Blues

Are you not feeling as cheery as you usually do? Finding it hard to partake in your favorite activities? Then it appears, impressionable reader, that you are suffering from the winter blues. The winter blues, also known as seasonal affective disorder, seasonal depression, and this-is-why-no-one-likes-to-be-around-you-Karen, is a fairly common mood disorder wherein an individual develops depression, anxiety, or similar symptoms between December and February. As the winter blues are very much tied to the weather, its prevalence varies from state to state; only 1.4% of Floridians suffer from seasonal depression whereas it affects nearly 10% of Alaskans. This concludes the wikipedia portion of this article. 

If you believe after a cursory internet search and a brief paragraph read that you may have seasonal affective disorder, then you are in luck. I am Dr. Coats, and I have watched The Secret dozens of times. This qualifies me to give life advice. Also I can sort of move things with my mind; unrelated to the topic at hand but it is interesting information nonetheless. Do with it as you please. Below you will find seven easy tips anyone can follow to help alleviate themselves of the dreadful winter blues.

1. Get active. Physical activity is not just good for your body, it's also good for your brain. People who regularly engage in at least 30 minutes of exercise everyday report higher levels of happiness and lower levels of both depression and anxiety. Anything from lifting weights to going for a run counts. Get moving!

2. Listen to music. According to a 2013 study from the University of Missouri, listening to upbeat music can aid in improving one's mood. While listening to music one enjoys improves one's disposition to a certain extent, purposefully choosing the type of drivel that belongs on a Kidz Bop CD has the greatest overall benefits. For three moderately complicated payments of $9.99 I will send you my personal Get Happy mixtape, which is just 10 hours of "Dancing Queen" by ABBA. 

3. Public transportation. More and more research is showing that daily physical contact with other people is essential for a sound mind. Riding public transportation is a great chance to force such physical contact with another human being without being ridiculed for being an omega-level creep. Opt to ride during busy hours, sit a little too close to your fellow passengers, walk to the back of a crowded train/bus to brush across as many people as possible. The unwanted yet unavoidable physical contact combinations are endless. 

4. People watch. Go to a park, a beach, a mall, anywhere large amounts of people congregate. Focus in on particularly interesting looking people, and imagine what their lives are like. Imagine how happy they currently are. Imagine how many loved ones they have waiting for them back home. Imagine how fulfilling, exciting,  and rewarding their professional careers must be. Continue imagining as they walk past the horizon out of your eyesight, out of your life. 

5. Stare up at the ceiling. Any ceiling will do, although your living room ceiling is the most accessible ceiling for most people. Turn your fan on a low to moderate setting and just watch it turn. Around and around always, with a slight wobble that you really should get fixed but won't. As you watch the fan spin, reminisce on your life thus far. Zero in on the mistakes, the mishaps. A word spoken too softly here, an action done too late there, a nigh endless series of cosmically irrelevant failures, one after the other. Think of the choices you could have made. The choices you should have made. Stare up at the ceiling, and think.   

6. Go out for a walk. Some fresh air will do you good, you tell yourself. Maybe some time to clear your head. You leave your home, avoiding eye contact with your neighbors as you usually do. So you walk, in no particular direction, expecting some sort of clarity to reveal itself and put you on the right path. It never comes, but you aren't really surprised, are you? That good things refuse to come out of your head? It was a stupid idea, so stupid. Relax, your frustration is visible on your face. That's why everyone is staring at you. Or are they? Can they read you so easily? Left foot right foot, stay in a straight line. You've fucked up everything else in your life, don't fuck up walking, too. Everything in your life. Even her. Especially her. With each day that goes by it gets harder to remember her face, to remember her voice. The last time you called her she told you she was doing well. Job is going great and Jr looks more and more like his dad. She tells you to visit, see her and her family. You couldn't tell if that was sincerity or condescension in her voice, but you declined all the same. She is finally happy and you know it has everything to do with your absence. That's sort of a pattern for you, isn't it? People get better the less you are involved. Maybe you shouldn't be involved in anyone's life anymore. Maybe that's why you walked all the way to this bridge. Maybe in your heart your knew that this was the only viable solution. You entertain the idea but turn around, unsure if that makes you brave or a coward. Such ruminations are to be left for another time. For now you will return to the suffocating silence of your home, to cook for one, to sleep alone. 

