Advice Column: DEAR RUFUS

NEW HEELS IN NEBRASKA

Dear Rufus:

I am an 18 year old male freshman at a prominent midwestern university and have recently run into a problem concerning my roommate. My roommate "Bob" over the past semester has become a good friend of mine; he is a considerate and clean roommate who also happens to be quite personable. In this respect I consider myself lucky.

However, "Bob" talks in his sleep. While a relatively normal activity, it is the content of what "Bob" says in his sleep rather than the actual act which worries me. Since break has ended, "Bob" has been, in his sleep, confessing to any number of mortal sins that he has committed during his time in college. Among confessions of making animal snuff films, trying to milk his 87 year old grandmother in her sleep, and purchasing a baker's dozen of Russian mail order brides which he then tortured, murdered, and ate; none of these is as troubling as what he's recently confessed to doing to me (while I was sleeping).

Two nights ago, "Bob", in his sleep, confessed to giving me a "night on the town fit for a queen". Over his two hour sleep talk, "Bob" detailed how he sedated me, after I fell asleep, took me to any number of underground S&M/D&D bars (i didn't know they existed either), dolled me up like his pretty man wife, and loved me in every possible way.

Rufus, my question is, how do I approach "Bob" about what he has done to me? Rather, how do I approach "Bob" about what he has done FOR me? Sadly, that night, at least from what I heard, is the best date I've been on in years. He bought me drinks (though I was too drugged to enjoy them), introduced me to all his friends, bought me a pretty new skirt and matching heels, and, on top of everything, I GOT LAID, DUDE!

Please Rufus, help me turn this one night stand into something meaningful.

Sincerely,
New Heels in Nebraska

Dear New Heels,
Let me be the first to congratulate you on your recent discovery. Keep reaching for that rainbow. Likewise, kudos on the ass-play. Everybody needs a pipe-cleaning now and then.

Beyond that, my friend, I must object to your ambitions. Bob may be your friend but Bob is bad news. Guys like Bob are bad news. I hate to bombard you with clichéd psycho-babble, but clinical experts from most cultures will tend to agree that a man who milks his grandmother could potentially be a poor choice for a relational partner. Likewise, as a roommate, you share dairy-cooler space with him at your own peril. If your morning coffee is ever mealy from the cream, you’ll know why.

That being said, it’s jot your fault. It’s natural to fall for the bad boy. A leather-pasted pain-freak like your Bob is a classic American heart-throb archetype, like James Dean, Clark Kent or Geraldo Rivera. But ultimately, this is the type of dude that leaves you high and dry with a $3700 tab for the “Undercarriage Jiffy Lube topped by a Hot Lunch Especial” at a place called the Salami Butcher. And let me tell you something, when you don’t pay a bill at Salami’s, they give you the Especial a second time and if feels . . . . less good.

Believe you me, this is not a path you want to start down. Save yourself the hurt feelings and colon pumpings. Find yourself a decent gentleman who holds the door open the, buys you flowers and asks before dosing you with date-rape drugs.

As for your roommate, he sounds like a nice person with a lot of demons. Help him exercise these demons by inviting him to engage in wholesome on-campus activities. Accompany Bob to movie nights, ice-cream socials, square dances and pumpkin-picking hayrides. Most importantly, try to keep your pants on. It will make living with him a lot easier.

And if he starts talking in his sleep again, muzzle him by sticking something blunt and hard in his mouth.

Best of luck with your new identity.

Sincerely Yours,
Rufus.

Blog Sponsored by Paper911.com