did.

God has a hard-on for marines because they bang everything they see! Hoo-RAH!

So - XXX Eyebrows do lead to XXX thoughts then.

I am copying all of this for my Gossip Girl spec script -- but don't tell!

this sounds like a Gawker commenter's (i.e., Hamud) eloquent proselytizing about the gulf between the shallow & deep, the pithy & the sesquipedalian reply

I dig the XXX eyebrows.

Projecting, much?

It's honestly mind-boggling how Tennis can take more than 1,400 words to say what it used to take Ann Landers fewer than 100 to say: "Your friend is putting her boyfriend in serious danger by not being honest with him about her behavior. Sit her down and tell her that if she won't speak to him about it, you will. Yes, this may end the friendship, but there are more important things at stake. She needs to speak to a qualified counselor. If she's unwilling to make an appointment herself, you may want to consider getting in touch with her parents. Whatever you do, please don't abandon your friend at this time -- she needs you."

And this, Cary, is why I don't like you: Because your answers are just as much about your unreadable, rambling, stream-of-consciousness navel-gazery as they are about helping the people who write you. Sorry, man.

This brightened my day. Really.

They're all like this. If anyone ever read his column past the first paragraph -- or read Salon at all, for that matter -- they'd see that this guy's advice is nuttier than Mr. Blue on a gram of Powdermilk 'Shrooms.

I heart Cary. He may be a nut but he's OUR nut.

One out-of-control Friday night post leads to shame and humiliation and fuck it all, who the fuck cares now, might as well get out of control again on the weekend because my friends don't even know that I spend so much fucking time on Gawker, so fuck them too, they must not care about me, and since they don't care about me I must be pretty worthless, and if I'm worthless you're worthless too, you shit, we're all worthless, so what if I have followed commenters and come to regret it later, some fucker should have been there to protect me from from myself, too. So fuck him. Fuck you. Fuck it all.

This is the way we end up with a star.

@moff: Well said. You should be an editor.

I love that Cary goes right to a gang bang. Boo-ya, bitch, boo-ya!

@scroll_lock: PFC? I thought he was a lance corporal.

@scroll_lock: "Your friend's probably thinking, 'Fuck it. Who cares? No one will find out. I'm invincible. I'll be a reporter at the Times someday.' What your friend fails to realize is that everything eventually gets discovered. Oh, it will be cozy for a while. She'll start writing for some left-leaning website, maybe an advice column, but her eyes will stay on that NYT prize. That is, until one day, when she overhears co-workers joking about her last name, something about 'Tonsil Tennis' and a 'Marine Grand Slam.' Then, her dreams of escape will go up in a cloud of smoke. She'll start sniffing heroin again, and soon thereafter, she'll be in such a dark place that she'll start e-mailing co-workers pictures of herself blowing new Marines with subject lines like 'Check out this volley' and 'Love - 15 (inches!).' Sure, this is the way she'll end up dead, but it will be the only way she can feel alive."

@Bell County: If my new movie gig in Bushdick doesn't pan out, I'm thinking about it.

@TedSez: Well, it is the breakfast of champions.

@Botswana Meat Commission FC: Sigh. He has one.

[www.carytennis.com]

@rosaluxembourgeoise: niiiiiiiiiice

off of toronto craigslist last week
best of craigslist > toronto > I hate all of you
Originally Posted: Sun, 20 Apr 23:50 EDT

I hate all of you

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 2008-04-20, 11:50PM EDT

I don't care what colour you are. I don't care where you're from. I don't care what you do for a living. I don't care what class you are, how you dress, what you smoke or drink or who you know or whom you've fucked.

I hate you all. I hate every last living, breathing, snot and feces producing, promiscuously copulating, celebrity obsessed, opinionated one of you. From right here in Toronto right around the planet and back, coast to coast, nationwide and internationally. Every. Single. Last. One. Of. You.

Fuck love. Fuck your insipid grasping at some abstract concept of chemical imbalances and reasonless actions, fumbling around in the crowd trying to find some cinematic supposition for real human interaction. Fuck lust, too. Fuck you all, from the lowlife dirtbags that think dropping trou and waving the little soldier in a sloppy arc is a pick-up line to the sniveling of the desperate 'nice guys' who never get the girl due to a total lack of testosterone grown stones. Fuck you all, from the crazy, under dressed sluts that judge a persons character by the price of their shirt, right down to the fat, flabby chicks that think personality is enough.

Fuck you drivers, for thinking that a yellow light is a sign that says 'step on the gas'. Fuck you wheelmen and women that think it's okay to sit in a left hand turn in the middle of morning traffic, even though there is a protected left in the intersections before and after where you need to make your turn. Fuck you too cyclists - you're not exempt from the traffic laws just because your peddling, you miserable spandex covered neon reflective fucks. Fuck you too, pedestrians. Use the fucking crosswalk if you don't want to get hit, and use it before the little countdown clock says '3'. You don't have enough goddamn time to lope across four lanes of traffic.

