Dear Genghis,

My parents fight a lot and I heard them talking about signing “divorce papers.” Is it my fault? If so, how can I make them be happy again?

Frightened in Bismark

Dear Frightened,

First, you must not despair, and instead take heart in the knowledge that your parents love you very much, that love is unconditional, and their near certain divorce is definitely your fault.

How do I know? Let me tell you.

I too, if it can be believed, have been prey to the chest sitting monster that is untimely separation. We are all human, and who among us has not received a “Dear Oegdei” letter, or has been forced to set a table for one, or had to endure the pain of beheading the ones we love? In my own life I had to divorce Lornta, my beloved and only 332nd wife. We, like your parents, would argue all the time, mostly about how cowardly our son was and the great shame he brought to our household. Our wretched son was so fearful of our parting he cowardly sought advice from “Ask Attila,” a popular forum at the time on the silk superhighway.

I will tell you the two things Attila told him.

1. Your parents will always love you even if they don’t love each other anymore.
2. It’s your fucking fault you home-wrecking demon-child.

You need to impress upon your parents that their otherwise perfect (until you were born) life may come again, and that your craven attitude was but a ruse to test their strength of their bond.

Threaten to kill the weaker as a false lover and idle promiser. Then, in their presence, you should ritualistically disfigure your face in ghastly tribute to their continued love while screaming, breathlessly, “death to flatterers and false friends! I am alive.”

Try it. I promise they will be surprised, and I dare say, touched.

Dear Genghis,

I read online that due to your hundreds of wives and successful sons and brothers, you are estimated to have million of decedents.  Is that true big-daddy?

Randy in Oregon

Dear Randy
Those bitches are lying. If any one of the tens of thousands of temptresses who bundled me into the bed or onto the back of their slaughtered husbands told you that any subsequently born child was mine, they are lying. You have to understand that as a rich man, every girl who suddenly finds herself knocked up is “certain” that I’m the father. Whether they be the nuns of Khartoum; the Sabine ladies of the Khwarizmi, or one of the hundred of virgins sent to me as tribute, I assure you I have no need to “do the right thing” because those brats aren’t even mine, nor their uncounted legions of offspring. As Lord under Heaven, and master of the scepter and mace and bow, I tell you this with a straight face: I pulled out 244,000 times. I am assured that this always works. It is written in the Sutras. It is written in the Tao de Ching. It is written in the May issue of Cosmo. So it was written! So it was done!

Dear Khan San,

My boyfriend of the past few months and I have decided it’s time to become more serious and part of that means meeting each other’s family. He met my family and they fell in love with him on sight. They invite him out on trips and to go and eat and all kinds of nice things.

Now comes the hard part. His mother has always been the jealous type. He’s told me that any girl he’s ever brought around his mother’s scared off because she wants to keep her son all for herself. She has to control him! I have yet to meet her, but eventually I’m going to have to. My boyfriend reluctantly told me that she refers to me as ‘the prostitute’ instead of by my name. I’m going to school and working, trying to generally be a good person.

I’m a nice girl Khan San. How should I approach her to change her mind about me?

Distressed in New York

Dear Distressed,

First let me say that the title of “San” does not apply to me. Though I enjoy your fumbling attempts at respect, “san” is a Japanese term which roughly translates to “the honorable”, or in your western mongrel-tongue: “Mr.” I would, of course, enjoy this title if my nephew Kublai had managed to prosecute his invasion of Japan correctly. But, my little grandson, fucktard that he was, allowed a little wind to scuttle his armada. This divine storm, or Kamikaze as the Japs call it, is better known to you in the form of a spicy sushi roll, and is better known to your grandparents as “what killed Johnny.”

With that out of the way, we may now address your problem of too many hens and not enough cocks. I’m sorry if that’s a double entendre in your language, it is not in mine. The first thing you should communicate to this woman is that you share more than simply her son. You share her love for her son. Of course you understand her feelings; you know he’s a great guy too. Think about your own protective feelings for him and feel sympathy for this woman; you may be able to find another man in your life with little effort, but can she? There is, however, reason to be optimistic, she refers to you as “the prostitute.” By referring to by your profession, she has shown her respect for your professionalism. No doubt she is angered that her son spends the allowance she gives him on whores, but the fact you attend a school to improve your lovemaking skills and maintain a work-ethic licking assholes should impress her. You also claim to be a “nice” girl, and that is good. “Nice” is a good angle for a cocksucker such as yourself. Pretending to be virginal and naive has proved more successful a tactic than attacking with Calvary from the rear.

Wait.

Please don’t tell me your one of those whores who auctions off her virginity just to turn around and auction it off again and again? Do you know how many times I have pointed my triumphant digit at Ebay (my finger usually), exuberant that I had just won another “Hannah Montana Box Set unopened” only to find out my “prize” was just the same prostitute as last time only with her hair in pigtails?

Where is the honor? I don’t care how expensive community college is, that is just dishonest.

Your type makes me sick.