Fittingly, in this last Unethicist installment of 2007, people are advised to disregard the well-being of their families and/or murder their children. You're welcome. See you next year.

My fiancé received a letter at his office from a woman claiming to be the product of his sperm donation nearly 20 years ago. Her stated intention was to receive medical information, something he would willingly provide, but she strongly implied that she desired more, and he does not wish further contact. Was it ethical of her to obtain his name and business address? Must he reply? — name withheld, Portland, Ore.

Well congratulations to you! A fiancé? You're living the dream! And wasting no time meddling all up in his business, with your letters to advice columns on his behalf and whatnot. It's going to be a long and beautiful life of shared joys, shared miseries, and apparently shared secret children.

For the answer to your question, I would like to refer you to my soon to be released self-help book, Whoops, You're Marrying a Former Sperm Donor. It takes a certain person to cum into a cup for 25 dollars, a certain person that you have accidentally fallen in love with and/or desperately need to fill the socially imposed hollow in your soul. And while it's been a long time since those heady college days of siring children for beer money, you'd be surprised how little some people's mentality changes. Let's just say that today's plaintive letter requesting medical information from the unknown progeny of former financial desperation is tomorrow's phone call from a Cambodian prison because your husband didn't actually go to Houston for a sales conference, unless by go to Houston for a sales conference you mean go to Phnom Penh to indulge in the unspoken delights of modern sex tourism.

Of course, the answer to your concerns is in the very simple axiom that your FIANCÉ (congratulations again, btw) brought her into this world and he can take her out of it. I mean, how dare this creature deign to contact your FIANCÉ (God, it's exciting, isn't it? Just think, you're going to be married!) just because he provided half of her genetic make-up? Sounds like someone needs to provide half of her genetic destruction. Murder her. Next question please.

My husband's company provides him with a business-class airplane ticket for trips to China. His 70-year-old father is joining him on his next business trip.

Due to cost (and the assumption that my husband would most likely offer his seat), he plans to purchase an economy ticket for the flight. Would it be wrong for my husband to give his father his business-class seat? — Tracey Mcardle, Edinburgh

Do none of you women have your own problems and/or are none of your husbands/FIANCÉs capable of asking their own questions?

So, just to clarify, your husband's father is buying an economy ticket for the flight on the assumption that he'll be offered his son's business-class seat anyway? Nice. I don't really have space to deal with shitty fathers, this is just a column, and a column on a blog at that. Peoples' eyes get tired reading on a computer or something. So what is the most economical way I can say this...OK, how about FUCK THAT GUY.

Setting the trip aside, your husband should take this as a cue for how to treat his father. For example, in the inevitable illness that will befall his father sooner rather than later he could not visit him in the hospital on the assumption that his father is already dead. Basically, your husband should just never do anything for his father on the assumption that his father is already dead.

This week, a woman from Israel writes in with a shawarma question (natch), and someone in Colorado wrote a brochure and now they want a cookie or something.

While negotiating the sale of his share of a small shawarma restaurant to a friend of his, my husband learned that a famous shawarma chain is opening a branch near the restaurant. He fears that if he tells the friend, he will back out of the deal. It feels wrong to withhold this information. Must he tell? — Wendy Schor-Haim, Tel Aviv

Last week, a homerenter in Brooklyn submitted a question for which the only obvious answer was to follow in the lovable, TBS Very Funny approved mold of slumlord Louie Kritski as portrayed in the movie The Super. Typically, I would hate to administer the same type of advice for a second week in a row, for fear that someone in the subaltern wasteland of Gawker commenters complains about it instead of getting their boss that latte, but the truth is, once more, that Hollywood would like to help you. I know that you are in Israel, where there are no movie theaters or happiness, but perhaps you can get a betamax VCR on the black market, and watch the following documentary about your life.

Now, the easy solution is that your husband should be much more careful when he is driving, that way he won't crash into Sinbad's car and be forced to get a summer job at Good Shawarma to pay off the debt instead of having so much fun with his buddies. But, what's done is done, and now that Mondo Shawarma is moving in across the street, he's going to have to do something to stop them, namely creating a secret tahini that will draw hundreds of new customers, making steam literally blow out of the ears of Mondo Shawarma's nefarious president.

By defeating Mondo Shawarma together, your husband and his friend will be reminded of what's important and that they shouldn't let business get in the way of their friendship, which is the perfect time for your husband to manipulate his friend into paying way too much for the failing restaurant. Success!

In America, we don't have shawarma or Palestinian refugee camps, but we do have really important movies about fast food that teach us how to live in the world and fight big corporations with novelty cars and sass. You're welcome, Israel.

A colleague subcontracted to me a freelance writing job composing brochures for two local business. Both were well received, but my friend did not inform either client that I did the work for fear that the next time they might hire me directly. Shouldn't she tell the clients that the words are not hers (even if she doesn't reveal my name)? Can I present the work as mine to potential clients? — C.O., Sacramento

You are asking two different questions, so let me answer them one at a time.

Shouldn't your colleague tell the clients that you wrote the brochure?

Whatever.

Can you present the work as yours to potential clients?

Whatever.

Look, C.O. you wrote a couple of brochures. Brava. Do you know what brochures are? They are what bums stuff inside of a Taco Bell bag to make a pillow. While you say they were well received I would put money on the client forgetting to even pick them up from Kinko's. When you put the finishing touches on your extensive brochure writing resume, be sure to list your Additional Skills: boring, sad, insane, and retarded.

This week, a man named Sebastian writes from Brooklyn (Bushwick, one assumes) with a Pesci-related real estate question, and if a journalist lies in an article that no one will ever read, does it waste our time?

After I put a deposit on an apartment, I learned that housing groups labeled the owner 'New York's Most Abusive Landlord' for using rough tactics like cutting off water and heat to get rid of rent-controlled tenants. I find these tactics immoral, but I wouldn't face them: I'd be paying much more for a renovated apartment. Is it ethical to take the place? — SEBASTIAN, BROOKLYN

In certain instances, like when you get a throat infection and have to go to the fucking emergency room because you don't have a primary care physician and you wait for your antibiotics next to a guy who is clearly suffering from some kind of alcohol poisoning with his head lolling back on his neck like a sack of dirty laundry and his face is all scraped up and his ankles, somewhat mysteriously, handcuffed together while you're choking on your own uvula which is intensely swollen like you're a shitty refugee in some kind of third world country living with this bullshit poor person's disease because you've got to be kidding with this God (although it also happens to be what killed George Washington, so I guess I win), Hollywood cannot help you. This, luckily, is not one of those instances. Here, not only can Hollywood help you, it's been helping you since 1991.

Surely I don't need to remind you of the tagline for the hit film, The Super, starring "America's Funnyman" Joe Pesci, but I will. "The judge sentenced slumlord Louie Kritski to six months in his own building. He would have been better off in jail." Hahahaha. Right? Oh my God, poetic justice (not to be confused with Poetic Justice, the moving 1993 John Singleton drama starring Janet Jackson.)

The point is, and for once my colleague Randy Cohen and I almost agree*, if you really want to change things, you should go to law school, clerk for a Supreme Court Justice for the first year out of school, then work for a large law firm doing socially conscious pro bono work or criminal prosecution while simultaneously working the cocktail party circuit to garner influence among your local aldermen and state legislators until you can work your way onto the short list for a judgeship, so that when you do finally take the bench, you can send your landlord to live in one of his apartments for a year and then be like HOW DOES IT FEEL, JOE PESCI? And he will be like, it's 2023, Joe Pesci has been dead for almost a decade, and you will be like YOU'RE OUT OF ORDER I REST MY CASE LAW LAW LAW.

Bonus Pro-Tip: While you're in law school, you'll probably drop one of your final exams down a sewer grate into the hands of an irascible homeless man who has built a tiny bum's paradise in the basement of the library who will hold the paper hostage, relinquishing one page per day that you provide him with food and shelter. Unethicist, what do I do? Don't worry. Hollywood to the rescue.

