Dog With Human Hands . com


This is where I offer advice to the poor souls out there, to the lonely and the lazy. Would you like to ask me a quextion? Go ahead. Use my submission form


Dog Head Warriors

Dear Dog,

I am Remulak the great, destroyer of planets,spanker of monkeys. I come from the planet Sphincter on a mission to conquer Earth. I wish to use some of your dog head warriors in the coming battle. I have a good stock of Alpo and bones. Will they require anything else? Resistance is futile.

Your friend,

Remulak the great, doer of the done, seer of the saw


Dear Remulak,

We don't have any dog-head warriors, you ass! That's a filthy, stinky, partisan lie, and you know it. You silly goose.

Yer bud,


p.s. call me on my private line



My Head Is A Radio! Augh!

Dear Deathfox,

This is a question for Deathfox, because the Dog is played-owwwwt, ya get me? Deathfox, my ultimate question is this: What do you believe philsophically? Are you a Buddhist, just the kind that can kill people, or are you the kind of Christian who do that? Or do you believe in nothing but yourself, like some women?

Oh, and what kind of weapons do you know how to use? And have you ever had to kill a child?

I love you.



Cher Sandy,

Your question is a good one. Philosophically... hmmm... well, I go through a New Orleans Voodoo phase here and there, but it's all empty trappings, let me assure you.



My Head Is A Radio! Augh!

Dear Dog,

Hey guys,
In the deathfox cartoon, you say he has brains, and then you show him pointing to a
blackboard with "2 + 2 = ?" written on it. Now, I guess this could be a joke, but is
it something more? Because the first track on the new radiohead album is "2+2=5".
And if he listens to radiohead, as I know you do, then he must have smarts. Was it a
radiohead reference?

Was it?

Gunga Din


Dear Gunga Din,

To the best of my knowledge, the Deathfox does not listen to Radiohead. He's more into Staind and John Cale-era Velvet Underground. However, I wouldn't put it past him entirely; he's a hard one to know, that fox.

On that subject, perhaps some of our upcoming histories will enlighten you: We've got some new tales of the Fox and the Hound on the way, and if they don't answer your queries... well... we could always just track him down and ask him. Though experience has shown that to be a risky venture...

I hope this will tide you over until we find the answer.

Your loyal friend,




Nothing Worse Than A Man With CANINE PAWS... yeah right

Dear DWHH,

I am a human with dog paws. I seriously think you took my hands, you f*cking
a*shole. Way to go clepto (sic) and thanks again for taking all the novelty thunder. I
can't even land a job as a circus freak. What is a dog-handed human supposed to do?
By the way, it took me 4 goddamn hours just to write this stupid message because
these human keyboards are too f*cking small. As*hole! Cool cartoons, btw. I like
Neel's stuff a lot. It connects with me on soooo many levels, whereas your and
Matt's crap makes me want to eat my own filth...but then again I do that anyway.

Mixed-up in Manitoba, eatmyownfilth@+++++++.+++


Dear Man,

As the venerable Christian Slater said in the cult classic Pump Up The Volume, I can smell a lie like a fart in a car. And it's awfully stenchy in here right now. But all the same.... hmmm... well, I live in TriBeCa these days, why don't you stop by Tom's Grecian Deli and maybe we can set the record straight? Perhaps swap? Worth a shot, after all, though the prognosis is rather grim.

I'm kidding, of course, about the swapping. I like my HANDS, and I like that a HUMAN knows my pain. But seriously, what's with the filth-eating? I thought you assclowns were evolved. Jeez.

The cartoons? Well, I haven't made any. I'm an agitator, not an animator. But I'll pass on your glad tidings to Neel. And I'll do the exact opposite with Matt... wouldn't want him to fly off on another sobbing and throwing fit again...

Big up,




Sandy, What The Hell Do You Want From Me?

Dear Abomination,

Dude, why do you like movies so much, and talk about them all the time? I came to this site because I wanted to hear funny killing stories, not who's gonna win the oscars. Where are all the hetero serial killer anti-heroes from the nineties and early aughts? I just want to hear about some hilariously self-conscious and gratuitous violence followed by the degradation and/or banging of women. Cause see, THAT's entertainment. I could turn on E Network for the bullnookie you're feeding me, and they have a lot more pixellated tits, for real.