7. Bake. Baking something yummy is a surefire way to cheer anyone up. Cookies and fudge and cupcakes, oh my! My fav dessert right now is my Triple Dark Chocolate Brownies recipe. So good, you'll forgive yourself for being so bad! Four sassy finger snaps out of five!

If all else fails assume the fetal position, cry, and hope you run out of tears before March. 

Dr. Coats

Trauma

The clock seems stuck at 6:18 PM. I am attending my third Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder support group meeting and this session, like the other sessions, is dragging on. Annie is again recounting her harrowing encounter with a jar of pickles that simply would not open. Charles still has frequent panic attacks as he remembers that one time someone called him fat in sixth grade. He puts down his bag of Takis to wipe tears from his face. 6:19 PM.

Rachel, our moderator, nods with a false solidarity that makes me roll my eyes hard enough to cause a nosebleed. She address Charles, then the group, saying, "Charles, thank you for sharing. Guys, what Charles' story tells us is that sometimes hurt-hurt doesn't hurt as bad as word-hurt." My internal groan must be visible on my face, as Rachel holds her gaze on me for just a bit too long.

"Skywalker," to avoid giving out my real name I've told them my parents were avid Star Wars fans, "this is your third session yet you still haven't come out of your shell."

"I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home, they're not much bigger than two meters." Instinct.

"You're quoting again. Remember, you're Skywalker the man, not Skywalker the character." A part of me wishes I had told them my parents named me Jar Jar. "We've discussed your parents and their... interesting name choices for their children, but we haven't discussed much of you. Why don't you start with what brought you here? What was the moment that made you realize your burden was too great to bear alone? What made you need this support group?" 

I gesture to my peers. "Dey not ready."

"Hey asshole, all I've done here is bear my fucking soul, okay?" Tim, a man recovering from four years spent wearing all of his shirts inside out, stands to drive home his indignance. His fly is open; I say nothing.

Rachel motions him to sit. "Tim, please. Safe zone, safe zone, safe zone." Turning back to me, she says "We are here to help you. Each one of us know that sometimes life can be just a bit much to handle on our own." 

"Yeah, especially with Texas weather," interjects Annie, drawing a solid laugh from the group. These people laugh at weather jokes but won't even politely smile during my what's-the-deal-with-postmodern-literary-theory bit. Fucking plebeians.

The pain I carry within my heart is enough to break most men. My steadfast defiance in refusing to share with my peers is not meant to isolate myself; it is meant to protect them. To stare into the abyss that is my agony is to watch with glassed eyes as one's humanity drifts into nothingness, never to return. No, no they cannot be made privy to my soul and all the madness contained therein. 

"Just this one time, Skywalker, and you won't be forced to share ever again. Please." Her persistence serves as a prelude to the death of her own innocence. 

"...Fine." I sit up on my exercise ball (we have all been sitting on exercise balls instead of chairs, I'm not sure if that is relevant information) and begin my story in earnest. 

"I had went out for a Sunday drive one early afternoon. It was an absolutely beautiful day, hardly a cloud in the sky. When I close my eyes I can still feel the crispness in the air." I pause to close my eyes for dramatic effect. "The sun was shining, children were playing, Donald Trump hadn't begun his run for the presidency. Chuckle, yeah, those were good times. But they weren't to last." 

Annie interrupts, "Did he say 'chuckle?'" Annie, just don't. 

My peers have ceased gently bouncing on their exercise balls as to better hear my tale of woe and misfortune. "I... I get to a stop sign. I stop because... it was a stop sign. One of the red ones, y'know? My window was down, so I took in a deep breath to absorb the freshness of the day and... that's when he came in.

