AskEmo

By Chris Salyers

So this month your happy (drunk) editors at Deek Magazine asked me to structure my Ask Emo column around the theme of MADNESS. To those at Deek: what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Come on. Seriously. People write me, and I respond. I’m one of those “advice columnists.” You saying there’s some kind of creative writing going on? Insult to the max. Hardcore insult!

I expect a Christmas bonus because of this. Remember that, Mrs. Keenan!

Send your questions to me at askemoquestion@yahoo.com.

EMO:

A lot of my friends tell me that I’m emo, but I don’t really know what they mean. What is emo, exactly?

“Jennywren”
Pittsburgh (Oakland)

To Jenny:

Well, there could be a slew of reasons why your friends would think you the emo-type.
First off, are these friends online-based? Do you chat with them regularly over IM and repeatedly respond to their LiveJournal posts? Do you update your LJ on a daily basis, making sure to include pictures taken of yourself at an odd angle, with at least one of your piercings/tattoos showing? Does a good chunk of your existence center around local shows, both at regular venues and the low-headroom basements of your friend’s apartments? And let me guess: you grew up eating mostly Totino’s Pepperoni Pizza Rolls but now claim to be vegan and organo-conscious?

I’d say to keep your head up, but I know that’s out of fashion.

Listen to The Smiths. It’s okay, Jenny.

Dear Emo:

I have an odd story to share:

My boyfriend’s hippie parents only flush the toilet once a day. Things get piled up and messy there. I tried to hold in all I could. Weeks later the tables turn and the hippie mom comes to visit me (and her son, obviously) in Brooklyn, NY, the US of A where one can flush all day if they want to. The first night, mom gets drunk on whiskey. The son (my boyfriend) is drunk on schnapps. Hours later I find myself in bed with a passed out 50-something woman, stripped down to her underwear. Included on the bed is my boyfriend, wearing Speedo briefs and housing an erection. The best part of all of this is the big puddle of wetness on the middle of the bed. What the fuck is this all about?

Dry and Single,
L. Cybula
Brooklyn, NY

To A Dry L:

I’m not quite sure about your story. Some further investigation needs to take place. Some questions: Did you smell the liquid circle on the mattress? Was it a large stain? Were your clothes removed? Was your boyfriend’s erection pointed at you or his mother?

This is a tough one to tackle. Hippies are a strange breed. They’re like dogs—they’re prone to mate at will. It’s hard to say what exactly happened that night. Nevertheless, I have a theory:

Scene: A darkly lit bedroom.

Characters: Young woman, on bed. A mother with a whiskey bottle. A son with schnapps.

The mother finishes the whiskey but gets a craving for schnapps. The son has his schnapps gripped tightly with two hands. The mother wrestles the son (drunkenly, mind you) down to the floor. Some giggles are shared. The mother eventually pulls the authority card and the son hands the schnapps to the mother. The mother, drinking the schnapps, complains of the heat and begins to remove her clothes. The son is uncomfortable and wiggles the schnapps back off of his mother. The mother passes out on the bed. The son begins to drink more schnapps. The son stares beer-eyed at the half-naked woman on the bed, face first, lying next to the young woman. He begins to remove his clothes (as he typically does) for bed and falls across his mother, spilling the whiskey between the two women. Over the course of his slumber, his penis hardens (this just happens, ladies). The young woman wakes up, sober and confused. End scene.

Hope this helps.

Ask Emo is Christopher D Salyers

He asks that you please send him questions (He gets lonely around the holidays).