I work at a newspaper. At a screening of a filmed version of a Metropolitan Opera performance, I saw a colleague there to review it. My colleague left at intermission but reviewed it anyway. Should I alert my bosses? — NAME WITHHELD, SINGAPORE

Relax, Jayson Blair. More people read the Gawker book than your Singapore Picayune's review of a filmed version of a Metropolitan Opera performance. And NO ONE read the Gawker book.

This week, the proprietor of a liquor store gets told how to do his job, and a health care worker wonders if ridiculous homeopathic cures from outer-space should or should not be performed on people who recognize that the 60s ended more than 35 years ago.

Our family has a wine-and-liquor store. Occasionally we get phone calls from distressed people asking us — often pleading with us — not to sell their loved ones any liquor or wine because of alcohol abuse. How should we respond? — D.F., New York

When I was in college, I worked at a wine-and-liquor-and-Pop-Tarts-and-magazines store. It was a great place for a young person flush with the enthusiasm of moral experimentation to work, because you could steal all your groceries (as long as all your groceries were macaroni and cheese and frozen taquitos) and get drunk on the job. It also taught many important lessons about the way the world works. For example: a drunken 19-year-old can in fact legally confiscate the fake ID of a twenty-year-old hoping to get drunk. He can then tape the confiscated fake ID to the side of the register and scrawl the words "I ♥ Cock" with an arrow pointing to the underage mouth. You know, the way the world works.

When you receive one of these calls from a so-called concerned family member, the best course of action is to take a sip of the Mountain Dew and gin you have in a twenty-ounce bottle under the register and hang up on them. If they call back asking to speak to the manager, tell them that you are the manager, and then hang up on them again. Then, when the alcoholic family member comes in looking for whatever will be easiest to hide in the tank of a toilet, turn up the Yo La Tengo album you're listening to and start reading the latest issue of Hawk magazine. Whatever you do, ignore the customer. When you see them approaching the counter, quickly pick up the phone and call your roommate to talk about your plans after work to bring home a couple of forties and some Flamin' Hot Cheetos and how they should bring home that screener DVD of the new Hal Hartley movie from the video store where they work, and also about how that one girl from your Statistics in Poetry class wants to fuck you, but she wears Tevas which kind of flies in the face of your strict "No Sex With Someone Who Wears Tevas" rule. If the customer has not left the store at the end of the conversation, hang up and begin masturbating through a hole in your pocket to the new issue of Hawk.

Will this solve anyone's problems? Maybe not, but it is the only way I know how to work at a liquor-and-wine store.

I work at a hospital where several nurses practice therapies like healing touch and therapeutic touch, said to adjust a patient's energy field and thereby decrease pain and improve healing, although there is no significant evidence for this. If those nurses believe in these treatments, may they tell the patient they are effective? If the treatments provide merely a placebo effect, telling patients about this lack of evidence might undermine that benefit. Would that justify withholding the information? — name withheld, St. Louis

You may withhold your name, but you may not withhold your face.

I'm pretty sure that you can tell people whatever you want about the benefits of healing touch. If they're retarded enough to believe it, then they should be dead anyway, so your medicine-less hospital full of laughter and irremediable organ failure is going to be the best place for them.

Without warning or consultation, our new neighbor cut down the trees that separated our properties, destroying our privacy and views. He had the legal right to do this — I checked with the county — but does he have an ethical obligation to mitigate or repair the damage or compensate us in some way? — J.T., GREENBRAE, CALIF.

Please tell me you're joking, J.T. Please tell me this is some kind of wonderful holiday season joke that we're going to unwrap and inside is an iPhone and Nintendo Wii and some other things that people love that are garbage and are signifiers of our cultural decline into wanton materialism. Please. Please, J.T. Surely you are jingle bell jingle bell jingle bell joking.

Because let me tell you something, J.T., if you are not joking, I am going to go back to school, something practical. Medicine is probably out of the question what with all the pre-requisite biochem classes and stuff. Law, maybe, or business. I'm going to get a real job, J.T., one with health benefits and steady pay, and I am going to move to California. Do you see how this is going to end, J.T.? Here's how it ends: I'm going to buy the property next to yours, and I'm going to teach you about property law. I'm going to teach you about envelopes and how far they can be pushed, including to what extent land can be poisoned before being deemed egregious by a court of law, how loud stereos can be played without incurring noise violations, and the psychological effects of 24-hour halogen illumination.

And then I am going to put you through a wood chipper.

I hope this helps.
Good luck.

My retired friend supplements his income by maintaining our community pool. I was appointed to a committee exploring ways to save money and learned that a pool-cleaning company could do the work for considerably less. My friend depends on this job and has few alternatives in our area. Must I report the company's quote? — W.M., GALVESTON, TEX.

I was going to just say that if you don't let black people in your pool, you'll probably save a ton of money on cleaning, but a) I'm sure you've already thought of that down there in Secessionist Sentral, and b) black people don't swim. You know what's funny? Hundreds of years of institutionalized racism.

In any case, you know what they say, W.M., bros before municipal recreational committee appointments.

This week, a graduate teacher and a graduate student both write in with powerful reminders of why you should never go to grad school, unless you want to be a sad, boring tool. (Gabe has been to grad school).

One of my grad students copied a term paper from the Internet, cutting and pasting from various uncredited sources. The university's rules say expulsion or an F in the course is appropriate, but I proposed that she search out the several dozen articles she used to "compose" her paper and write each author an apology. I will mail the letters. My department chair thinks this is unethical — a cruel and unusual punishment. You? — P.R., Houston

Well, I know something that is definitely cruel and boring punishment. Your question. Next caller, please!

I'm pretty sure there was a Saved by the Bell episode about this very crime, except that was pre-internet, so they probably ordered the offending term paper from the back of Early 90s Teen Interests Magazine. I'm pretty sure the punishment in that episode was that Slater had to wear his wrestling singlet to the winter dance and perform a soliloquy from Hamlet in front of everybody while Screech tried unsuccessfully to fingerbang Lisa under the bleachers, Zach broke the fourth wall and talked to the camera about how him and Kelly were going on spring break together so she could get an abortion without her parents finding out, and Mr. Belding ate all the donuts.

DONUTS PLEASE.

In any case, this was a victimless crime, which is the least interesting kind of crime. Also, who writes letters anymore? It's all about apologetic Facebook status updates now.

I am a graduate student. My schooling is paid for, and I receive a salary for my work on which I can get by, but I live from paycheck to paycheck. I'm eligible for a subsidized student loan, with interest that won't start accruing until I graduate in three to four years. While I don't need the money, would it be ethical to accept the loans for investment? — Sarah Medley, Santa Barbara, Calif.

A couple of years ago, I had a little extra money in the bank, and I thought it would be a good idea to invest it, because I am white, and that is what white people do to remind minorities that we're still in charge. "What, you mean that you get to make money just by having money?" "Yes." I met with a financial advisor and she told me that a really great market was opening up in the water industry, and that within a few years, prices in the water market were going to go through the roof. But instead of thinking "Great, I can't wait to get in on the ground floor of this exciting investment opportunity," I thought, "HOLY SHIT WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO WATER?"

Invest in water, you guys. Something is up. That was your question, right? "Should I invest in water?" Yes. You're welcome.

This week, a resident of California goes down the rabbit hole, and a man/woman in Albuquerque reminds us that while blood may be thicker than water, you can't inherit blood.

Some local fifth graders vandalized our town's voluntarily financed, old and prestigious organic garden. They were caught and did community service, but there is still several thousand dollars' worth of damage. Do their wealthy parents have an obligation to pay for these repairs? — R.S., California

Historically, there are many cultural references for your experience that could prove useful in getting through this difficult time. I'd like to direct you to the movies Jacob's Ladder, The Cell, Vanilla Sky, and the first half hour of The Matrix. What all of these movies share are protagonists whose experience of reality turns out to be the result of mental illness, scientific experimentation, robotic manipulation, or death. What you learn from these films is up to you, but one thing is clear: fifth graders did not cause thousands of dollars of damage to an old and prestigious municipal organic garden because there is no such thing as an old and prestigious municipal organic garden, and if there were it would be valued in the several teens, not several thousands. Also there is no spoon.

