Ask Gregson: A Very Special Edition

A Letter from Gregson

As the world undoubtedly knows, I, Gregson Gregoolly was unable to write the St. Patrick’s Day edition of my award winning advice column Ask Gregson. For this I am deeply embarrassed. I want to apologize to my family, friends, lovers, and all of the thousands of newspapers, Online magazines and blogging platforms where my beloved column resides. I especially want to apologize to you, the reader, who looks to me for advice, that clearly, only I can give.

Much has been made of the events which led to my inability to post my column this past Thursday, St. Patrick’s Day. There have been a lot of lies and speculation as to exactly what happened to me. I want to clear that up. This is the truth.

Early on Thursday morning I started drinking coffee and Bailey’s Irish Cream. It was St. Patrick’s Day and I was feeling it. By the time I sat down at my computer to put the finishing touches on my column I was already so smashed that the keys looked like hieroglyphics. I found myself unable to do my work. I did a shot of whiskey and vomited all over the keyboard, ruining my computer and my column. I couldn’t believe I had done something so foolish. I tried to call my editor but I dialed an ex-lover of mine instead. I said some hurtful things. This is the last thing I remember.

The world has now read the reports that I was found, nearly dead, in a field, bloody and bruised, wearing a cape and lying next to a dead sheep. One report claims that I was attacked by a mountain lion. Preposterous! After speaking with some of my friends and my doctor I believe I can set a few facts straight.

I did nearly die, but I was not found in a field, it was a meadow, fields are dirty and brown, meadows are green and beautiful and that’s where I was.

I wear capes. Deal with it.

I was bloody and bruised but not because I was attacked by a mountain lion. I was bitten by a Leprechaun. These things are highly poisonous and it caused me to bleed profusely from every orifice. The bruising came from me repeatedly falling on rocks as I wandered across the meadow, poisoned and delirious.

Finally, I did not wake up next to a dead sheep. That is crazy. I woke up inside of a dead horse. Needless to say I had a bad night and thank god it’s over.

So where do I go from here? Well I feel that in order to truly move on I need to do the one thing I’ve never done. Take a hard look in the mirror and ask myself for advice. So today I, Gregson, will ask Gregson about life, love and the pursuit of joyfulness in this very special edition of Ask Gregson.

Gregson Gregoolly   

Dear Gregson,

I seem to have an endless supply of rage bubbling just below the surface. At any moment I feel like I could explode and go absolutely crazy. Is there anything I can do? Should I seek help?

Gregson

You should not seek help. Listen rage is a tricky thing but it’s also the dark black thing that keeps you going, day after day, after day, after day. Besides didn’t some poet say something about raging against the dying of the light or some shit like that? Sounds to me like you just need to go into your scream closet and yell at the mannequins dressed as your parents for a couple of hours. They’re the real reason you’re so mad.

Dear Gregson,

I constantly seek out dangerous sexual situations, yet I have this all-consuming want for a stable, safe, normal relationship. How do I reconcile the two?

Gregson

We are all at war with our emotional wants and our biological desires. Have you ever considered that perhaps somewhere out there, in the kaleidoscope of uninhibited sexual exploration, that there’s a special someone who feels just like you? If I were you I wouldn’t stop attending orgies, or picking up strange women at gas station sushi counters. You never know when you’ll find your other half. Maybe go looking tonight at that invitation only get together at that abandon warehouse on the outskirts of town.  

Dear Gregson,

I’ve never been a big fan of Miracle Whip. Why?

Gregson

Because it’s gross.

Dear Gregson,

Many of my friends say I have a problem. They say I drink too much, that I have a bad cocaine habit, that I’m not the person I was before, that I’m an addict. I think they might be right but I don’t want to admit it. Help.

Gregson

Listen to me and listen good. Those people don’t know what they’re talking about. All they want to do is glom on to your success and drag you down. You are a gift. Plain and simple. The only thing you’re addicted to is helping people. Your problem isn’t the drinking or the drugs or the dangerous lifestyle choices, it’s that you care too much. You care. Understand me. You care. People like the way you are. They like you. Are you hearing me? Have a drink, it’ll make you feel better. Okay, I’ll have a drink.

Dear Gregson,

I’ve never gotten along with my family. This year they’ve invited me over for Easter Dinner. I want to go. I want to be a part of something again. I’m alone. I’m empty. But I don’t want to hear all of their judgements. What should I do?

Gregson

Goddamn grow a pair would you! Get in your Ferrarri and drive your ass over there and show them what a huge success you are. You don’t need their acceptance they need yours. Give them one last chance to see the light. Bring wads of cash and throw it all over the table and say, “Look! Look at that! I’m rich! I’ve done something with my life. I’m a winner! You never thought I would amount to anything. I’m way better than you, my only brother Bobby. I proved you wrong Dad! I proved you wrong!” Then sit down and enjoy dinner because mom is cooking meatloaf.

Well that’s it for Ask Gregson: A Very Special Edition. Gregson is going to go away for a while, but he’ll be back, better than ever in ninety days, hopefully. Until the next time, rage against the dying light or some shit like that.