Actually, while we're on that subject, my girlfriend, also named Sandy, has a serious crush on you. She looooves you, so if you could please say hi to her, or mail her a signed picture or something, that would be totally righteous. Heh. My girlfriend loves a dog and would dump me for him. Imagine how humiliating that must be for me, huh? Ha ha ha. I tell you, man, that's comedy. But also, on the back of the picture, like, tell her to stop. Or tell me what to do about it, since this is also an advice column, and like, seriously, Jesus F---ucking Christ.


Sandy Manly Loves Manly Candy


Dear Sandy Manly,

What the hell do you want? Look, I only date models and soccer moms. And occasionally movie stars. Well... I guess we could arrange a Sopranos-style affair on my trawler...

But you I just don't like. I have a proper advice column to run, and I don't have time for your convoluted wankery. Please don't write again unless you're wanting my advice on cranial trepanation.





Academic Dishonesty

Dear Dog with those hands,

I'm no squealer. But what do I do about academic dishonesty?

Devil's Brain in Denver


Dear Devil's,

Academic dishonesty is for skells, but worrying about academic dishonesty is for turds. So don't bother me with this kind of horse scheissen, OK, guys?




Even Cowgirls Wear Sailor Suits

Dear Dog With Human Hands,

Please help me. I attend a reasonable facsimile of Duke University, I am 22, and I live alone. Valentine's is always a monster. I don't have a woman. I flirt, I go through the motions, but all I get are casual acquaintances, and it's clear to the dumbest, deafest man alive that I've got nothing. I refuse to go online to meet one, and I've toyed with the idea of buying one from the orient, but that's such a ripoff. Today I got identical priority mail Valentine's care packages from my mother and my aunt, both containing candy, money, and clothes from the Gap, because they know I won't be getting anything else this Saturday. They might as well have sent me a little sailor suit, and at this point, I might as well put it on, and leave it on forever. DWHH, how does a single young guy of marrying age get through valentine's day feeling like a man? I think the use of my hands is inappropriate.


Desperate at Duke-like School

P.S.: Have you considered giving seminars on recreational stalking, tracking and manhunting? You could make a lot of money. Maybe we could arrange a trial run in the greater Brooklyn area over spring break?


Dear Desperate,

To answer your last question, no, I haven't and probably will not, because it's just not something you can learn in a weekend. If I'm going to rip people off, I need to feel as non-scummy as possible, and seminars just strike me as dishonest, because in theory they COULD work. So no.

I have done some teaching though. Right now I'm teaching a journalism class at NYU, and actually rather enjoying it. But we came to talk about you, right?

So. Well, you're a guy, so the very fact that you're writing to me suggests that you need a lot more than a self-esteem boost. Have you considered the personals? I hear they work for some people sometimes.

But you also sound picky, so that clearly won't work... I recommend more drastic measures. Like, creating a real crisis in your life that overshadows the one in your mind. I'm thinking a gambling addiction, or maybe even a near-fatal burning.

Yeah, that oughta do it. Feel free to write if there's anything more I can do for you.

Best always,




General Feedback: Hey, I Know You, A**hole!

Dear Malcolm,

Your picture on your web-site looks like Dave Navarro. Is that Dave Navarro?
Are you Dave Navarro? Where in the world is Dave Navarro? Navarro sounds
like Navajo.


Lamurray Penderjankles


Dear Lamurray,

I fear not. And no. And I don't know. And yes, I agree.

Also, thank you for reminding me that love spelled backwards is evol. Now my world is just a little bit darker.





Am I An Egomaniac? .. Or an Eggo™-Maniac?

Dear Dog,

It's almost valentine's day, and I've got a two-parter here. I have four valentines (Four for Four, baby!) and counting because of my yearly version of compulsive eating disorder. That is, I like to ask every moderately attractive girl who I know will say yes if she'll be my valentine. Now, I'm always able to avoid trouble when I do this because the term "valentine" doesn't really mean anything. If they say no--which, you must keep in mind, they won't--they're not exactly refusing to be my girlfriend, lover,or really even my friend. It's an extraordinarily nebulous term and while it may raise various expectations--from "He will say hello with a big smile" to "He will buy me one or more flowers" to "I will get conversation hearts because He will talk me down like a hostage negotiator and get me to break my Atkins on them" to "He will cuddle me ... to death"--come the big 2/14 those expectations have also become basically defunct and sunken into the general insecurity that provides the only spice at all on the reddish, pulpy, uncomfortable scored-by-Orbital Zero that is Saint Valentine's Daye.