Tripping the voluntarily financed, old and prestigious organic garden fantastic.

Furthermore, I'd like to take this moment to remind you of the following: the War in Iraq.

I hope this helps, you shitty person with aggressively misplaced priorities.

My beloved sister, a human rights worker in Central America, has long received financial help from our parents. I earn enough to support a comfortable lifestyle. May I ask them to make a reckoning of their aid to my sister, subtracting it from any bequest they eventually make her, so that overall, she and I receive equal amounts? — Name Withheld, Albuquerque

You, sir/ma'am, are a king/queen among men/women. Do you know Susan Jackson by any chance?

I'm going to break down your question into its simpler parts so as to better formulate a solution to your problem.

1. Your sister has organized her life in such a way as to forgo the material pleasures of a financially rewarding career track in order to live in a third world country towards the benefit of the native inhabitants of that country.

2. You are a miserly lawyer/middle manager/marketing executive who earns enough money to live your life as you please, but without any of the satisfaction of someone who feels their short time on this Earth to be of any discernible purpose or value.

3. You are, to simply even further, a mildly depressed nobody with a middling income.

4. Continuing: your parents have agreed with the moral sacrifice of your sister's choices, and have concurrently agreed to give what can't really be that much money (it's fucking Central America, a Burger King manager can live like a Burrito King down there) to support these altruistic endeavors.

5. You, in your long, cat-petting hours spent tabulating the family coffers at the empty dining room table that hasn't seen a real dinner in years, have estimated exactly how much they have given her in comparison to how little they have given you because most parents don't feel the need to support the lifestyle of someone who settles into lukewarm economic comfort at the expense of all their ambitions.

6. Being the truly loving daughter/son and sister/brother that you are, you have come up with the breathtakingly venal and hilarious idea of suggesting to your still living parents that upon their imminent death, they subtract the amount that you have figured to the penny from your sister's portion of the estate, because everything should be split 50/50 starting from year one, and if it is not split 50/50 then what was the point of all that energy you wasted acting like a loving sibling/daughter when you could have been out there, working long overtime hours at your unfulfilling job to avoid the thought of how no one will be there to take care of you when you yourself grow old and sick? We all know that was just bullshit to get your hands on the cash, no one's fooling anyone, so let's call a spade a spade and fork it over.

Do I have that right?

I think you can do one of two things. A) Replace your sister's malarial medication with water so that she comes down with a fatal case of Dengue and passes before your parents, leaving the full inheritance of both your parents (who you might as well murder also, just to speed things along) in your damp, clammy hands to spend as you like on cat food and medicine for cats. B) Make the suggestion to your parents that they subtract what they've given to your sister from her inheritance as planned, but in front of a video camera, and send me a copy of the tape.

This week, a dead woman in San Francisco wins The Unethicist's undying love—and a former organic-chemistry student better watch his back if he's ever invited to a Dipset party.

I recently received a vitriolic diatribe from a friend who died of cancer four years ago. In her will, she ordered her diary entries transcribed and sent to each person she wrote about. Her executor was, I guess, legally bound to follow her wishes, but should he have, knowing that this would more than likely hurt the recipients? — Susan Jackson, San Francisco

Pretend for a moment that your (amazing) friend (who is the best) were still alive. What would you do? Obviously, you would challenge her to a Thai rules street fight, demolishing her face in a flurry of elbows and knees. But such a response does not end at the wrought iron gates to the graveyard. As both Flatliners and countless Sarah Michelle Gellar remakes of popular Japanese horror movies have taught us, grudges can be carried into the next life. If revenge is a dish best served cold, afterlife revenge is a dish best served with a side of creepy flesh-eyed shadow children in elevator corners. Hurry Susan! There's no time to waste! Kill yourself and clear your name.

Although, I'm not sure that I actually see what the problem is. As Oscar Wilde once said, "I love sucking dick." But right before saying that he said, "The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about." I would love to hear what my "friends" are saying behind my back. I would fucking love it. Seriously. And if what Susan's dead friend wrote in her diary really did hurt her pedestrian feelings: Well Susan, you can at least take comfort in the fact that she died a horrible death and you're still alive, complaining about it. Small victories, Susan. Small victories.

Of course, in a few years your situation will be a quaint reminder of a disappeared world. Unless someone includes a line item in their will for the release of all password protected blog posts to be distributed accordingly, I'm pretty sure Harriet the Spy has made the transition to Livejournal, and the inevitable murder of Jessica Fletcher will mark the world's last hand-written diary.

As a sidenote, your letter did remind me of a movie I want to make. It's a shot-for-shot remake of the movie Pulse starring a cast of well-known bloggers. I admittedly did not see the original, but I know that it is about haunted email. Box office silver. Seriously, though, you would pay top dollar to see VHI1's Alex Blagg scream "THE COMMENTS ARE COMING FROM INSIDE THE BLOG."

When I was an undergrad, a group of four students was widely known to cheat on tests in our organic-chemistry class, a course that weeds out weak students from the premed track. To the frustration of their fellow students, they were never caught. Three years later, while interviewing for grad school at a large medical center, I saw three from the same group, now medical students. What should I do? — J.W., New York

Dear J.W.,

Yours,
Uneth.

This week, a young New Yorker wonders if it's OK to make people do their job if it's raining out, a woman in California is worried that one of her two privileged daughters is slightly more aware of her own privilege than the other, and the editor of a college newspaper pretends that anyone cares about what is printed in college newspapers.

Is it ethical to order food for delivery during a thunderstorm? If I'm doing it to avoid going outside and getting wet or struck by lightning, isn't it wrong to have somebody else (with little agency to refuse) do it in my place? — James J. Stranko, New York

As a New Yorker, James, you should know that not ordering food in a thunderstorm is as unrealistic as not taking the subway. What are you going to do instead? Cook?

One suspects, James, that if the food delivery workers in the New York service industry were not primarily Asian and Hispanic, you might not have the same problem. One suspects, James, that were the soaking wet delivery person at your door white that you would feel comfortable in the idea that they were simply doing a job, without the suspicion of exploitation. What you are feeling is called liberal guilt, and it is a horrible kind of guilt, because it keeps you from enjoying the subtle privileges bestowed upon you by generations of racial subjugation.

Incidentally, included among those privileges is the ability to go out in a thunderstorm without the fear of being struck by lightning because just as you are not afraid of a camera stealing your soul, we have given up on childish superstitions.

My two college-age daughters are traveling to France. Each was required to pay half the cost. Daughter No. 1 used money she earned at a part-time job. Daughter No. 2 used money she received by subletting her apartment, for which her dad and I pay the rent. Daughter No. 1 thinks this is unfair. Is it? — Linda Fletcher, Long Beach, Calif.

I understand how difficult this situation must be for you, to have one daughter who is clever and fun, and another daughter who is pedestrian and complains a lot. The thing is, Linda, as you well know, life is not fair. For example, 98 percent of the world does not have access to safe drinking water, but you have the time and leisure to write a letter about your two daughters and how they are paying for a trip to France.

Is that fair?

To teach both of your daughters this important lesson about personal responsibility and financial independence, you should kill yourself and make each of them pay half of the funeral costs.

My college newspaper ran an opinion article supporting a professor who had not been rehired. The article now appears at the top of any Internet search of the professor's name. Hoping not to discourage potential employers, the professor asked us to remove the article from our archive for two years. Should we? — B.B., New York

My friend Scott used to be friends with a guy named Damon. Scott and Damon would talk on the phone most days, and go to the bar together a few times a week to cruise for dudes. Most of this stopped, though, when Scott got into a serious homosexual relationship. One day, Scott called Damon just to see how he was doing. Damon said he was doing fine. Scott pressed a little harder, insisting that they used to talk every single day, and it had been a few weeks since they'd talked last, surely Damon could come up with something better than "fine." Damon sighed and told Scott in his lazy stoner drawl, "Well, I'm sort of in this war with a gay black magic website in California."