"A small bird flew into my car. He seemed nice at first, and I even thought he was kind of handsome. He rested on my wheel ever so gently, and sang the most beautiful of songs. But then I left the stop sign, and he wasn't so nice anymore. He started violently flying inside of my car. The window was open so I tried to politely shoo him outside but he just wouldn't take no for an answer. I remember smelling alcohol on his beak.

"And then... and then... he..." tears are welling in my eyes, "...he shat all over my car. I had never seen a bird or any other animal shit so much in my life. He shat in the back seat, the front seat, he shat on my dashboard, he shat on the doors and he..." Unable to maintain eye contact with the group I stare at the floor and whisper, "he even shat on me. Like I was a whore.

"When it was all over, he didn't say anything. He just took my dignity and left me on the side of the road covered in bird shit. I just... he... oh god." I am sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh god why? Why?" The group, with nary a word, gathers around me so that we may all embrace. For the first time in a long time I feel a sense of hope for my future, a sense that my wounds will heal yet. Perhaps there is life after bird shit? As we hug it out I look up at the clock.

6:20 PM. How the fuck is that even possible.

Weather

Hiya, neighbor! Looks like you're trying to get inside your apartment to drop off all those groceries you're currently holding! Oh fucking well, you are now committed to entertaining my mildly dull banter for another three, maybe four minutes! Long time no see! Golly! Has it really been a whole two days since we last saw each other, making my use of the phrase "long time no see" entirely inappropriate!? It has, and it does! Phrases are weird!

I AM GOING TO CONTINUE THE REST OF THIS CONVERSATION AT A DECIBEL LEVEL TOO HIGH GIVEN THE CONTEXT BUT NOT LOUD ENOUGH TO WARRANT A FORMAL COMPLAINT.

Crazy weather we're having, right? You'd imagine that after 40 plus years living in Texas the changing of seasons would have lost their luster upon my person, but no. No. Y'know how the temperature drops gradually enough that any dipshit with working skin would be able to plan accordingly for the impending winter? I sure as fuck don't, because it always catches me by surprise! Oh Mother Nature, you sneaky cunt, you!

Let's quickly discuss sports, because society has taught me that football and basketball are safe conversations to have with a black man. Excuse me, man of color. Colored. Sorry, African-American-colored man. Did you see that team win that game? Because they won it. The game, that is.

Anecdote about that one time I tackled a dude in high school and got a concussion, which explains much of my current disposition and gets better each time I tell it which is every time because this is the only anecdote I have like seriously what the fuck I'm not even trying when I talk to people I just shove this faux-concussion anecdote into as many fucking situations as I can and always deliver it with this really phony somberness - that would be right at home in a Lifetime movie - without regard to either the current tone or direction of the conversation and to top it all off I don't even mix up how I tell the story, same fucking inflections same fucking pauses while I look off into the distance like I was recounting my time in Vietnam and then I'll act somewhat indignant when you have nothing to add to a story you have heard more times than any one man should hear a story. 

But yeah, like we were saying (but mostly I was saying because despite being boring as shit I still manage to dominate all conversations we have), weather makes birds fly and stuff. 

Okay, I think I've stalled just long enough for that sherbet in your bag to melt awkwardly over the rest of your food so bye! 

Switch

Dear Dr. Coats,

There's no real easy way to go about this so I'll just come out and say it- I've switched bodies with my 9 year old son and I don't know what to do about it. Let me explain. A few days ago we were shopping in a real ethnic Europeany part of town when we found a posh antique vase store that specialized in selling antique vases. Once inside I spotted a vase that would have looked great in my bathroom and told my son to grab it. My son, being the useless little shit that he is, dropped the vase immediately. Apparently it belonged to a long line of Gypsy witches and apparently Gypsy witches are assholes.

The proprietor of the store said we were cursed with the Freaky Friday starring Lindsay Lohan spell, which caused my son and me to switch bodies for an undetermined amount of time. Although I've been killing it in third grade (literally killed a kid in dodgeball, by the way) I do miss having a man sized penis, plus my son has been having a montage-worthy series of hilarious mishaps with my wife and colleagues at work. Without resorting to an act of true love or other things that don't exist, how do we get our bodies back?