My purpose in doing this, it should be obvious by now, is not to score. I see literally millions of fat and ugly women every day, and if I wanted a slab, all I'd have to do is demand. The only thing I require of my valentines is that they say no to any other petitioners, even if he approaches in earnest and has a romantic interest in her, and ESPECIALLY if his feelings are reciprocated. (I suppose he can still be her boyfriend or lover, just not her "valentine.") I also make sure not to be anyone's valentine myself, because that way I'm unattached and even more like a pimp. See the distinction? I used to be a philosophy major, as if you couldn't have guessed. Anyway, my first question is this. Am I an egomaniac? It may help you to know that I don't even like all of the girls I ask to do this. My favorite this year, in fact, looks like a man. The prettiest one has something wrong with her eyelid. I just like racking them up, asking more and more girls without the others' knowledge. As soon as they inevitably say yes, their sweetness becomes a number, a feedback rating on my ... personality.

I know this behavior isn't healthy, or normal, or at least it hasn't been since the swinging thirties, but I don't care, and I don't ever want to stop, so here's my second question. I've made a date with two of them, for the same night, at the same time, like that episode of Snorks where All-Star did the same exact thing. The only differences between All-Star and myself are that he did it because he either kind of "forgot"--he knows how great it feels to have one on each arm, I'm sure (he's an all-star after all), so I doubt his mistake was entirely unconscious--or else he's just weak-willed yet overconfident and thought he could pull it off pleasing both women. The result, as I'm sure we all remember, was that he was constantly running back and forth between a fine restaurant and a movie theatre, pretending to visit the bathroom and the snack bar, infuriating both women. Both were naturally red, one a shade darker than the other, if I recall; this and her mode of dress were meant to imply that she was of lower class than the lighter pink one and moved a little faster date-wise. All-Star was yellow, but that doesn't matter.

My point is, DWHH, I need your help to choose. Let's envision the darker red one as a girl I actually like and respect enough not to ask her to be my valentine, but whose acceptance of my dinner offer may just imply a willingness to hang out, since I didn't frame the whole affair as a date. Yes, yes, I didn't have the balls to ask her out, because I actually care what the answer would be. I'll write you about that later. The other one is my man-looking number-one valentine, who wouldn't be a contender except that I scheduled with her first and she actually does seem to attribute some dabbling romanticism to my proposition (once I made it clear that being my valentine didn't involve putting out, she accepted and has since been far cutesier with me than anything that's previously been between us). So should I spend the evening at dinner with the victim of my puppy crushing who, for all I know, might have a boyfriend, or should I cuddle up in front of a movie with the less-attractive-but-more-infatuated valentine, and take the sure slam dunk except no sex?


Hungry In Hambourg


Dear Hungry,

I think your problems run deeper than egomania, or even your self-professed inability to choose between two lovely ladies, when the more attractive one would be the obvious answer. I believe your issue stems from latent homosexuality, as indicated by your penchant for, what was your expression, these "man-looking number[s]." While this by itself is fine, you also strike me as being a real bastard. Your brutish tendency to bash the fat-and-uglies indicates a level of self-loathing unrecognized even by you. You should be more ashamed of yourself than you already are.

Best wishes,


P.S. Don't think I didn't catch that puppy-crushing remark. You crush puppies? I CRUSH YOU! I know where you live, Stevie O'Taggert of Orange County, CA! Try to collect valentines while you run from my LASER EYES!

Enjoy the next three days.



Artistic License or Damnable Negligence?

Dear Dog With Human Hands,

On the advice page, is it supposed to be 'quextion' or question?




Gentle Reader,

In fact, it WAS meant to be quextion. I was taking poetic license. As a young pup, I used to accidentally pronounce the word this way, and sometimes spell it accordingly, for laughs.

Yours sincerely,