This is a pretty typical Damon story, but basically he used to post messages on a gay black magic website in California, using his full name. Now that he was finishing up a PhD, he was worried that the gay black magic website, which showed up in any Google search for his name, would pose problems for getting a job teaching. But the gay black magic website refused to take down his posts. War ensued.

My point is that, a fucking gay black magic website in California refuses to take down years-old message board comments out of editorial integrity, so I don't even know what your question is.

This week, a man's wheelchair-bound father and his craving for delicious treats teaches us all an important lesson on the value of human life, and a young couple from Pennsylvania hires a female rabbi (sic) to officiate at their wedding.

My 71-year-old father lives in a nursing home, is confined to a wheelchair and is tube-fed. He understands the health risks of his taking food or liquid by mouth. (He got pneumonia this way.) When he was first admitted and asked me to bring him a milkshake, I refused. Now that I see he will eat whatever he wants, I'm inclined to give it to him. Am I more compassionate or less ethical? — name withheld, Illinois

End of life issues are difficult and painful, making them a personal favorite. I have already explained my position on what should be done with my important, valuable body if I am ever left by a jealous God in a vegetative state, which is of course, that it should be kept alive no matter what the emotional or economic cost on my friends and family. Even if it should crush them, at least my drooly, poopy, living corpse will still be powered by modern science and the need of a people for their hero.

But neither you nor your father are as important as I am, as evidenced by the fact that you're the one writing the letters, and I'm the one making fun of those letters on a website you probably don't even know about. Scientifically speaking, I'm worth 3.7 of your dads.

So by all means, buy your father the milkshake, but as he is taking his first delicious, delightfully cold sip, pull the plug. There will be plenty of milkshakes in heaven. Just kidding. Heaven is a myth. Oh well. Seriously.

My son and daughter-in-law paid a rabbi in advance to officiate at their wedding. A few days before the ceremony, the rabbi was incapacitated and could not attend. She reluctantly agreed to return part of the money, arguing that she was entitled to be paid for her preparation time. I say that she did not do the job and so should not collect a fee. Right? — name withheld, Pennsylvania

You should withhold all the money from her, yes. Not because she was incapacitated and unable to perform the ceremonial duties to which she had agreed, but because there is no such thing as a female rabbi. Whoops on you. She is a liar, and she should be treated as a liar.

When your son and daughter-in-law want the bonds of their love to be recognized by the patron saint of flowing silk scarves, tasteful wireframe glasses, and sermons that reference Sex and the City, then by all means, a "female rabbi" is the perfect choice. Please invite me to their divorce, which will of course be marked by a somber drum circle, and the traditional placing of two symbols of their time together (usually a pair of anniversary cuff-links and a dog-eared copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking) into a small boat which is then set on fire and cast off into the sea.

Also, I know this wasn't something you were specifically asking about in your letter, but the answer is yes, having hired a female rabbi to officiate at his wedding and then not being able to actually handle the situation himself when said female rabbi shirked her duties and tried to Jew him out of the payment (ding dong) so he had to ask his dad to straighten it out and his dad tried to straighten it out by writing a frustrated letter to the New York Times does actually make your son gay. Knowledge is power. You're welcome.

This week, it's all New York all the time up in these letters, with questions about sexual prostitution, and shoes that cost more than writing for the internet pays in a month.

I recently discovered that my ex-roommate had been working as a prostitute and sometimes paid me the rent with money earned that way. I want to return her money because I don't think anyone should have to do such work. She refuses to take it, saying her work is none of my business. Must I accept (and keep) rent money regardless of its source? — Mike, New York

Aw. It's so cute/scary that you live in New York and don't understand how rent works. See, your ex-roommate wasn't giving you money, she was giving the landlord money. That being said, if she wants to engage in a little suck and fuck to git 'er done, I have no problem with that.

Unless, of course, you own the apartment and were renting out a room of it to Destiny (obviously she was named Destiny.) If that's the case, I would feel pretty confident...like, Spencer Pratt confident...that you charged her more than the actual room was worth. That's just business, and I have no problem with that, either. But it makes the part with you and the high horse and the riding in on it a little tougher to swallow (nullus), you know what I mean, Louie Kritski?

As the legendary poet Curtis Jackson once said, "I get money, I-I get money. I run New York." Put that in your mezuzah.

My fiancée took three pairs of shoes to the valet service in our building to be sent out to be resoled. The service lost the shoes, took responsibility and reimbursed us for the original cost, $2,020. My fiancée immediately bought three new pairs of shoes to wear to job interviews. Later, the shoes were miraculously found, and the valet service asked us to refund their $2,020. Must we? — A. Mehta, New York

Let me guess, the A. stands for "Asshole Who Is Engaged to a Woman Who Spends $675 on a Pair of Shoes, Which Is Bad Enough, But Then Is So Out of Touch With Reality That When Writing a Letter About Shoes to an Advice Column, He Doesn't Realize That the Fundamental Problem Remains the Same Even if He Feigned Modesty About the Cost of the Shoes and Said That They Were $90 a Pair, But Probably Realized That He Couldn't Pull Off Such a Lie When His Letter Smelled So Heavily of Cuban Cigars and Dry Martinis."

Whoops, Kill yourself. For a modest fee, let's say two pairs of shoes worth, I'll do it for you.

The real question, of course, is if she can afford $675 shoes, what does she need a job for? Or is she applying for the position of "Unbearable Super Cow"? She's hired!

Just kidding. I don't know why I'm even giving you guys such a hard time about this when I'm all to familiar with the embarrassment one feels when kicking homeless people in the face with shoes costing less than what the person who made them makes in five years.

Last week was the one year anniversary of this column, and as this week's questions about medical ethics and coveting thy neighbor's ex-wife's seat at synagogue show, no one has learned anything.

A patient came to the E.R. where I work, and a nurse gave him a preliminary evaluation. When the patient saw my name, he refused to be examined by a Muslim doctor. I couldn't reach his primary physician, and the other physician on call was also Muslim. A physician assistant offered to complete the evaluation, but as the patient was in no immediate danger, I did not allow this. Instead I discharged the patient without a full evaluation. Was I right? — Ali Mohamed Osman, M.D., Houston

No, you were not right. I have been writing this column for more than a year (kill me), and still you people just don't get it. If you're not going to listen to the advice I offer out of the goodness of my heart and the money I am paid, perhaps you will listen to Robert Greene, author of the 48 Laws of Power:

"Law 15: Crush Your Enemy Totally"

Admittedly, there are plenty of places where it's difficult to crush your enemy totally (Sunday mass, Papa Johns, Chuck Lidell's house), but a hospital, with its stainless steel instruments and lethal, lethal drugs, is not one of them. Since I have to do everything around here: 30 cc's of air bubble in a syringe administered through the neck ought to solve your problem. Stat!

A formerly married couple belongs to our congregation. The wife has an order of protection against her ex-husband requiring him to keep a certain distance from her, but she is uneasy around him even then, and so while he still comes to services, she does not.

Do we have an obligation to intervene on her behalf? — Name Withheld, Manhattan

Intervene on her behalf... how? You're going to let him know what is what while he's mid-prayer? I have no problem with that. But if they were both members of your... I'm just going to say synagogue, because most Christians would have said "a formerly married couple belongs to our church," so the use of the non-denominational "congregation" is suspicious, and also Manhattan... if they are both members of your synagogue, why can't the abusive ex-husband continue to attend services? Isn't it enough that she gets the Jew-creating vagina? What does she even need a congregation for?

No matter what happens to her, she has a direct vaginal connection to the history and future of her heritage. Meanwhile, this poor man not only has terrible impulse-control and a prosecutorially nagging wife, he's also going to get kicked out of the house of God? By you? Mr. I'm Not Going to Bother Explaining How I Know All The Intimate Details of a Couple From My Synagogue But I Will Spread Those Details Throughout The Land?

I respect you for totally sticking your nose so far up someone else's business that you can smell heaven. But it's time that we gave the abusive Jewish ex-husbands a chance. All three of them. Seriously, though, you guys, domestic abuse is no joke. Except for that one time Def Leppard drummer Rick Allen beat up his wife. The man only has one arm. Comedy platinum.

