The other day my alcoholic buddy confided in me that he was in a new relationship and didn’t know how to tell her he was in recovery.  I don’t know why people come to me with things like that, since I’ve managed to so adeptly sabotage almost every relationship in which I’ve ever been.  I had one girl actually fake genital warts to get rid of me.  Any idea the dedication required to fake an STD?  I have to give her credit.  I mean, I told my therapist I give her credit…I can’t actually give her anything in person because of the restraining order and everything.  Neither here nor there.

I told my friend he should soften the blow by telling the new girl that he just found out he was HIV positive, and that she needs to get tested because it’s like a super-aggressive strain.   He should rub some Vapor-Rub under his eyes first so he can work up a good cry.  After her wailing sobs are stifled into near silent groans,  smack her a good one on the ass with a big grin and say, “Psyche!  I’m just an alcoholic!  You can’t catch THAT shit!”   Women love surprises!  And what better surprise than, “Guess what?  My dick is NOT a death sentence!  Love you, boo!”

Of course, alcoholism is a progressive disease that seeks to destroy everything good in your life, and ultimately, kill you.  But no reason to put a damper on the relationship early on with that nugget of wisdom.  She’ll be so thrilled she doesn’t have Super-Aids my friend may even instantly get some ass out of the deal.   She’s going to want to at least inspect the goods to make sure he wasn’t bullshitting about the entire thing, and that can only work to his advantage.

You know what?  I take it back.  I DO know why my friends come to me with this stuff.   My plans of action are fucking bulletproof.  I may get a second job moonlighting as a relationship advice columnist with the local news.

“Dear Vegas….”