Circa-1982 “John Cougar” once again be takin’ your advice queries on matters of flesh, personal relationships, career, and metaphysics. (Read the first installment here.)
Dear John Cougar:
My best friend pranked me really good. I want to get him back. Any fun—but harmless—suggestions?
Is your best friend Bob Seger? The John Cougar of Michigan? (He is also from a small town called Detroit, which used to have people in it, but is now made up entirely of used truck parts, feral dogs, and Bob Seger’s illegitimate grandbabies.) Because I tell you what. I know how to get your best friend back real good, if’n he is Bob Seger. Here’s what you do. Step one: find yourself a hooker. A real dirty one is best. Dirty meaning grimy and covered in filth, which is to say nothing of her bill of goods. Okay, you got that hooker. Now what you wanna do is murder that hooker. Then you take that dead hooker and you put her on the strip of concrete what lies in front of Bob Seger’s double-wide and you go and you tell Bob Seger, ”Wake up! Wake up Bob Seger! You done it again! You done killed another of them whores you always got lazin’ about!” He’ll be huffin’ and puffin’ and cryin’ like Marshall Tucker in no time flat.
Dear John Cougar:
My nephew is turning 10 this month. What’s a good present to get him? He likes science.
I tell you what, you get that little butter stain a rock tumbler. Ol’ John Cougar loves hisself a rock tumbler. Did I ever tell you that ol’ John Cougar, if ol’ John Cougar could be anything in the world, anything at all, and not bound by indentured servitude via a draconian, blood contract to the good people at A&M Records until 1990, that he would be a geologist? Ol’ John Cougar loves them rocks, them gems, them gemstones, anything hard that comes in the ground short of ol’ Grandaddy Hiram Johosephfat Conrad Cougar’s exoskeleton what be in the backyard and all around the property. My best song ”R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.” is about rocks. Like rock-rocks. Did y’all know that about Ol’ John Cougar’s ”R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.” Them letters got little dots after em, which’n means they stand in for a word, all acronymed-like. The big name for the song is ”Rocks of Cougar’s Kick-ass in the Undisputed System of Americangeology.” Also, my song ”Tumblin’ Down” is about rock tumblers, specifically this one time I built up a wall around the edge of the farm made entirely of turned-on rock tumblers and it fell down cause of all the motion of the rocks all tumblin’ about every which way and that.
Dear John Cougar:
My wife cooks for the family every night. Our anniversary is coming up, and I want to do something special: make a meal for her! What’s something a novice chef like myself can make that’s not too hard but will also impress?
Ol’ John Cougar’s Cougar Casserole is a surefire, fully licensed by the Confederate States of America and Guam as a 10-gauge tongue-pleaser and panty-burner. You’re gonna wanna take a handful of meat (ol’ John Cougar don’t care none where you get your meat or what for or what it is), and put it in a big metal pan, the kind what hobos or cowboy cooks use. (I got mine from this time I ate the soul of a hobo outside of a Fresno whorehouse in 1884. That’s why I like to use hobo meat for this here recipe, but you can use anything you got on hand — cat, dog, hobo, plutocrat, pig-pork, corn. I don’t judge none. So you take that meat and you put that in a pot with some of your old toenail drippings, and a gravy packet and a box of biscuit mix. Set it on fire, and throw some poker chips and a drop or two of unicorn blood from your necklace crystal and you are in Anniversary Pussy Town faster than Benjamin Harrison’s secret service detail can raid your mausoleum.
Dear John Cougar:
I can’t find a job in my field. Should I wait out the poor job market and go back to grad school?
If’n you don’t have what it takes now, you ain’t gonna have it in future’s time, Mr. Missy Mortar Board Fancy Pants Pip Pippington Wentworth. All you need to know, you can learn in the woods, like Ol’ John Cougar did. Out there, you learn how to kill a man or a beast with a rock, which river mud is the most delicious and which is the most poisonous, and which witch-like sex cults won’t done kill you when they’re done with your holey-bits. Go get your ass to the woods out yonder and tell em ol’ John Cougar sent you. Don’t actually. Don’t tell them that. Theys supposed to think I’m dead. I held my breath for three and a half days underground until the coast was clear, makin’ sure that sex cult man was gone and forgotten. If’n they ask who sent ya, tell em it was ol’ Bruce Springsteen, or ol’ Eddie from Eddie and the Cruisers.
This edition of Ask John Cougar is brought to you by Camel-Marlboro Cigarettes. The only cigarettes personally made by and for ol’ John Cougar himself by taking a Camel cigarette, a Malrboro cigarette, and sticking them together with airplane glue. They’re the only cigarette that gives you, a real man, the nicotine, nicotine, and airplane glue you need out of a cigarette. Camel-Marlboro: they hurt so gooooood!
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