This week, a budding young lawyer wonders if it's OK to bogart the amphetamines, and an adviser at a university in South Carolina doesn't so much ask a question as beat up your eyes with words.

A friend and I will soon take the L.S.A.T. His father, a psychiatrist, gave him Adderall to help him take the test. I asked if he could share some with me, and he said that would be unethical. Is it? Isn't his dad's giving him the Adderall unethical? — Name Withheld, Austin, Tex.

In every high school there are one or two kids who have parents who are "cool" with them drinking and smoking weed and they rationalize this with the argument that "Since they're going to do it anyway I'd rather they do it at home where I can keep an eye on them" which is a hilarious way of saying "I've got no fucking clue what I'm doing as a parent and I just want the juvenile respect of my teenage children because even after all of these years as a parent I still can't quite summon the maturity to be an authority figure who sometimes earns the ire of my child by doing something that is in their best interest so I just hope they accept my Facebook request soon" and it's nice to see this negligence applied to a schedule II controlled substance which speaking of schedule II controlled substances have I mentioned that Adderall is awesome dude you've got to get some Adderall you are going to crush that LSAT son but your friend is a total narc and when you guys become lawyers you should give him herpes and then when he's up for a judgeship you can be like everyone I have an announcement to make this guy has herpes and they'll be like no way you are not getting any judges are you thirsty mouth so dry who's thirsty you are going to look great so thin oh my God I haven't slept in three days this stuff is amazzzzzzzzzzzzzz

One of my advisees, a marketing major at our university, works as a campus rep for an energy drink. In one of her classes, the professor invited a competing company to run a focus group about a similar campus-rep program. When the competitor asked my advisee to leave, the professor approved. In addition, students were assigned a paper on this topic that would be shown to that competitor. When my advisee told her professor that she felt uneasy discussing such programs with her employer's competitor, he did agree to keep her paper private. Did he handle this properly? — Name Withheld, South Carolina

I see no reason why you are still toiling away as an academic advisor when it's obvious that you should be head of the Marketing Studies Department, what with your uncanny ability to clearly and charismatically deliver an easily digestible piece of information. That question reads like mind candy! Yes, hello, nice to meet you, my name is Gabriel Delahaye, chair of the School of Sarcasm.

Tell your student that she should Pepsi Burger King I'm lovin' it the professor and then Red Bull gives you wings! And if that doesn't work, Geico so easy a caveman could do it the dean.

Previously: Spencer Pratt Is Is An Ass And So Are You

In this week's mailbag, a young man recently lost his job due to poor blogging technique, and someone in Long Island is wasting our time.

I occasionally write a journal entry when I am angry or hurt. I inadvertently left two such entries, whiny but not vitriolic, on my computer at my former job, criticizing a decision by my boss. She discovered them in a folder I thought I had destroyed. She'd always given me good evaluations but now says I may not use her as a reference. Ethical? — A.J., Denver

A.J., let's get real. You can't kid a kidder. Or should I say, you can't blog a blogger. We all write journal entries when we are angry or hurt, you can tell by what our mood and music indicate at the time we post. It is called livejournal, and you are a fourteen-year-old girl. Having said all that, let me also say, "classic rookie mistake."

Complaining about your boss in a navel-gazing electronic diary is what computers were created for. That, and wasting an entire day googling "Family Ties Fan Art". But it's the 90s, bro! I could understand you accidentally getting caught bitching on your angelfire site, but if we've learned anything from the martyr Peter Chung, it's that you need to come up with a good work-safe anonymous pseudonym when talking about shitty bosses/so much pussy. Something super catchy and not gay or lame at all, like Worker #4989. NICE! (Lame.) (Also, gay.)

Of course, if you are keeping your blog in Microsoft Word format, don't. Or, at the very least, follow the lead of my friend McCullen. He and I were porn buddies during fiscal years 2004-2006. When I asked him where on his computer his porn was located so that I could delete it in the case of his untimely death, he directed me to a folder titled "NPR," inside of which was a folder titled "Fresh Air," inside of which was a folder titled "Real Audio," inside of which was his treasure trove of gay pornography, because he was gay, including this one porn in which a bunch of guys shoved a funnel into one guy's butt and took turns peeing into the funnel. Kind of like what you did to yourself by keeping your stupid livejournal on your hard-drive.

Meanwhile, I still don't understand you people who write in asking whether someone else's behavior was acceptable or not. What difference does it make now? Kid's Court was canceled years ago, and you should be spending your time looking for a new job.

My business partner and I signed personally for the cost of some equipment we bought for our company. When our company began failing, my attorney advised me to declare bankruptcy. I told my partner about this and suggested he seek similar legal protection. He chose not to. When our business finally closed, I had no personal debts, but my now ex-partner was billed for the balance of those equipment payments. He feels I owe him half. Do I? — B.K., Great Neck, N.Y.

I couldn't say for sure what you owe your former business partner, I'm no Dave Ramsey. But I can tell you what you owe me, and that is a big fucking apology. I work, OK? My life is busy. I watch The Hills. Your problems are boring, and bankruptcy is for failures. The solution is kill yourself. You lost.

Previously: Powerpoint To The Place On The Doll Where He Touched You

This week, a man finds sexual perversion in Washington (weird), and a contractor doesn't know the first thing about his trade.

At a company meeting, I saw a colleague use his cellphone camera to film under the skirt of an unsuspecting female colleague. Later I saw him download the images to his company computer, recharge his phone and continue filming. I said nothing then. I could now talk to him or her or Human Resources, but I am wary of his getting fired or my getting embroiled in a messy situation. What should I do? — Anonymous, Washington

You should report this person to Human Resources immediately. Not for violating any professional code of conduct, or infringing on someone's right to not have their underwear taped on a shitty cellphone camera during a work meeting, but because "upskirts" is the shittiest kind of porn. If your colleague is into "upskirts," there's something he's definitely not into, and that's providing innovative workplace solutions to industry problems resulting in an increase in the bottom line and maximizing shareholder value.

Although, after reading your letter a second time, I'm not sure you're going to be able to report this sexual mediocrity to anyone. You saw him taping upskirts in a meeting. You later saw him downloading the upskirts onto a computer. You saw him charge his phone. You saw him taping upskirts for a second time. That is an awful lot of surreptitious behavior to notice without either drawing attention to yourself or the dull pervert. Let me ask you a few questions: When you talk to people, do they seem to ignore you? Do you find yourself incapable of interacting with inanimate objects? Is your body translucent? Chances are, you are a ghost.

Boo.

I'm working as a contractor on a project my client says should take a week to 10 days, for which I'm to bill by the hour. But I am a rather competent person and should be able to finish in two to three days. May I drag out the work to the duration the client expects, or must I finish quickly and suffer the loss of pay? — K.C., Denver

People who work in the outdoors or the manual trades often brag: "I get to work with my hands," "I spend my days in fresh air and sunshine, not some horrible cubicle like a rat." Well, guess who else works with their hands? Chronic masturbators. And you know who spends their days in fresh air and sunshine? Bums. Bums do. So get a grip. More importantly, people who work in the outdoors or the manual trades clearly don't know the first thing about work. Those of us who've built our careers on surfing the internet and instant messaging know that the hourly rate you can charge for your services is almost directly correlated to just how good you are at wasting those hours.

That being said, yes, drag the work out. Isn't that the first thing they teach you in contractor school? It's like:

Contracting 101: Drag the project out forever
Contracting 102: Lie about the cost of materials
Contracting 103: Up to code, up to schmode

Obviously, I am making most of this up. I don't know anything about contractors because I blog, ergo I rent.

Previously: One Man's Trash Is Another Man's Trash

This week: two different white women spit in the faces of everyone. Ever.

I am a public-school teacher. Years ago a school official had us place all old computers in the hall for trash collection, to make way for new models. Hating this waste, I gathered many old computers into my classroom and continued to use them. Now I am about to retire and must clean out my classroom. Rather than leave the old machines to be trashed, may I sell them and donate the proceeds to charity? — Mary Kompass, Furlong, Pa.

