We interrupt this advice blog for breaking news. Regular advice will return tomorrow with a story about shallow people who don’t care about the feelings of others.
By now, unless you are living under a rock, you have likely heard the story of Cecil the lion, killed by American dentist Walter J. Palmer (of the Eden Prairie, Minnesota Palmers).
For a quick synopsis click here: Piece of Shit Kills Cecil.
Fine upstanding citizen Wally traveled to Zimbabwe and allegedly paid $55,000 to poach beloved Cecil. This magnificent creature was illegally lured by food out of the protected national park area, shot by Dr. Walt with his manly man compound bow, tracked for two days as he wandered injured and bleeding, and eventually found and shot dead.
Wonderful person Walter J. Palmer then skinned Cecil and chopped off his head. Everyone wants to take a memento home from vacation, am I right? I brought herbes de Provence home from France; it’s practically the same thing!
The purpose of this blog is merely to encourage readers to speak out on this disgusting man and others like him. These people need to be stopped.
In addition, if you are interested in leaving a Yelp review, click here: Yelp micro-phallus sufferer Dr. Walter Palmer.
I’ve pasted my Yelp review below. Enjoy, and be sure to tune in tomorrow when we discuss people who are both self-centered and completely unaware of how their words and actions affect others.
One more thing, and this is URGENT:
I am doing a casting call for Portland folks (or anywhere else if you want to fly yourself here) going through a divorce. If you and/or your spouse are willing to be filmed on camera in a professional studio please email me immediately at firstname.lastname@example.org.
This footage will not be aired without your permission.
Big things are happening so get in on the ground floor and be a part of it!
My Yelp review of River Bluff Dental, the office where Walter J. Palmer and his itty bitty wiener practice the fine art of sadism in preparation for the next vacation!
I went to this man’s office and instead of fixing my smile, he asked if I had a cat.
“Why yes, yes I do,” I answered, pleased he had taken an interest in my home life. Some dentists can be so brusque, don’t you think?
“I’ll tell you what,” Walter murmured, as his pulse quickened and his breathing became rapid and shallow, “If you let me come to your house and pet your pussy, I’ll throw in a brand new set of veneers for free.”
I thought it over. Times were tough and I really wanted to look my best.
“Sure, why not,” I acquiesced, assuming when he said “pet your pussy” he meant some sort of sexual exchange. Like I said, times are tough and I really hate my smile.
That evening I set out Vanilla Wafers and Tillamook cheddar, along with my finest bottle of Duck Pond red blend. He arrived promptly at 7, just as he had promised.
“Hello, Dr. Walter,” I purred. “Won’t you come in?”
He pushed past me and into my apartment. As he raced from room to room, he began shouting at me.
“Where is it? Where is the damn cat?”
It dawned on me he wasn’t here for a sexual dalliance: a quid pro quo of the dental variety. He really wanted to pet my pussy literally, not figuratively. I ventured into my bedroom and pulled Francis out from under the covers.
“Here he is,” I said. “Relax. Are you OK? Why are you drooling?”
It was then I noticed his tiny erection: smaller than a thimble yet visible through his tight yoga pants.
“Now show me where you keep your knives,” he groaned, stroking Francis with a fervor I hadn’t seen since Donald Trump was caught on camera kicking a homeless man.
Walter was fast. I was too shocked to intervene.
I miss Francis.
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