Diver,

What’s with people and their self-imposed nicknames? My friend suddenly started insisting that we call him “quest-rock” or something stupid like that. I can see if it’s a nickname that has been with you since birth, like “Beezer,” but a 22-year-old man actually insisting we call him “Sparky?” That’s just plain stupid.

– Jim

Jim,

I believe that people make nicknames for themselves to create an identity. However, why anyone would want to call himself “Sparky,” I, hopefully, will never know. I suggest creating a nickname for your friend, something that will make him look like a real dumb-ass, then quickly find new friends and create nicknames for them that will make them look really cool, unless your friend was going to name his dog Sparky in pursuit of a quest for rock. If that is the case, you guys should start a band.

– Diver

Dear Diver,

My in-laws are coming for Thanksgiving, and guess what? They are a pain in the ass! My mother-in-law constantly sticks her nose into what I’m eating, asking “What are you eating?” as she smells my food. My father-in-law won’t respect the fact that I don’t like him putting the newspaper onto our white couch. That’s just scratching the surface. I think I’m leaving town. What do you recommend? Heavy meds, for me or them?

– Laurence

Laurence,

First off, you need to relax, or buy a couch that doesn’t get scratched by newspaper. I had to reread that question and hope it is a typo. Scratching the couch? Stressing out over that is pathetic, but I think I can help you. The meds you need come in musical form every Wednesday afternoon from 3 to 5 on your local community radio station. Tune in with a smoking device and beverage of your choice, then relax because if you don’t, I am coming over to burn your couch after I scratch the s*** out of it.

– Diver

Diver,

My husband and his damn sports! All he does is watch stupid sports on television, and I’m sick of it. Hell, he moved here to be away from the city he grew

up in, yet only concerns himself with this city’s sports teams. It’s pathetic! How can I get him to look at me, not some quarterback? Duh, I know the obvious answer, but I need a real solution to this problem.

– Thanks, Lonely and Angry

Lonely lady,

I don’t know what the obvious answer is, so here is my advice: sabotage. Destroy everything associated with the city your husband is from, then there won’t be anything left to remind him of those sports teams. Then you, him, Laurence, and a local jam band can go to Laurence’s house, do drugs, complain about not getting what is coming to you and scratch up couches. What is the world coming to?

– Diver