LIFE IS HARD. It seems like every new day brings a new question that, try as you might, you’re just unable to find an answer for. The Smoking Jacket understands this, and we’re here to help. TSJ’s editor, Melissa Bull, and Headshots columnist, Mike Spry, set aside some time in their busy schedules to answer your questions in a feature we’ve cleverly named “Ask TSJ.”
This week’s incredible question comes from a TSJ reader in Michigan.
Dear Bucket Full of Crazy,
Thanks so much for writing into Ask TSJ. Melissa and I love to give back to a community of the heartbroken in need, especially when that need is wrapped in an applewood smoked bacon of delirium. I hope this message reaches you before the police discover your boyfriend dead and stuffed into your chest freezer beneath the white chocolate raspberry truffle Häagen-Dazs.
Let me tell you about the time I turned to a shaman or sorcerer of sorts in a time of need. My girlfriend had left me for a poet from Cleveland who was much more talented and successful than I was. I reached out to a “spellcaster”. Let’s call him God. You may have heard of him. Best seller. So I ask this fella God to bring me my girl back from Cleveland. And God abides. And I get my girl back. And then you know what happened? She left me again. For a midget newspaper columnist from Oakland.
The moral of my parable? Life is inevitable. What’s gonna happen is gonna happen. Quit calling up Internet spellcasters and let your boyfriend go, if that’s indeed his (and your) destiny. If he’s meant to return to you, he will.
PS: Dear Bucket Full of Crazy’s boyfriend: RUN LIKE THE MOTHERFUCKING WIND, DUDE.
Dear Spellcaster Caller,
The idea of spellcasting someone to love you? I KNOW, RIGHT. Is there any other way to go?
Like I don’t trust a man unless I control him completely. It’s so gut-wrenching when a dude says he loves me out of some puppetry zombiefied trick of magic. It’s so fucking awesome wondering if there’s such a thing as a soul and where my BF’s went in the meantime of the spellcaster taking his body over with all that powerful magic.
You know what I love? I love how EVERY! DAY! of my life is like scenes from Rosemary’s Baby and Harry Potter combined. Short blond hair? Check. Round glasses? I’m wearing them right this minute. Magical abilities in a world that just doesn’t understand? Check and check. I’m pregnant with the downstairs devil’s spawn right this second! It feels sort of weird, but I’m rolling with the punches.
Okay right so I’m so not knocked up (please god) and I’m lying about everything else, too. I’m a liar. I. AM. A. LIAR.
But here’s a few words of truth for you, dear Spellcaster Caller. You have two options — and only two — in these my-boyfriend-doesn’t-love-me-anymore scenarios: Wooing or resignation. Charm someone into digging your bones, or gracefully accept that they don’t like you that way.
Aaaand, there’s no such thing as magic. Wait what? Yep. Put out the sage, and take your little voodoo dolly out of the refrigerator and throw him in the can.
But hope is not lost, my friend. If the “magic spell” wears off your man and you find yourself in the lurch again (and, coincidentally on the subject of dollies), why not spend a little coin on a blow-up man doll? They exist! Wow! That’s so hot!
No you’re hot!
No YOU’RE SO HOT!
YOU’RE SO HOT WITH YOUR BLOW-UP MAN!
Best ‘o luck,