Someone With Itsy Teeny Child Hands



Dear SWITCH,

Now that is a killer pen name. Readers, this is the type of thoughtful, moderately clever pseudonym I'd like to see more of.

There are three basic types of Body Switcheroonies™: twin and twin, person and dog, parent and child. If someone were to tell you they swapped bodies with their grandpa or something equally ridiculous, rest assured that they are fucking lying. Those three, that's it.

Twins often forego returning to their original bodies because literally no one gives a shit, and the majority of person/dog swaps result in the euthanization of said dog (who is really a person [but dies as a dog]). Parent and child Body Switcheroonies™, luckily, have a much higher rate of Original Body Reacquisition®.

The first and most important step in any successful OBR® is to continue living the life of your current body as normally as possible. For you this means to act like the pathetic spaz your son actually is rather than a normally functioning child. Your son should take extended sick leave for work (tell them he has Acute Aids, it's super trendy right now) and tell your wife/his mom that he can't have sex with her for the foreseeable future because she has really let herself go and he's considering getting a divorce. This should buy you guys enough time to enact step two. Now, step two is actually pretty simple: you need to kill yourselves some gypsies. A lot of gypsies. Like, a Holocaust level of gypsies.

You see, each Gypsy Soul Curse© costs a rather arbitrary amount of Roma souls to both cast and uncast. The cost for the initial GSC© was paid for when your asshole of a son dropped the vase (pronounced Vah-Se-Ut-Ah in Gypsy) releasing a number of gypsy souls. What you need to do now is go back to the antique vase store, find out how many souls were trapped inside, then kill Gypsies at your leisure. It's best to not go overboard with the number of Roma you murder per day, as police and society tend to frown on genocide.

Roma, as the name implies, are a people often on the move so it can be difficult to track down enough to kill/soul harvest. A good place to start your quest would be to visit any local establishments that offer tarot card readings, palm readings, mind readings, or any other readings that don't involve books. Roma tend to run these establishments, as I've read in Playfully Racist Bullshit Weekly. Another hot spot for hunting Gypsy would be weddings. Or more specifically, big fat weddings. I'm not sure how a wedding can be fat, but if you find a fat wedding you'll probably find some Gypsies. Happy Hunting!


Dr. Coats

Muslim

Dear Dr. Coats,

When the youngest of my three daughters, Charmander, was 14 she told me she was a lesbian. Being from a small conservative town in Arkansas this threw me for a loop. My husband and I argued to high Heaven with Charmander for years and years trying to change her mind. It was hard, but eventually we made peace with her lifestyle and learned to love our daughter for who she is. Plus we have two normal daughters, so we figure two out of three ain't bad.

Now she's 23 and has started dating a Pakistani. Oh tickle my pickle and lick my grapefruits! There has to be only two lesbian Pakistani in all of Arkansas and my daughter has to meet one of them. I have nothing against Pakistan and its people, it's just a little much y'know? Lesbian and Middle Easterner. Also my daughter's girlfriend is a Muslim, and if I find out she had anything to do with 9/11 I'll have a heart attack. As a respectable and well-endowed Christian woman, how should I go about telling my daughter I disapprove of who she scissors her time with?

Really Active Christian Idealist Seeks Teaching

Dear RACIST,

Some parts of your story don't seem to be adding up. You said your daughter was 14 then one paragraph later she's suddenly 23? Children don't grow up that fast. You claim to be a devout Christian yet you name your daughter after a Generation I Pokemon? Generation II is all that matters, you filthy casual. You say you are from Arkansas but you know how to read and write? Girl, please (read that as "guuuurrrrrll pleaaazze," and imagine that I snap my fingers all sassy-like because that is what I am doing right now). Regardless, I have your letter in one hand and a glass of Relevant Seasonal Beverage in the other, so I may as well answer your question.

