Some say that it's his fault Tigger's bottom is made out of springs and that he genuinely cannot tell the difference between his arsehole and his elbow...

All we know for certain, is that he's called MadMikeMarsbergen... 

It's a new name, but still the same old ball and chain—with the addition of a new advice column. Are you finicky about what kind of advice you get? Only trust the best, most-respected sources for your thoughts, feelings and opinions? Anal Advice is for you, friend. No relation to the kind of sex all the youngsters are having these days. 

Mad Mike's Anal Advice

This month's topic is: "Lubing Our Clocks."

We all do it, we all love it. Some of us do it twice a day, and doctors recommend you do it at least three times a week for ideal health. What am I talking about? Lubing our clocks, of course. It's a messy task, and it gets a bit repetitive, but it's worth it. Trust me.

Some of you might be saying, "But, MadMike, why don't I just get rid of my clock? I'm sick of lubing it. I lube it once a month. Isn't that enough?"

I'd tell you you're a fucking idiot, and that you're making a serious mistake. Your clock is your best friend. It'll be there for you when others are long forgotten. Treat it with respect. Use a good lube. Polish it and be gentle with it and it'll last forever. You'll even be able to give it to your kids when they grow up.

KY Jelly works alright. I know some people swear by it, but I find it gets dry too quickly, and there's nothing worse than having a go at your clock and finding you've got the Sahara desert on your hands. Personally I'm more of a Vaseline man—can't go wrong with a classic—though you should have plenty of soap and hot water available to get that grease off your hands when you're finished. Other lubes for your clocks that you can find around the house are butter, olive oil, semen, and good old-fashioned spit.

Someone came up to me one time and said, "Yo, MadMike, I'm a lazy guy. Can't I just pay some dude to do it for me?"

No. No. Never let another man lube your clock. You just don't do it.

Follow my advice and your clocks will keep on ticking. Even when you're not.

Mad Mike's Madder Mail

"Dear Mr Mad,

My "Clockatronic-Babe-2000" has broken down again. Do you know any good repair agents? Preferably one which won't judge me for the, uh, "add ons" I have installed."

—Cool Guy 420 Blaze-It

Sup, dawg. Need to bring the missus to a repair shop, eh? I've got a guy who specializes in cock-hungry clocksluts. Let me give him a ring and we'll see how much he thinks I can rip you off for.

...

Just got off the tick-a-phone. He says it'll cost $300 for the basic repair, an extra grand for the utmost stealth, and I'll be needing to dip into your retirement funds to get my own cut from our scam. Oh, and that gold watch you're wearing—toss it into the pile, too.

We'll have your bitch back to you in about three to six weeks. Money up front. Let's go, dumbass.

"Hey Michael,

It's Daniel Dostbag here.

Remember me? We met at that SciFi convention a week back. I loved your panel, except for the part where you said something that was theoretically incorrect, which was everything. Anyway, I couldn't help but notice that you were using a Clock180 as your portable mechanical computer. I'll have you know that the TimeBook is a much, much better mechanical computer. It's stronger, is immune to ticking-viruses and all the cool advice colomists have one. Plus it can tell the time."

—Daniel Dostbag

Shut up.

You worthless, sub-human sack of shit.

Don't you dare tell me to get a TimeBook. Are you fucking stupid? TimeBooks are sold purely off brand name alone. You want to know why nobody makes viruses for TimeBooks? Because they suck and only idiots have them. Why waste time infecting a guy's TimeBook when you can just walk up to him, kill him, take his wallet, his expensive watch, shoes, his TimeBook (which he carries with him everywhere), and steal his wife's heart with poems you stole off the internet?

Riddle me that, dickhead.

Thanks for the kind words, dearest reader!

"'Sup, Mike?

So my missus is all up in my grill - you know bitches, right?! - 'cos she wants to replace my wind-up goldfish with real fish!! I mean, who even keeps real fish any more?

I wouldn't mind, I suppose, if she hadn't said she was gonna' scrap poor Lennon & McCartney. I mean, I dunno' what I'd do without those little clockwork bastards, I really don't..."

—Yours, Ignatius S. Isisersson

Here's what you do, Ig. Can I call you Ig?

Send her to a landfill.

She's replaceable, isn't she? Who had your back when times got tough? It wasn't her, was it? Your damn right it wasn't. It was Lennon & McCartney. Keep the fish. Ditch the bish.

While you're at it—could you spot me twenty bucks? I'm in a bit of a bind here and I could really use the money. I'm good for it. I totally am. I'll pay you back double. I promise. Think of all the upgrades you could get for the wind-up fish. New gills, man. A treasure chest for them to look at once and then ignore.

I look forward to hearing from you.

"Dear Mad Mike,

I hear you are of good counsel.

I doubted it, reading your previous chronicles... though, I am taking my chance here.

Have you ever been stuck in a wrap-time zone, where the fourth dimension is bent all the way wrong? It's what I am feeling like now... bent all the way wrong...

I think I didn't use enough oil, then the friction had burned my membrane... and now, I have to rest and cannot do much. My mistress is quite disappointed by me as I cannot perform as she wishes anymore...

Can you help with my little ailment?

I guess you are used to mis-performing and lacking of lubricant of any sort...

Also... I think I lost my key in a dark hole... I am really screwed now! I was already on the physical sense of the term, now I am on the metaphysical one..."
—Flaccid and forlorn

First off, get that key from your wife's butthole pronto. I hope you tied it to a string, 'cause if it gets lost in there, good luck finding it. It ain't coming out unless she's got a number-two coming.

Second, have you been circumcised? If yes, maybe go a bit easier on your schlong. I haven't been, so I'm able to go at it without lube. Sorry to hear about your membrane, but you really should have known better. You only get one second head. Treat it right and it'll do the same for you.

P.S. Your girl sounds hot. Send me some photos of her in her corset. I'd love to spank one out to her.

"Dear Mad Mike,

I have a tick and it tocks me.

I hear tick tock all around the clock.

I don't know what ails me.

I lost my key and I go slow.

What's happening to me?

I can't move now..."

—Clock-Man

You're gay, Clock-Man. Find the key inside your heart, and use it to unlock your true feelings for other men. It's okay.

Just kidding.

Tock on this, you fat slob. You fucked with me for the last time, S. Richards. I know it's you, buddy. Who else would send me such inane crap? You bastard, I hope you've found Buddha, 'cause you're gonna be needing that enlightenment to see through the illusion of my fist going up your ass and giving your prostate a good thrashing.

Write me next month, fan, and watch the skies!