Considering how important computers and technology are in the education of children in the Information Age, I would first like to congratulate you in making sure that your charges worked only on the most out-dated equipment. Garbage, basically. While their peers continued to keep apace with the most interactive and technologically advanced learning aides, making of them highly sophisticated members of a new world, your students were essentially eating digital paste. Brava. And this has been going on for years, you say? May every child feel foolish and confused by the world of tomorrow!

Not that I don't see the difficulty in your situation. If only there was some ecologically sound way to dispose of a computer, or donate them to people who can't even afford used computers, much less throw all their computers in the garbage because they were getting brand new computers, or for that matter keep the old computers around in addition to the new ones just for kicks because they're kind of meddlesome and annoying. And even if there were programs like that, how would you even find them. Impossible.

You should definitely take those old computers, sell them, and give the money to a good cause, like the "Buy Mary Kompass a Clue Foundation."

Update: Kompass asked her tech supervisor about her plan. He thought it improper for an individual to dispose of school property and said he'd look into selling the machines. Kompass still intends to take her question to the superintendant.

Nicely done. I've always said that one of the most important lessons you can ever teach a child is that after asking a question, one should impatiently ignore the response and immediately go over someone's head.

A sidewalk sale in my neighborhood proffers used books and toys to raise money for a charity for seriously ill children. My daughter and I stop by a few times a week, but there is little good to buy because two men purchase the newer items to sell for profit on eBay. Is it ethical to resell donated items when our children would like the books and toys, too? — Beth Anne Melkmann, Manhattan

First of all, I've never heard of a permanent sidewalk sale that you can visit multiple times every week, with the exception of the guy in the 2nd Ave. subway station who sells cigarette butts and torn issues of Redbook magazine off of an AIDS quilt. And then there's the whole part about two men who apparently stand around all day in front of a permanent sidewalk sale waiting for the best toys to become available and then immediately buy them and I guess one of them takes the toy back to eBay headquarters while the other stands guard just in case another new toy becomes available, and meanwhile, they tell everyone who comes by just what they are up to? I'll have whatever you're not having. Ding dong, you're crazy.

The part that really bothers me, though, is that you can afford to live in Manhattan and apparently not work—what with all this time to go shopping with your daughter all week long—and yet you can't afford new toys? It sounds to me like those two guys are just trying to make ends meet, and you're basically coming to their work and slapping the Dora the Explorer out of their mouths. How would you like it if they did that to you? Oh, right, you don't work.

Unless, of course, it's because your daughter, Whitney, is adopted from China, and you don't think she can appreciate new toys. I have no problem with that.

Previously: Full Metal Sadness

In this week's thrilling installment, a soldier learns a valuable lesson about his dumb lady, and a man from New Jersey is so mad about that thing that happened that one time, you know, with the car or whatever?

My now ex-boyfriend gave me a 10-year-old car before he deployed to Iraq. I no longer need it and have asked him about my selling it or returning it to him in November when his tour ends. He says: "It's your car. Do what you want with it." May I sell it and keep the money? Somehow, that doesn't feel right.
L.W., Queens

Sell the car. Buy a gun. Kill yourself.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, here is an important message to our men and women in uniform: lock that shit down. Regardless of which branch of the armed forces you are currently serving, MARRY. YOUR. WOMAN. OR. I. GUESS. MAN. IF. YOU. ARE. A. LADY. SOLDIER. If you don't, you will end up giving him/her a 10-year-old used car out of the same selflessness that caused you to enlist in the first place (or the same economic instability that caused you to sign up in the first place, because 10-year-old car, feh) and going off to defend our freedom, and he/she will start fucking your cousin and selling your shit. But first she/he will write to a national newspaper and make sure to let everyone know that she didn't even want the car in the first place and is being forced to sell it because you don't get back for three whole months, during which time there's a totally realistic chance that you will be killed because, let's face it, shit is grim over there.

I do like that L.W. asked the ex-boyfriend if she could sell the car (he said yes), and now is writing to ask again. How much permission do you need? It's one thing if he told you to sell the car and you felt bad about it, but you approached him. If you're really so torn, maybe you should have just broken up with him before he was deployed, knowing that the long distance and the whole embroiled in a tragic war thing might put an unbearable strain on your unlocked-down relationship (reminder: lock that shit down, guys), instead of promising to stay true to him because you knew that when you did break up with him he would be in Iraq, and, you know, free car.

On second thought: Nicely done. You are an example to us all.

As I drove to a stop at a traffic light, a man in an ordinary-looking pickup truck used his P.A. system to scold me. When he pulled away in no particular rush, I observed that the vehicle had E.M.T. plates. Isn't it an abuse of authority for an E.M.T. volunteer to use his P.A. system like this when not in the line of duty?
Nelson Li, Metuchen, N.J.

Let's you and me work together, Nelson, to figure out what you're greatest hope could possibly be in writing this letter.

1. You expect that a man who drives an ordinary pick-up truck outfitted with emergency medical equipment (basically the pizza delivery boy of the health care industry) enjoys a quiet Sunday afternoon at home with some fresh fruit, hot coffee, and a copy of the paper, who will see this letter and realize that perhaps he was out of line in his off-duty interactions and should reconsider the seriousness of his position (that is so serious he uses his own truck or something, what?)

2. You don't expect your particular freelance E.M.T. worker to read this, but you are hoping that other people driving in Ford Tempos and Honda CRX's outfitted with E.M.T. equipment enjoy a quiet Sunday afternoon at home with some fresh fruit, hot coffee, and a copy of the paper, who will see this letter and think twice before they themselves use their P.A. system for the razzing of fellow drivers on the road.

3. You are the loneliest man, still embarrassed over a traffic incident that you can't even bring yourself to fully explain to people (because what were you being scolded for? Stopping? I'm no detective, but sounds like someone needs to spend a night in Truth Jail). Lonely to such an extent that you have spent the past few months stewing over this incident, and when failing to come up with the perfect come-back (despite the hundreds of man-hours used towards that effort), instead you decided to get some kind of public reinforcement for your position that the guy was wrong to scold you (for what, again? Sorry, what?). The offending party, of course, now being long gone, off to live his life without even remembering that you exist.

I bet you a 10-year-old used car that it's #3.

Previously: "The Unethicist: SVU"

This week, a lawyer with herpes spreads the love, and a young book store clerk ascends to the moral high-ground atop the horse he rode in on.

I am a lawyer. During a first date with another lawyer, we had sex, and I wore a condom. Days later, when I came down with a bad fever and couldn't determine the cause, she revealed that she had genital herpes. A judgeship will soon open up in her county, and she's a near lock for it. But if I report her lapse of sexual ethics, I doubt that the selection committee will pick her. Should I? — NAME WITHHELD

I'll allow it, but watch yourself, McCoy.

You should bury this woman, because the only thing worse than carrying an incurable STD is letting someone who has an incurable STD live their lives free of public humiliation and sabotaged opportunities. And of course you should teach her a lesson for having sex on the first date. You can be a lawyer, or you can be a whore, but you cannot be both. Am I right? I rest my case.

Incidentally, who tries to determine the cause of a fever to the point of forcing someone to admit they have genital herpes? That's kind of why people hate lawyers. When normal people get a fever they think, "this sucks, I have a fever," when you get a fever you think, "to whom should I direct the incurred litigation of this unexpected breach of bodily contract?" And then you're all, "I have a fever, how do you plead?" and they are all like "Guilty of herpes." Allegedly.

I will also say that I'm a little confused by the fact that you would like to make this harlot's sexual misfortune public, but you withheld your own name from this letter. It's like a whistle-blower who turns out to own the company. If the company was Herpes, Inc. Because you have herpes. Sustained.

I work for a large bookstore and often process mail orders from prison inmates. Most are in for assault or burglary — I sometimes research them online — and reading might in some way better them.