It was very brave of you and your husband to accept your daughter for her deviant sexual preferences. It is unfortunate that, regardless of how noble a life she may lead, she will be damned to the fiery pits of Hell for all eternity just for being attracted to members of her own sex, but rules are rules. Make sure she's not eating shrimp too, otherwise she'll go to Super Hell. It's like regular Hell only everyone talks using gratuitous air quotes.

While you may be apprehensive about your daugther's Middle Eastern girlfriend you truly have nothing to fear. Middle Easterners are just like you or me, but there are a few safety tips you should abide by to avoid any unnecessary conflict.

• Make noise when the girlfriend stops by your house. Middle Easterners hate to be suprised so be sure to make your prescence known.
• Travel in groups when around the girlfriend. Groups make more noise and appear more formidable to Middle Easterners.
• Do not leave food out in the open when the girlfriend is around. Middle Easterners have a very keen sense of smell and will be attracted to strong odors.
• Do not allow the girlfriend to eat human food. If a Middle Easterner eats human food, even once, they become very aggressive and must be either relocated or put down.
• If the girlfriend approaches or charges at you DO NOT RUN. Middle Easterners will often "bluff charge" their way out of threatening situations, so running away will only serve to excite them and put you in danger.
• If the girlfriend gets too close stand your ground, wave your arms above your head, and talk (don't scream) loudly. Middle Easterners will often leave if they see their prey is aggressive.
• Carry around Middle Eastern Spray. It is a non-toxic, non-lethal spray that will deter the girlfriend, giving you time to escape.
• In the rare occasion that the girlfriend has attacked you, lie face down on the ground and put your hands over the back of your neck. Continue playing dead until the girlfriend has left. Middle Easterners often do not go after already dead prey.

Following the aformentioned safety tips should ensure that you find your daughter's girlfriend a wonderful addition to your family. For further inquiries contact the campground kiosk or the nearest park ranger.  

Dr. Coats

Weight

Much hullabaloo is being made by the social justice warrior community over the tangentially related issues of obesity, body acceptance, and fat shaming. Gone are the days of enjoying a cheap laugh at the expense of Fat Albert or an impromptu Truffle Shuffle. Instead, the overweight are to be sympathized, protected, respected, and even desired (WHY THE FUCK ARE DAD BODS A THING HOW DID THIS BECOME A THING). Lost in the parade of self-efficacy nonsense are the very real consequences obesity has on both the individual and the nation. Is it impossible to preach healthy lifestyles without destroying one's self-esteem? Is fat the new black? Why utilize rhetorical questions? Don't I know it's a rather lazy way to frame discussion? How long should I keep this paragraph going? Should I stop now? How about now? What's a hypotenuse?    

The argument goes that a large portion of America's overweight population literally cannot lose weight. Some scientists have both posited and proved the existence of "fat genes," genes which basically predispose one to carry more weight than is normal.  It's interesting to note that scientists have also discovered smoking genes and pedophile genes, biological markers that leave one susceptible to Cuban cigars and small children, respectively. Strangely enough, neither of the aforementioned activities are defended by the well-what-can-I-do-I-was-born-this-way crowd.

Rational human beings understand that genes that predispose one to be overweight are different from the genes that predispose one to be six feet tall. Emphasis on rational. 

Of the types of maladies that would effect one's weight loss hypothyroidism is one of the most commonly discussed. While not impossible for those living with hypothyroidism to lose weight, one must be empathetic to their plight. However, only 4.6% of the US population has hypothyroidism while 69% are overweight and/or obese. Assuming that every American with hypothyroidism is overweight (they aren't), that would mean 64.4% of the US population has, at best, a weak argument as to why they are overweight.  

If one is going to say "big is beautiful," one must follow up that sentiment with "and also really fucking expensive." The annual cost of American obesity in 2008 was $147 billion and that number has only continued to rise. Obese employees miss more work than non-obese employees and, once they are able to make it to work, are less productive than their healthy weight peers. 

