Why is everyone in this bar looking at me? Because the television has just aired a bulletin indicating that the police wish to question you regarding threats you've made to beloved actress Helen Mirren.
If you're a kid you might not recognize her, but most of us will know her from her acclaimed work in both grown-up films and adult films.
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But I don't hate Helen Mirren at all. That's odd. Do you really love her instead? Like so much that you'd get kind of weird about it? Can you imagine yourself holding her over the rim of a volcano, vowing to destroy her if you can't have her? I cannot. I've got no strong feelings at all about Helen Mirren, and volcanoes are infrequent in this area. Hmm. In that case, you've probably gotten tangled up in one of those Strangers on a Train type situations, where you made a bargain with a stranger to do something for you in exchange for harassing Helen Mirren.
"Why? She knows what she did."
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That doesn't sound very likely. I don't even ride the train. The situation does not have to occur on a train. It could be "Strangers on a Bus" or "Strangers in line at a Pinkberry." Oh wait. Yes. This is sounding familiar now. Last Friday I got a little clopsy at the bar, and recall stopping for some yogurt on the way home. Where you met a mysterious stranger who sympathized when you said how much you wanted one of your unloved relatives to maybe not be around any more. Have you had any wives murdered lately? No. But someone did break into my brother's car and take a bunch of CDs. Was your brother kind of a jerk? Yeah he's a dick. He stuck me with an 80 dollar tab on Friday. There you go. You asked the stranger to wreck your brother's day, and the stranger asked you to hassle Helen Mirren for him.
You seem to know a lot about this. Are you the one who told me to harass Helen Mirren? Don't be stupid. I'm a non-corporeal advice column, engaging in a staged dialog with you to illustrate advice for a readership comprised mainly of low-achievers. I couldn't do anything, you crazy person. Honestly it's just as likely that you had a Fight Club moment and talked yourself into harassing Helen Mirren. What did I end up doing to Helen Mirren anyways? The stranger gave you her address, which, according to the news, you sent poop to. I definitely remember pooping into a Pinkberry container and doing something with it. You sent it to Helen Mirren, fella!
Twelve ounces worth, with, evidently, a return address.
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That makes sense. No, no it doesn't. You've lost the right to state what makes sense. So what do I do now? Confess? I should confess before anything else goes wrong, right? If you have no joy in your heart, absolutely. What are you, a robot? I don't think so. Then run. This sounds dangerous and irresponsible. What's more responsible: Pooping in a cup and sending it to Helen Mirren and admitting it, or not doing that? Not doing that. Exactly. So let's not admit to it. I think we can probably separate some of those actions out of that first statement ... And I don't think the drunken poo-shipper is in any position to make any claims about what is or isn't logical. You'll just have to trust me here. Well whatever I do, I should do it quickly. A lot of people in the bar are looking at me, and having hushed conversations on their cell phones. Stand up, and loudly announce, "That guy looks a lot like me. Oh well. I guess I'll just head south now." Then sprint from the room.
Done. And I'm actually going to head north? Not necessarily. What you really need to do is go some place you've never been before. The police are going to be checking places you're known to frequent. Bars, Pinkberry bathrooms etc. ... So you should go someplace else. I get it. How about I go in to the woods? I've never been there! Perfect! Where are they? South. Shit. Somewhere else then? Yeah. Wait! I've got it! What? Helen Mirren's house. What? You've never been there, correct? And you still have the address! They'd never look for you there. I've never been to Tahiti either. Nope. South. First place they'll check. Bullshit. I guarantee that within minutes the Tahitian police will be on high alert for your ass.
"Halt!"
_ Come on -- onto Helen Mirren's house. If it makes you feel any better, there is a method to this madness.
So you're admitting there is at least some madness? Oh lordy, yes. But a mad man calls for a mad plan, turd-conveyer. Just get to Helen Mirren's place and all will be laid clear then. -some time later- All right, I'm here. What do I do now? You're going to knock on her front door and apologize, letting her know, in your own words - which will be my words, quietly whispered to you - why she should not press either charges or her panic button. She's not home. Oh that makes sense. Helen Mirren would probably split her time between L.A. and someplace Britishy. I guess London? Do you know any other British places? Sure, sure. Rutherfordwichshire. Darbyfist Treble Mews. Ham. So no. Well, no, obviously. So what do I do now? Can I confess yet? You may not. You're going to have to break in there and make yourself comfortable while you wait to apologize.