But I fight the feeling that sex offenders, particularly those who harm children, should rot in a cell with nothing but the walls to occupy them. May I decline to handle their orders, or must I treat all my prisoners the same? — L.T., Ohio

Aw, aren't you a sweetheart.

If power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely, then the power of an insufferable bookstore clerk apparently corrupts insufferably. I'm sure you would like to go back to the days when book store clerks ruled the world and you could legislate from the cashier, but unfortunately those days ended right around the time when who the fuck do you think you are?

Seriously, though, how creepy are you? You research them online? How One Hour Photo of you. I imagine you sitting at home watching To Catch a Predator with the lights off whispering "get him, Chris Hanson, fuck him, get him, fuck him in the butt, fuck him in jail" to nothing but the walls of your dilapidated studio apartment.

I think, though, that you probably should refuse to handle the orders of imprisoned sex offenders (put that copy of Bridge to Terabithia back on the shelf). I feel like this small act of moral opposition to a world you find distasteful is the only thing between you and

Previously: Randy Cohen And The World's Last Mystery

This week, the greatest moral question that mankind has ever faced continues to confound us, while a young journalism student gets depressingly excited about his new "online" (as opposed to "offline"?) blogging responsibilities.

At my son's Little League game, a foul ball sailed over the fence and shattered the window of a parked car. Signs at the ball field specify that the league is not responsible. One parent argued that the hitters family should replace the window. Our family thinks the player and his parents have no such obligation: foul balls are part of the game. Who is right? — Steve Fram, Palo Alto, Calif.

Dear Randy "The Ethicist" Cohen,

When I first began this column, back in 1943 (when my catch-phrase was "I have no problem with BUY WAR BONDS"), it was my intention to lampoon the predominately upper-middle-class, white readership of the New York Times, whose ethical questions tend to revolve around the trivial (is it so wrong to wear white after labor day?) and the mundane (is it so wrong to wear white before Memorial Day?). Week in and week out, you dip your hand into your mailbag and select what are ostensibly "the best" questions, i.e. those that are simultaneously the most accessible to your readers and the most fecund for spirited moral debate. I have no doubt that you select well, which is unsettling, considering the functional retardation of most of the questions you answer. But "chapeau," Mr. Cohen (I know how much you love to slip in coy foreign expressions to excite the classist narcissism of your readers! Consider it an "homage.") It cannot be easy to cater to the spiritual acid reflux of our nation's privileged, insipid elite without splattering your own Nantucket red all over the ceiling.

One of the reasons that I was so certain that your column would provide me with enough material for my column was because, although I was never a regular "The Ethicist" reader, one of the few times I did read it, a few years ago, the question was of such startling unimportance, and such raw upper-middle-class-whiteness, that it had stuck with me ever since. I did a little bit of research to find that old question:

While we were playing softball on a city-owned diamond, I hit a foul ball that sailed into the parking lot off third base and broke the back window of a friend's car. I offered to pay, but he intends to sue the city for $600 in damages because it hadn't posted signs warning of the danger or hung screens above the fence to deflect wayward balls. Who should pay — me, the city or my friend? Gregory Knapp, Tujunga, Calif.

Six years, one 9/11, two wars, one Katrina, and an Alberto Gonzales later, CAN WE PLEASE PUT TO REST THE AGE-OLD QUESTION OF FISCAL RESPONSIBILITY IN THE REALM OF STRAY FOUL BALLS? FUUUUUCK.

A journalism major at college, I was delighted to land an internship at a national magazine. My editor asked me to post comments on one of the magazine's online blogs, being sure not to mention my working for the magazine but to write in a style that suggests I'm a reader. That felt dirty to me. Advice? — Nick McCarvel, Seattle

I have no problem with BUY WAR BONDS.

Previously: I'm In Ur Family, Judjin Ur Value

This week, a man in California is concerned with how his wife's sister is using her vagina, and a man in Connecticut is concerned with how Singapore is stroking its cane.

My wife's sister left her husband of 15 years. She has invited my wife and me to an overnight visit at her new boyfriends house. I say that accepting the invitation would give the appearance of approval. I feel she should end one relationship or at least begin legal proceedings she has not before living with another man. My wife says it is not for us to judge. Should we visit her and her cohabiter du jour?
David Sutton, Pleasant Hill, Calif.

The one thing that I am sure of after reading your letter is that your wife must thank God every day for having met you. Most people never get to marry someone so blatantly willing to guide the moral lives of their family with such a blatant sense of superiority and condescension. Lucky her!

Obviously, you should swallow your pride and go to this overnight visit, which incidentally, what kind of relative invites you for an "overnight visit"? Nice family. Enjoy your incestuous key party at her "boyfriends" (sic) house.

Why should you go to this Family Ties Wide Shut? Not as a sign of approval for her ridiculously acceptable behavior that is not your business to criticize, but because what better way to gather ammo with which to humiliate her at the next family function? You can't just say "would you believe that Sarah invited us over to her boyfriends (sic) house but I refused out of some archaically puritanical sense of prudish self-righteousness!?!" You need something more powerful, like "I could hardly sleep at Sarah's new boyfriends (sic) house because all night long she was screaming 'PEE ON MY FACE, I DESERVE IT!'"

Two years ago, I lived in Singapore, and my apartment was robbed. Recently, when I returned, I found that the robber was sentenced to 10 years in prison and 10 strokes of the cane. The sentence seems excessive and the caning barbaric. I want to appeal for mercy on his behalf, but must I accept Singaporean justice? When in Asia, do I do as the Asians do?
David J. Powell, East Granby, Conn.

It is, and has always been, the white man's role on this planet to decide what is best for every one. Whether you are a Christian Missionary, a politician, or David Sutton of Pleasant Hill, California, you should never let your voice go unheard when it comes to telling everyone what you think about everything.

Luckily, of course, there are no injustices in the American legal system, and everyone who has ever been imprisoned or put to death in this country has totally fucking deserved it. Which leaves us white people free to travel the globe, serving out our bored, threadbare air of uninformed disapproval like so many secondary-market-hotel-cocktail-lounge Singapore Slings.

On the other hand, "10 strokes of the cane," which is also an amazing Alice in Chains album title, seems like a quaint local tradition...like penitentiary Delftware. So maybe you should just shut the fuck up, put on your rice hat, and take some slides to bore your neighbors with.

Previously: How Can You Know the Difference Between Right and Wrong When You Haven't Even Mastered Right and Left?

This week, the "Rodin's Thinker" of Nashville writes in with a real brain-twister, and someone from Boston doesn't even understand the basic conceit of what this column is about.

An older gentleman asked my father-in-law, Steve, a coin collector, to evaluate a gold coin. Steve gave an off-the-cuff evaluation of $80, then offered to buy it. The gentleman accepted. Some days later, Steve discovered that the coin could be worth five or six times his original estimate. Must he seek out the former owner and renegotiate? — James S. A. Brown Ill., Nashville

Are you really asking this question? You've examined the situation from every angle and just can't figure out what the right thing to do is? Stumped? Totally fucking stumped?

Your father-in-law, Steve, should not seek out the former owner and renegotiate. What happens between two old men and their arcane, insufferably boring hobbies is of no matter to the world. They are like dust in the wind, dust arguing over a coin (or the sexual love of Ann-Margret). Besides, with the $320-$400 Steve just made (I've adjusted for the $80 he spent on the coin in the first place. Surprise! I'm not a total idiot), Steve can buy so much oatmeal that with Steve's pleasurably regular B.M.s, you won't even notice the disturbing onset of Alzheimer's. In Steve.

Seriously though, James, you (and Steve) are a shining spokesman for Nashville, a city in the heart of the south, a region that has no history whatsoever of being stereotyped as full of unwashed masses of uneducated mongoloids. Your ethical question posed an outstanding conundrum that would confound even the most rigorous of thinkers. They're going to rename the Socratic Method the Brown III Method. That's what they're going to do.

My wife and I bought a condominium and were dismayed to learn that our downstairs neighbor's snoring is so loud that our entire bedroom shakes. Earplugs and noise machines do not help. I have debated approaching him but doubt that any solution will arise through confrontation. Now we are debating whether to sell our apartment.

