Semi-Useful Advice My Parents Gave Me

I love my parents. They’ve always been there with a shoulder to cry on when I need it and a check when I get laid off and can’t make my rent. The one quibble I’ve got is that they give me a lot of advice.

And almost all of it is blatantly obvious or completely useless.

Advice (from my father): When you’re wiping your ass, fold the toilet paper over. You get two to three more wipes per sheet that way.

My take on it: Is toilet paper really that expensive? I’d rather not get shit on my hands. That’s why I use toilet paper in the first place.

Advice (from my mother, when I called her to say that my girlfriend and I were “on a break”): I hope you’re back up on Match.com or J-Date and not sitting around your apartment waiting for her to call.

My take on it: I appreciate my mom telling me I should get back out there. But Jesus Christ, we broke up a day ago. Maybe I’d like to take a little time to process all that instead of being balls-deep in strange, Jewy pussy, Mom. Did you consider that?

Advice (from my father, when I was working on a big budget movie as a Production Assistant): You should cast me in your movie. I’ll pay for my plane ticket out there. I just want a line or two.

My take on it: Yeah, they generally let me have free reign in casting, as long as I copy all the sides on time. If we want a bald, fat guy, we can get one that’s a professional actor.

Advice (from my father): You should write a movie about how I have to deal with my elderly great-aunt, who has Alzheimer’s. It would be hilarious.

My take on it: If by “hilarious,” he means both boring and depressing, then he’s right.

Advice (from both my parents, when I was working on the Universal lot during my first Hollywood job): Why don’t you go over to Amblin, introduce yourself to Steven Spielberg, and see if he needs any movies written?

My take on it: Sadly, that’s not the way Hollywood works. Maybe I should have tried it though. I couldn’t be less successful as a writer