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Ask Doctor Down-Down: April 1996

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

This is a rather timely question, the answer to which will no doubt be of considerable interest to those employed wankers who are not hiding Salvadorean house servants in the basement of their financial accounts: Are my payments to hash cash tax-deductible? If so, what form do I use to declare them? If not, why the hell not?

On On,
Access Denied
Maryland Wide Spot in the Dirt Road H3

Dear AD,

Most hashers I know are disreputable, repulsive, unkempt, dirty, rude, ill-clothed, smelly, apt to speak in obscenities, and likely to have beer on their breath . . . in short, hashers are indistinguishable from street people. Hash expenses, therefore, qualify as charitable donations and can be deducted on Schedule A. If the IRS gives you grief about it, tell ‘em you heard it from the Doctor!

On On,
Dr. Down-Down

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

Hey, enough letters from women already . . . let’s hear more from all those big husky stud-muffins out there! Geez, now I know why the Washington DC hash is men-only.

On On,
Name Withheld by Request (D-Mass)
House of Representatives
Washington DC

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

I solved my “coins-in-the-air-causing-skin-abrasions” problem by donning my motorcycle helmet prior to counting the Hash Cash coins. Thank you for your lovely cure for excessive masturbation in your web page. I’m sure that thousands of long-schlongers and self-flagelators will profit from your advice. Me, I’m still abusing the tool that I would like to consider public property; no takers yet.

As usual, my former maladies have evolved into a new horror for society. Because of my position in life (retired & horizontal), I have excess time on my hands (as well as excess cum) to enjoy the splendicious charms and invigorating wit of Ms. Aqua Lungs, who is generally pissed at me because I still don’t have a job. I don’t care a whit about the job situation, but whenever she and I go somewhere public, I find that my hand (normally the right one) involuntarily strays to the little hole that she has in the crotch area of her bluejeans. This act is not conscious or planned–it just happens. I am really a civilized kind of guy, and actually quite meek, but my hand keeps wandering to the “evil hole” anytime we are sitting somewhere together. Of course, this totally irresponsible behavior on my part meets with the expected response from Aqua–furtive glances, teasing smiles, suggestive thigh shifting . . . uh . . . you get the idea.

This is my problem. I know I am a dirty old man. I know I am irresponsible. I know that I have no redeeming social values, and I know I drink too much beer(?)–scratch that last one! Doctor, what can you do to help me keep my hands where they belong?
With everlasting respect and hopeful expectations;

On On,
Pike’s Peak H4

Dear KIU,

I’m starting to think your hands belong in a sideshow–they certainly seem to have a life of their own! First you complain because your hands are always wrapping themselves around your Johnson. I offer a cure for excessive masturbation. Then you whine when your now-idle hands embark upon a series of increasingly-preposterous manual activities. I instruct you to put your hands to better use, like grasping cans of beer. But no, beer’s not good enough for your hands . . . they’d rather hold the dog down while you perv on it. I point out that perving on dogs can scarcely be described as socially-acceptable behavior. Now you’re bitching because your hands have discovered the joys of feeling up a good-lookin’ woman? That’s a problem? Jesus H. Christ, if you don’t like what your hands are doing, sit on the damn things!

On On,
Dr. Down-Down

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

It’s 6 PM on a Friday night. Everyone else has gone home hours ago butt I’m still sitting in the office, working. Is there anything that can be done about my situation?

On On,
Stockholm H3

Dear Floater,

Well, if you kept a dog in your office, like I do, you could always perv on it.

On On,
Dr. Down-Down

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