Please help. — D.K., Boston

No.

At first I thought that I would not help you because of all the lies in your question. For example, no one has been "dismayed" about anything since the end of the 19th century. And, unless you are living in a Mr. Bean movie, your neighbor's snoring is not so loud that it causes your entire bedroom to shake. Not to mention the fact that I find it impossible to believe that earplugs do not help. Are you sure they are earplugs and not tampons? (That was some kind of attempt at a joke about how you are a pussy, because tampons are for pussies.)

But then I realized that I wasn't going to help you because I couldn't help you. Because you have not posed an ethical dilemma. You haven't even asked a question.

Help what? Sell your apartment? Fuck you, I won't even help you move. Seriously, I don't know what you are asking. You want me to help you be mad at your neighbor who snores? Fuck you, I snore. Seriously, what do you want? What is the problem? Besides the sensitive vaginas where your ears should be?

Previously: Sexual Fantasy Baseball

This week, MySpace isn't the only place on the internet for inappropriate adult-teenager relationships anymore, and a medical student in New Jersey thinks $50 entitles him to something more than a dirty look and an "excuse me, but go fuck yourself."

I participate in an online sports forum. Users are anonymous but can e-mail one another privately. A young man e-mailed me saying that his mom beats him up. I believe he is in his late teens and is reaching out for help, but I cant be sure. Should I advise forum moderators, who have his personal information? — Chuck W., Atlanta

Um, what?

I've never claimed to understand the internet. Why people enjoy spending multiple hours every day looking at pictures of cats eating hamburgers and taking unscientific quizzes to find out how gay they are (answer: very gay) is, and will probably always be, one of life 2.0's greatest mysteries. But how you get from participating in an online sports forum to receiving emails from teenagers about their physical abuse, well, even Frank Warren would probably scratch his head at that one.

But let me see if I can put the answer into metaphorical terms you will understand: it's the ending of the fourth half of the final competition and all of the sports athletes are on the court and the offensive MVP makes the ball go up into the air and all of the outfielders are high-sticking each other to get the catch and the referee calls it foul offsides out of bounds. You are the catcher, the internet is the stadium, the teenager is the MVP, the MVP is a decoy, the referee is Chris Hanson, the game is To Catch a Predator, and you should be in jail.

At the medical school I attend, we were assigned sites for a clinical psychiatry course, some of which are an hour's drive away. We are permitted to trade sites among ourselves. One student offered $50 for a swap. The deans threatened him with an official letter of unprofessional conduct, although he violated no explicit rule. Was he unethical to offer to pay for an easier commute? Was the punishment too harsh? — Taylor White, Shrewsbury, N.J.

What's unethical is offering someone $50. You can barely even buy a blowjob for $50, and that's a blowjob in a shitty neighborhood, which is probably from a dude, who uses too much teeth, and will probably result in sores all over your penis. NO THANK YOU.

And no, he doesn't deserve an official letter of unprofessional conduct. The punishment should fit the crime. Gross, toothy, herpes blowjobs from that dude for everyone.

Previously: The People Of Darfur Are Also Concerned About Traffic And Magazines

This week, a cabal of white people join forces for an unprecedented assault of extraordinary boredom: a young man actually complains about traffic, someone else has a problem with magazines, and another one buys gifts that are simply too nice. SPOILER ALERT: it is recommended that they all kill themselves.

While I was stuck in a highway traffic jam, a steady stream of cars passed me on the paved shoulder on the right, making their way to the next exit, a move that presumably helped alleviate the gridlock. This was probably not legal, but was it ethical? — Dave Skey, Orlando

First of all, Dave, I would like to congratulate you on being the only person left in the world to have zero Google entries. You live off the grid, which is impressive, and deeply creepy. It must be very useful for you, though, to remain unknown and unknowable, so that you can sit in your basement unbothered by the world outside, breaking pencil tip after pencil tip as you scribble your frustrated rants at a lifetime of perceived insults.

Seriously? You were stuck in a traffic jam on the highway, some people passed on the shoulder, and you thought "I am going to write someone a letter about this OUTRAGE!"? That's what happened? Nothing better to do with your time? Had a couple days off from mopping up cotton candy puke outside of the Spider-Man ride at Universal Studios? No reruns of King of Queens to watch on your couch of failure?

Here's what you do: the next time you are stuck in traffic on the highway, if you see people cutting on the shoulder, quietly get out of your car, wait until just the right moment, and then jump in front of a truck.

EDITOR'S NOTE: I have noticed that almost all of my advice lately has involved you people killing yourselves, and while this might seem like a lack of imagination on my part, upon further reflection I recognize that my advice has been sound. There is no other way.

I am an emergency-medicine physician without an office of my own. I recently received a discount subscription offer for magazines to place in my (nonexistent) waiting room. May I accept it for personal use? What if I ordered magazines and then left them in the E.R. waiting room when I was done with them? — K.H., Texas

JESUS CHRIST, DID YOU AND DAVE SKEY HAVE A SECRET MEETING TO CONSPIRE TO BORE ME TO DEATH?

You're an emergency-medicine physician without an office of your own, and without anything better to do than worry about illicit magazine subscriptions? THREE PEOPLE HAVE DIED IN THE TIME IT TOOK YOU TO BE AN ASSHOLE.

Anyway, get a discount subscription to Dumbass Aficionado. Not that there isn't anything in it you don't already know. Dumbass. Maybe it has a recipe for how to DROP DEAD.

Soon after I gave a gift, it was the subject of a recall because of a class-action lawsuit. Am I responsible for passing on the settlement monies or even information to the recipient? — Freddy Benenson, New York

Settlement monies? What kind of gifts are you buying? Or is that the point? You want everyone to know that you buy such extravagant gifts that if there is a problem with said gift, massive lawsuits and life-changing sums of money are involved.

Maybe you should stop showing off and buy gift certificates like everyone else. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR GIFT CERTIFICATES?

The other option of course is the next time you are stuck in traffic on the highway, if you see people cutting on the shoulder, quietly get out of your car, wait until just the right moment, and then jump in front of a truck.

Previously: What Are You Naming Your Abortion?

In this week's installment, Gabe offers some valuable advice to any doctors stranded on mysterious paranormal tropical islands, and a young cabaret performer reminds everyone that she doesn't have time for this shit.

Years ago when I confirmed a new patient's pregnancy, she burst into tears. Her husband had had a vasectomy; her pregnancy was a result of a brief affair; she would not consider abortion. She begged me to keep her secret for the sake of her children and marriage. When unexpectedly confronted by her husband, I lied, saying his vasectomy must have failed. The marriage survived, and I believe my lie was justified. Was it? — Name Withheld

Oh, no reason for the secrecy, "Name Withheld." I think we all know who you are.

I keep my hair carefully cropped with an electric mystery.

SPOILER ALERT: Sun's baby is actually half Asian, half black smoke monster.

When I arrived to baby-sit for a loving family with children I adore, the mother told me her daughter was coming down with a cold. Shouldn't she have warned me in advance? I'm a student and don't have time to get sick. I stayed, knowing this working mom needed the help, but my dad says I should have left. Is he right? — Eve Rybnick, West Orange, N..J.

Obviously a theater major with a penchant for cabaret doesn't have time to get sick, Eve. Doctors, soldiers, teachers, sure. They can lay around all day wiping their noses with their sleeves and watching re-runs of the Gilmore Girls (2pm on the WB), but you have important songs about Weimar Germany to memorize while doing acrobatic cane and chair dances. How are you supposed to remind people of the beauty of an outdated style of performance that is currently enjoyed exclusively by overweight lesbians who don't quite have the alt-culture chops for a half-ironic boom boom burlesque show when you're sneezing?!

Next time, you should wait until the mother leaves and then take the kid out to a free clinic. Won't it be a fun reversal when the mother comes home from her busy day at the office and you get to smile and say, "Oh, I meant to tell you, your daughter has Chlamydia"? That will be hilarious.

Good luck with the cabaret. Just kidding.

Previously: iBarking Up the Wrong e-Tree