That doesn't make any sense. Look. We've already established four key facts: 1) The police will look for you anywhere but here. 2) If you can apologize adequately, without any more poo-play, you'll defuse the entire situation. 3) It will be easier to apologize if you're both comfortable: Helen Mirren relaxed in her own home, and you, relaxed in a place that you've made yourself at home in for several weeks. 4) You are very easily convinced to do things. So grab a fucking rock and break a fucking window, champ. Oh. Right. OK, I'm in. This really doesn't feel right now. I'm pretty sure I've just committed a crime. Why? Have you gotten any semen on anything? No. What? If you'd gotten semen on something than yes, it's legally a "big deal." But right now, you're just a guy in a place. That's perfectly fine.
How's that? We've all got to be somewhere. And that will hold up in court? It's never failed. Because it's never been tried? Batting 0 for 0, but the scouts are really excited about it.
"Although it is unprecedented to apply the death sentence for a simple case of trespassing, your legal defense was so bad, I can't see that I have any choice."
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Riiiiight. So how long will it take for Helen Mirren to return? Weeks? Months? She's had a stalker recently, so she might not be eager to return to this place.
Oh, right. Fortunately, there's something else you can do here which may make apologizing go much easier. What's that? You're going to blackmail Helen Mirren. Why would I want to do that? When this thing ultimately ends up in court -- and it will, because of all the semen -- you'll ... I haven't gotten semen anywhere! It's coming. Heh. Heh. Anyways, semen or not, this will probably end up in court, where the case will ultimately hinge on credibility. You, the poo-shipping cat-burglar, will have very little of this. Acclaimed actress Helen Mirren will have more. I mean, she's a knight, isn't she? She seems like she'd be knighted, hey? Whatever a lady knight is. A knightress. That does sound pretty respectable. Also kind of kinky in a way though, hey? I'm thinking chain mail draped on things. Naughty things.
I'm beginning to wonder if I made a poor choice of advice source. Yeah, because Dr. Phil is going to cover this very situation next week, idiot. No, you've got a stupid problem, you need a stupid solution. -Long, heavy, defeated sigh.- All right. So. You'll need to discredit Helen Mirren. And you're going to do that by planting evidence around her house that indicates she has an unhealthy sexual obsession with you. Of course I am. How am I going to do this? Fill her computer with pictures of yourself showering. I assume you carry a thumb drive of those with you at all times. I don't, but I guess they're easily made. Excellent. Then, take some night vision goggles and put them in the back of one of her closets. Put a chunk of your hair into her panty drawer. Also ... What? I'm just thinking. What? Maybe ... maybe put like a small cup of your semen there. Like she collected it somehow.
"My client does not approve of the direction this article is taking." - Helen Mirren's attorney.
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How could she possibly have collected my semen? She's a very powerful woman. Connections everywhere. I'm not disputing that, but there's the simple logistics of it. I'm not that indiscriminate about where my semen ends up. What are you, bragging? You think you're too good for this advice column? Mr. I've-Got-A-Pretty-Good-Idea-Where-All-My-Spooge-Is? Discriminate ejaculation is just one of many reasons I feel better than you, yes. Fine. We'll make it look like this was a chloroform and a windowless van type situation. If anyone asks, you can claim you remember waking up on a curb, reeking of chemicals and feeling groggy and used. Because criminals are always going around in vans, drugging victims, jacking them off, and dumping them on the curb. Look, I don't know what kind of sheltered life you've led so far, but you're out there on the bleeding edge now, dung-router. Besides, you're also going to put a document on her computer describing this plan in detail. Then at the bottom, write "Done! 09/13/11, HM."
That seems a bit flimsy. You'll also have to plant some evidence that makes it look like Helen Mirren has a windowless van. Maybe run out to a bookstore and get a couple books on van maintenance, and then leave them around the house. I just checked Amazon. I can't believe there are actually several books on "van maintenance." Make sure to get a used copy, and when it arrives maybe get a small amount of your semen on that as well. Oh shit! Someone's coming! Is it you? That's great; congratulations I guess. But we've done that pun once now. Fuck you! No, someone's just opened the front door! Hide! Thanks Doctor Professor. Where are you hidden? I'm in the back of her closet. So I guess she wasn't in London. No it seems she was in town after all. And it's a bit late to apologize now. Why? On account of all the semen you got everywhere.
I didn't get any semen anywhere! You missed your chance then. I told you, you've got to trust these advice guides implicitly, and move quickly. I had to move quickly!? To do what? Get semen everywhere!? Quickly and firmly, with kind of a back and forth motion, yes. I'm screwed! What the hell am I going to do now? Unfortunately you've reached the limit of this advice column's scope, namely, how to get out of accidentally stalking someone. You have now actually stalked someone, and should instead consult our guide on How To Look Less Pretty For Your First Day In Prison. ____________________
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Chris Bucholz
