I've been negligent in my duties here, kids. Slacking off. Not 'towing the line', such as it were. Well, that's coming to an end here and now. Starting today, your good pal Lacerda is upgrading and expanding, improving and evolving. Today, I become...

DOCTOR LACERDA!

Yes, that's right - in my endless quest to help people the only way I know how (hurting them), I've made the transition to online jackass to online jackass with a medical degree*! Here's the plan: I'm going to be like every other psychotherapist cum columnist, but with one sassy difference - I readily admit I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing! You kids write me in with your problems, I analyze the shit out of them, you get better, we all get happy, and then we have a great big online hug.
Out come the butterflies, and I think some rainbows dance and other happy sappy crap.

These problems can be about anything you want them to be - how ugly you are, how no one likes you, your ugliness, your unpopularity, your hideous ugliness, your future (or lack thereof), or the whole ugly issue. Ugly.

Sound good? Well, unless you want me to beat your ugly face with a coat-hanger, it damn well better.

My email address for this frightening design is , and it's first come first serve. This means that if you email me today, chances are you'll see your letter on this page...TOMORROW! Uh, maybe. I'm not exactly the most reliable of doctors. This one time during medical school**, there was this diabetic who was going into seizure, and I said...wait, I can't tell that story for fear of legal reprisal.

Ha ha, I'm dangerously inept! I should've been on M*A*S*H. Then I'd have an excuse for wearing this dress. It could be in protest against the war and an attempt to get sent home, and not because it's so delightfully smooth against my thighs. My creepy cross-dressing and pretending to be a war doctor aside, get writing. NOW. Don't make me tell you again. I really don't feel like cutting and pasting.

*Note: medical degree does not really exist, unless you count the piece of foolscap paper with the words "Now I be a doctor #1" written on it in orange crayon.

**Note: I never went to medical school, but I did spend some time passed out drunk behind one of them, and I think some doctors touched me. On second thought, that might've just been homeless people molesting me. Oh, alcohol! Sometimes you make me feel like the guy from Memento, except with more homeless touching!

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