Dear Doug,
Sumthins bin tearing me up inside of late, and though I usually talk out matters that vex me with my pa, this time I was afeard he woulda kicked me clear out the cabin. Matters started cumming to a head bout 3 weeks ago when I git the word from pa that his brother got hisself kilt peaceably in his sleep and that I would have to go by my lonesome to the funeral on accounts of some feud between my pa and his kin which my pa won't never speak of. Turns out my dead uncle lived in that cesspool of sin and race mixing otherwise known as New York City (my pa called it Heimytown) and in sum place that goes by the name of Grenitch Village. If you think this Grenitch place sounds like a nice place to put your feet up, then I gotta learn you sumthin now - never set foot in that there place! Anyway, I had myself a powerful thirst when I arrived in Grenitch and decided to wet my whistle at a local watering hole by the name of the Manhole. Turns out the Manhole was a bar that was a gatherin place for fairys and kweers. Now Doug, I swear on the good book and the life of my pa that I lit outta that place soon as I learnt what it was. But that ain't no excuse and I figure it makes me a sissy anyways, but I just gotta know, is there anyway I can regain my man pride?
- Name and Address Withheld, Eau Claire, Wisconsin

Dear Nameless,
I think you might be being a bit hard on yourself. Unless you stayed there, drank too much, and wondered what happened the next morning, I don't think any extended therapy is in order. Let's say you simply walked in, caught wind of what was afoot, and, in the process of turning tail, dug the heel of your Justin's hard into the floor so as to leave a mark, then it warn't but nothin. If you were slow in realizing that leather chaps ain't required in NYC, and your boots didn't leave no mark, we could chalk that up to you being unacquainted with the proclivities of man, but open yer ears for a minute and hear me out: Although I wouldn't personally frequent a smokey den of sin like thems you described, many folks wouldn't come up to the Ranch for a ride on the mechanical bull neither. What I'm gettin' at is that the good Lord can handle all the judgin' hisself just fine, and don't require nothing of us but tolerance. Discrimination is not only wrong and cowardly, son, it's against the whole idea of being christian. Alotta folks ain't gonna agree with me on this one but I just thought it needed said, given your reaction and some of the words you got mixed up in yer email. Sure, wearin' leather chaps in NYC ain't manly and I'm sure it was a shock for a country boy, but worrying about yer pride ain't manly neither. Remeber, you gotta see the world to understand it, and that's what we're all here for, right?
- Doug

Dear Doug,
When ordering bacon at the pub, is it generally correct to order it by the slice or by the pound?
- Meatroll, Pocatello, ID

Dear Meatroll,
By the pound, deep fried of course.
- Doug

Dear Doug,
I was at a bar last week when this pushy guy elbowed his way past my cousin and his girlfriend. The bar tender (who is also a cousin and my other cousin's girl friend's half brother) said, "now hold on a cotton pickin minute." The story about the pushy guy ended out back but an argument took hold about the actual length of a "cotton pickin minute" and didn't get resolved to my satisfaction. How long do you recon one is?
Thanks - C.C., Gardnerville, Nevada

Dear C.C.,
That there's one heck of a relevant question and, as luck would have it, I picked this one up somewheres along the way. You see, it actually don't have any reference to time at all. Rather, it's a gentlemenly way of swearing when you're in front of a lady. What's more, a few friends I bounced this one off of seemed to think the phrase was coined by Bugs Bunny.
- Doug

Dear Doug,
Since C.C. of Nevada brought up the question about a cotton pickin minute, I wonder if you have any insight to other cliches. How much is a Butt load? Is it close in size to a Shit load? As long as we are in the general area, what the heck does it mean to get you panties in a wad? Now I didn't hear these in no bar or nuthin, but after reading your wise words, I had a flashback to my childhood and it made me wonder.
- Old Man, Bone, Idaho

Old Man,
On account of this here site being family oriented, I won't go into the gritty detail of what a buttload is, but if you think real hard I'm sure you'll figure it out. Depending on how much pine bark you ate the day before, this term can take on far and wide extremes of meaning. If you ordered a buttload of flapjacks, for example, from a waiter who ate nothing but cheese the day before, he may draw on woman perspective and serve up little more than a silver dollar sized hunk of fried dough. Now, on the other hand, if the server were to have enjoyed a generous portion of oatbran muffins (made with a respectable quantity of sawdust) or 300,000 scoville chicken wings, you may find yourself staring at a veritable mountain. As far as getting your panties in a wad, I reckon that's simply in reference to the uncomfortable sensation that can be occurred when your arse is to big and yer ginches too small.
- Doug