So yeah, heal the sick. Volunteer at a hospital. Tend to lepers and whatnot. It's God's work and you won't get any complaint from me.

But no likes it when you offer your lame-ass home remedies or ancient, magical cures for our common colds and tummy aches. "Got the sniffles," you say, seeing us trying to stop the river of mucus flowing from our nostrils armed only with a post-it note. And we just nod because if we open our mouth we might say something like,"no, jackass, this is actually my friend's snot. He asked me to watch it for him while he's out of town."

But hey, you're just being friendly and inquisitive. It's what comes next that really sucks: "Know what you should do?" you ask.

"Hold you down and blow our nose in your shirt?" we think, but that's not it all. You're about to school us:

Eat an onion, take some vitamin C, take some zinc, don't take zinc, try some Echinacea, dance with a grizzly, try the netty pot, starve a fever, feed a cold, have a light lunch with a staph infection. . .

Given all these remedies that totally work, its amazing that anyone gets sick ever or that there's a pharmaceutical industry. And if this person is from another country? Holy hell, there's no end to it. It's as if no one in Ecuador or Guyana or Norway ever gets sick. "Put away that Sudafed! In my country, all colds are cured by sleeping with a porcupine under a waning gibbous moon!"

We don't care. Your ideas are stupid. Leave us to our medications and mucus. And you can go back to eating the shark fin sandwich that's treating your psoriasis.

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Apply twice daily while crying.

But no one likes it when you just bob on over and start cleaning something we never said was dirty. If you're in our office or cubicle or whatever and we're talking about the big report that's due Friday, don't start straightening the piles of crap on our desk. You're not helping. You're not being polite. Each right angle of paper-based perfection creates an unspoken indictment of the shithole we were apparently OK living in. Your silent dusting makes clear how completely offensive we are to you.

Same thing with our homes. If you go over to Ian Fortey's house, don't take it upon yourself to stack perfect little piles of the Plumpers magazines he's got laying about. Maybe he likes his morbidly obese stroking materials arranged in a certain way. Lastly, don't be picking shit off our shirt as if a stray fuzzball is some contagion waiting to lay eggs in us. We're fine. No one asked you. Go back to your immaculate dust-free home of right angles and quiet desperation.

Don't pretend you read it for the articles, Ian. We've read your column. You're obviously illiterate.

But no one likes it when you share your devices that suck. Is that subjective? Of course, it is. This is completely a matter of opinion and can only be written down as fact if you own a keyboard and have access to the Internet. Oh, shit. Look at that! I qualify. Moving on. Wanna know a shitty memory device? That one about how many days are in each month. How do I know? Because I've heard that device a million times and I still have no idea how many days are in each month. June has 30 because I just know June has 30. March has 31 because I was born in March so I know that. February has 28 because that's the weird one that has 28 (except on leap year). That's all I know. And don't start singing "30 days hath September ...." or whatever it is. Is it September? I'm not sure. If that's right then I know four months, but it's a crappy device and doesn't work for me and I don't need to hear you sing it. Wanna know another shitty memory device? Well, I can't tell you. Because I don't remember. Proof positive that it sucks.

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Shut up

But no one likes it when you're driving and you offer others the right of way -- incorrectly. See, there's the road of life and then there's the road of . . . the road. There are some differences. Mostly, the "right of way" on the road is a real thing by which people traveling at great velocity in steel containers follow in order to avoid death and serious injury. So like when we're opposite each other at stop signs, don't be waving us on if you got there first. It's your turn. If it's a 4 way stop, don't break the flow of going clockwise just to be a nice guy. You're just going to confuse us. Then some sort of hurky/jerky, Chip n' Dale, polite Mexican stand off will ensue until someone spastically creeps out into traffic only to be creamed by an oncoming Mac truck. It's your right of way, take it. You can send us a cake when you get home safely.

I'm partial to Cookie Puss.