Real Men Smoke on Airplanes, with Dixon Coltrane

 
 

Dear Dixon,
I’m hoping you can help a dame out. As the college year comes to an end and I’m expected to hop skip it into the real world for good, I’ve been feeling mighty blue. The smarts I picked up in the Physics department sure as hell haven’t prepared me for life, let alone a career. I need to make some bread quick smart, and right now the best I can hope for is to find me a daddy and shake my cans for a fistful of fives. What’s a poorly educated oddball to do?

Yours,

That girl from Wyclef Jean’s ‘Perfect Gentlemen’

Listen here, That Girl from Wyclef Jean’s ‘Perfect Gentleman’,
Saying that long goodbye is never easy. Whether it’s goodbye to the detective life, like ‘Hounded’ in Issue XI, goodbye to your fledgling friendships, like ‘Ginger Ballz’ in Issue X, or even goodbye to a domineering dame, like ‘Jack’s Raging Bile Duct’, all the way back in Issue I – goodbyes are never easy. Saying that long, bittersweet goodbye to your adolescence, that’s a goodbye that sticks like molasses in your throat and stings like a thick, bitter smoke in your eyes.
So, you have to drop the babydoll act, go out into the big bad, and see if you’ll sink or swim in the deep blue ocean of perpetual unemployment. But hey, don’t dampen those daisy cheeks, it ain’t all gone to hash in a Harlem hack house, not quite yet.
Sure, everybody’s wallets are lighter than bulimic rice cakes, but that doesn’t mean you have to debase yourself for jiving Johns in gin-jam jizz joints; remember, just because you’re dancing go-go, that don’t make you a ho, no. Like Simba in the straight-to-video Lion King sequel, you have your pride.
You say you’re an oddball who’s doomed to a life on the skank, but look at me; I’m an oddball, I’m a quite possibly time-travelling detective who writes advice columns for a student newspaper, and I’m riding a fat hog all the way to Moneytown, where the streets are paved with even fatter hogs. I’ll give you the same encouragement my doctor gave me after I finally got the all-clear for Hepatitis; “you can do it!”
My best advice; give it a few months. Pin on your best diapers, and get out there. There are jobs out there to be had, and even if there isn’t the job you want open right now, hey, people have to die sometime. After all, your name is Hope, yo. If you still can’t get a job, it’s time to up sticks and blow this backwater. Maybe you can stay at my place in Moneytown until you find your feet.
Saying goodbye is never easy. This has been a long year of ups and downs, highs and lows, and shuffles to both the left and the right. I tip my lid to all the hardboiled dicks and dolled up dames who’ve written in to me this year; I’ve loved every letter, and every letter of every word. Just remember, be strong, be a man, and most of all, use frequent and inappropriate alliteration. If you ever need me, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don’t you? You just put your lips together, and blow a guy.
That really is the rub,
Dixon Coltrane

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