But enough keyboard science. Can we be real with one another? I mean real real. *rolls up sleeves and sits in chair backwards* Let's go back to fat shaming, or the idea of fat shaming. Insulting an overweight person for the sake of insulting an overweight person is unnecessarily cruel and useless. Offering advice or encouragement to an overweight person to lose weight, however, should not be considered fat shaming.

Steady your keyboards, SJWs. Being overweight is as legitimate a lifestyle as being a smoker. To not only defend such a lifestyle but encourage it is entirely disingenuous. Expanding on the idea of smokers, look how we as society treat them. Smokers are pretty much not allowed to smoke in any building these days, are constantly bombarded with ads telling them they are killing themselves, and - having experienced this firsthand as a former smoker myself - few will hesitate to publicly berate smokers for their lifestyle choice. As much as I roll my eyes when I see a commercial with some skateboarding anthropomorphic dinosaur encouraging children to not smoke BECAUSE SMOKING IS MOST UN-RADICAL, at the very least I agree with the message: smoking is bad. It is bad for the health of the individual and the health of the community.

"Well, yeah" says the dipshit arguing with me in my head, "that's smoking. It's completely different from being overweight." No, no it's not. Both are lifestyle choices that result in entirely preventable health problems that negatively impact the individual, the nation, and everything in between. Neither can be defended as harmless.

Therein lies my biggest gripe with the anti-fat shaming vanguards of the world; they think being fat is a legitimate lifestyle. Before you grab your pitchforks - which probably double as your actual forks (okay that was mean-spirited but hey, I'm an asshole) - participate in a short exercise with me. Think of all the arguments used to defend the overweight and obese. Genetics, personal choice, the idea that one can be overweight yet have a medically clear bill of health, etc. Now for each of those arguments replace "overweight" with "anorexic." Both are on the same spectrum of weight-related disorders and both have documented consequences for the individual. However, the bravely overweight are treated as paragons, the underweight as pariahs.

I get it. There are many people - particularly on the internet - who have a hostile, virulent reaction to the overweight. These are the types of cartoonish villains who show up on Tumblr or one's Facebook feed, foaming at the mouth as they hurl juvenile insults at anyone who's weight starts with 3. I am neither condoning nor encouraging such behavior; I am, however, saying that the act of being overweight is something that should be dissuaded, and that such dissuasion is not akin to fat shaming. Basically, I can disagree with destructive behavior without being a dick about it.

The general acceptance of overweight or obese individuals is just further evidence of the pussification of our nation. *note to self, copyright "Pussification of Our Nation" for sale to inevitable reboot of Schoolhouse Rock* The individual is allowed to live his or her life as they please, but any criticism towards said lifestyle - regardless of legitimacy - is disregarded as malicious ignorance. This is the crux of the Anti-Fat Shaming Brigade; they seek to mold society to better themselves rather than mold themselves to better society. Their self-proclaimed bravery for standing up to the mean old gym bro harassing them whilst out and about is insulting to those actually displaying bravery to advance their respective social causes. A lesbian couple fighting for equal adoption rights are brave. An unarmed protester standing meters away from a heavily armed riot squad is brave. A fat guy who parks in handicap spaces is just an asshole.

Apology

Keeping this very short and sweet. I would just like to apologize to the five people who read this blog for the lack of consistent updates these past few months. I haven't been afflicted with writer's block so much as Big-Bang-Theory-writeritis, wherein all my ideas are absolute shit and I am incapable of saying anything genuinely thoughtful or humorous. Starting this Sunday, September 6, and until the end of the 2015 calendar year I will be posting an article a week. To compensate for my already busy schedule of bullshitting on YouTube for hours on end some of my posts may be a bit shorter than I would prefer. Also, I've been reading a lot of E. B. White recently and kind of want to try waxing poetic about the mundane (that's not a dig at White, the man is my favorite writer ever). 

Anyways, that's my plan going forward in a nutshell. To the five of you who have supported me, I thank you. Eventually I'll attempt to monetize your support via Etsy or some other cash grab technique. 

Excelsior!!!