|
|
What Would Bosley Do?
Bosley, Medicare part D has ruined my life. I’m old and I can’t afford my medicine. I don’t have anywhere to sleep. I saw a woman on your infomercial cursing and pumping her fist. Have you forsaken me? Richard Shmelick Richard, The woman you saw was Nina Merikan, a disciple of mine who has made $20,000 to $30,000 on the internet. She wanted me to tell you that in the morning she goes to her computer and sees ‘Order Placed…Order placed’ and she says, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck Yes Fuck Fuck Fuck Bastard Bitch Yes! Yes! Ass Bastard Fuck Yes! Yes! Yes!” My precious, precious boy. Don’t you know that man cannot live on medicine alone? Even before the foundations of the earth were laid, I had devised a plan for you and your life. In the same way that I breathed the breath of life into man eons ago, so also must you breathe $299.95 into an envelope and send it to 966 Flower Glen St. Simi Valley, CA 93065. Verily Richard …verily I say unto thee, access to thousands of top selling products at below wholesale prices is the only way to achieve salvation.
Bosley, Lately I’ve been urinating in my clothes. I’m too embarrassed to tell my wife or doctor, so I have to walk around with a bottle of water and pretend I’m spilling it on myself to fool people. I’ve tried praying to Jesus and Joseph Smith, but that didn’t work. Can you please help me? Scott Weiss Scott, You are certainly not the first man to suffer with this affliction. Back when I was a street urchin, I used to urinate on myself all the time. In fact, I would shit myself wherever I was, and then just shake it down and out my pant leg as if nothing had happened. You may not realize it, but even as I’m writing this sentence I find myself peeing all down the side of my desk. The urine is arcing out of my opened fly, and splashing across some of my papers, but guess what? It doesn’t bother me. Do you know why? Because I’m looking at a scented shell candle which I bought for $2.95, and I know that soon…very soon indeed, I’ll be in my kiosk at the swap meet selling it for $8.95. That’s a profit of $6.00! I’m so happy, that now I’m going to go and shit down the slots of my toaster! With this kind of profit I’ll shit everywhere! Who’s going to stop me?
Bosley, I’ve been writing letters to Adam Brody from the O.C. because I want him to know how much I love him. If he doesn’t write me back soon I think I’m going to hang myself in the garage. Erin Wosniak Erin, I know exactly what you’re going through. I once wrote letters to Richard ‘Boner’ Stabone because I was convinced that we were meant to be together. His publicist contacted me shortly thereafter, warning me that any more attempts to communicate with Richard would result in my prosecution. She said that I was mentally ill, and that the graphic sexual drawings I had sent to Boner constituted harassment. I made the decision that if I couldn’t have sex with Stabone, then I didn’t want to live. I constructed a noose out of bed sheets and hung myself from a tree, but my heft caused the limb to snap and I fell to the earth. For three days I lay there, weeping, until I was discovered by a man doing geologic research in the area. He drove me to a mental hospital, where I was kept chemically restrained for months. One day during a group session, I came to realize that I didn’t need Richard’s love to make me a complete human being. For the first time in my life, I slept a full night without dreaming of Richard Stabone. I also enjoy doing Sudoku puzzles.
Bosley, My girlfriend is worried about my health and keeps trying to make me drink banana milk. I’ve tried to explain that I just don’t like it, but she ignores me and keeps pouring glass after glass, insisting that I finish it. To prevent fights, I’ve just started drinking it, but each sip makes my stomach churn and I vomit soon after. Is there any way you can use your powers to make her stop, or make me like banana milk? Vincent McCain Vincent, What do you have against banana milk? Do you have a problem that Jesus refuses to solve for you? Tom Bosley may be able to help. Write your petition on a sheet of rice paper, burn it, and fling the ashes into the wind whilst chanting “Fuck Fuck Yes! Shit Yes! Yes! Fuck Yes! Yes! Ass! Yes! Yes! Yes!” The Bosley will hear you. |
|
|
You
probably know Tom Bosley as Richie Cunningham’s dad, or the
sheriff on “Murder, She Wrote,” but something happened in
the winter of 1947 that would change Bosley’s life forever.
After a night of binge drinking, he curled up under a car
and went to sleep. Six weeks later, he woke to find himself
in a hospital bed in Tampa, Florida. The doctor surmised that
he was dragged for over 1,100 miles. Bosley believed that
his miraculous survival proved once and for all that he was
more God than man, and decided to spend the rest of his life
as a Holy Deity. Years of mutilating his genitals to keep
sexually perverse thoughts at bay have afforded Bosley a level
of enlightenment that few have ever attained. His plan for
your life will not only free you from the burden of sin, but
will also help you generate cash by peddling curiosities.
If you are tired of living in sin and struggling to make ends
meet, simply look inside Bosley’s catalog of discounted merchandise,
hand crafted in the labor dungeons of China’s Xinjiang Province—and
ask yourself one question… What
Would Bosley Do?