Fuck you chick on your cellphone. Fuck you attitude packed minimum-wager that makes my coffee. Fuck you cops that spend all their time handing out speeding tickets. Fuck you douche bag doing ten over the limit in the passing lane on the highway. Fuck you lady using exact change at the counter at the grocery store. Fuck you kids having a conversation in the doorway. And fuck you also for not getting the fuck out of your designated handicapped seat when a pregnant or elderly person gets on the fucking bus.

Fuck taxes. Fuck welfare. Fuck the whole selfish, over politicized and party driven government system. I'm sick and fucking tired of policies and new laws with seven hundred bylaws that nobody but you and your cabinet reads. Fuck you councilors and your stupid 'district improvement' plans. Fuck you unions, for asking for so much and giving nothing more that what you already give. Fuck the whole process that allows people who are supposed to be working for us work for interests that only benefit the next campaign. Fuck your short-sightedness, your rush to the bandwagons, and your incessant arguing over fuck all. Fuck the parties, fuck the conventions, and fuck your campaigns. Do some real fucking work for a change.

Fuck you bottles of water. You're water. You're not worth two fucking dollars.
Fuck you trendsetters, fuck you fashionistas. Fuck your little dogs and and your idiotic outfits. Fuck your high heels in the snow. Fuck your five dollar coffees and your fifteen dollar veggie burgers. Fuck your health kick, your diet or your fucking new interest in kickboxing or sushi.

Fuck your culture. Fuck your race. Fuck your sense of entitlement. Fuck your sense of uniqueness. Fuck you all for the belief that you have something unique and interesting to contribute. Fuck you for filling the internet with your useless garbage. Fuck your blogs, your wikis, your forums. Fuck your name calling. And most of all, fuck whatever you believe. It's all wrong. Fuck it.

Fuck your complaints. Fuck your addictions. Fuck your dependencies. Fuck your pain. Fuck your tears. Fuck selling whatever it is you sell. Fuck your manipulation of others. Fuck movies. Fuck fucking. Fuck everything you own. Fuck your allergies. Fuck your stupid commons sense. Fuck your spelling and fuck your lack of education, or your ignorance, whatever is applicable.

I don't give a fuck. Shut the fuck up and just get on with it.

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 649999147

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It´s all a question of the space bar and the shift key:

I marvel
at the gulf
between the language and the event.
Perhaps
this language indicates
the gulf between
your world
and hers as well,
and between the full
horror
of
what
happened
and our willingness to imagine the full horror of what happened.

(That Washington Post kids' poetry contest is mine.)

Looks like Cary's gunning for the Unethicist gig. Someone should tell the poor dear that Denton's over it.

@SarahHeartburn: Are you in the DC area?

@Un Chien Andalou: Spectacular in its scope and breadth. They really put some thought into it. I'd like to have seen mimes called out too, but we can't have everything.

@moff: But that's just the point. If you want your advice in an Ann Landers style, the year 1975 is always going to be there for you in back issues of your local broadsheet.

I don't love this particular piece of Cary's, but in general his idiosyncratic efforts to write an advice column in an original voice are in-bounds and deserve the benefit of the doubt.

@SarahHeartburn: I would have gone with...

I marvel
at the gulf
between the language                        and the event.

...and put, like, actual gulfs in. Because WHOA.

@Un Chien Andalou: That's totally bumping Garfield off the refrigerator door.

@SarahHeartburn: @moff:
Lower case "i", please.

@moff: I think that's just a void.

This

is

a gulf.

@Un Chien Andalou: Wow, it's enought to induce swooning. It think the only thing that did not receive a direct "fuck you" were spider plants.

@Un Chien Andalou: Thanks for destroying my all-Canadians-are-very-nice theory.

@skahammer: Sorry, I disagree. For one, writing short is harder than writing long, so I'm hugely unimpressed with him from a purely craft-related standpoint. For two, when you're giving advice to someone, I think you have a responsibility to be as concise as possible -- by definition, whoever's writing you is conflicted and/or confused, and I don't see how carrying on at length about things you don't know (like what's going on in someone's mind) instead of just addressing the behavior helps alleviate that confusion.

I mean, Dan Savage and many other advice columnists have done a perfectly good job of developing their voices without it being at the expense of clarity.

@Un Chien Andalou: OMG! My Mom has learned how to post!

I'm still seething that Myanmar cannot send Henry and Jenna an RSVP, or at least an email, with Henry and George putting up a limestone temple in Texas, or was that the polygamists, anywho, and email would have been nice.

@skahammer: @moff: Strunk you. Strunk him. Strunk it all.