DEAR WITBONES: Sex In Advertising? Creamy Vs. Chunky? Junkyard Neighbor? Should Mama Obama?

WITBONES – "Ask A Humorist!" is a new advice column for the laughlorn by humorist B. Elwin Sherman. This time out, he answers questions on an oversexed society, Creamy vs. Chunky peanut butter, slobbish neighbors and Presidential nominees:

DEAR WITBONES:

Forget my boyfriend, I have a sex problem. Actually, it's not mine, but everyone else's. I can't look anywhere these days without seeing sex used as a way to sell everything. Sexy cars, sexy phones, even sexy gardening tools! What is this obsession we have with SEX? Signed: SATURATED IN SPAVINAW

Dear SATURATED:

Unless Google has a cyberjink in it, I only find one reference to "Spavinaw," and that's in Oklahoma: "the birthplace of Mickey Mantle." I don't see any connection between that and your feeling understated in an oversexed world, but Witbones readers deserve at least one celebrity fun fact with every column.

I also see that at your last census count there were "95.5 males for every 100 females" in Spavinaw. This means that somewhere in Spavinaw, there's half a man trying to juggle 1.045 girlfriends. This, too, probably doesn't directly relate to the burden you're feeling with libidinous pitchmen popping up everywhere, but perhaps we're getting close.

You must accept the notion that garden tools do indeed have a "sexy" element to them. Personally, I've often felt sexy while weedwhacking, but I can't say the same for the reverse. If you're only feeling 99.995 percent aroused, try looking at fewer advertisements and start tending your nasturtium bed in the buff. I'll wager that a fair fraction of your boyfriend will appreciate it.

Thanks for WITBONING, and keep me posted.

DEAR WITBONES:

What is going on with Skippy Chunky Peanut Butter? Lately, I can only find it in small-size jars. Should I buy a case from my store, OR buy the bigger Creamy jars, spread Creamy on my bread and add chopped-up peanuts, OR complain to my grocer? Signed: OUT OF GOOBERS IN GRANTS PASS

Dear OUT:

I feel your pain, and I've checked Skippy's website. I couldn't find any jar size-specific information, but I did discover that a railroad boxcar holds 190,000 pounds of peanuts, or the equivalent of sixteen elephants. Do the math, and you'll find this also equals the heft of 1000 average-sized grocers. I can't imagine why a thousand grocers would all want to travel in one boxcar, but I like the visual.

Perhaps Skippy is part of a plot to unleash a New World Disorder by clouding our chunky childhood memories with this smaller, universal packaging. I remember the stuff coming in five-gallon tubs. My mom kept them in the cupboards alongside the milk pails of Welch's Grape Jelly.

Meanwhile, sure, if the purist in you can't stand it, add some diced peanuts to your Creamy. While you're at it, if you prefer a more dairy-oriented dessert, you could pick the nuts out of your butter pecan ice cream. They only put them in there, anyway, because no one would buy "butter ice cream." I wouldn't hassle your grocer, though. He's probably cranky enough after the boxcar commute.

Thanks for WITBONING, and keep me posted.

DEAR WITBONES:

My problem is my neighbor: he's become a slob. He's stopped cutting his grass, his garage is falling down, and his yard is full of junk cars. I try to keep my house, lawn and garden looking nice, and I know we're all entitled to live the way we want, but I'm afraid his messy property will now start to devalue mine. How can I get him to clean up his act? Signed: UPSET ABUTTER IN BRISTOL

Dear UPSET:

I once had your problem, but in reverse. Some time ago, my neighbor was always one-upping me: Whenever I'd cut my grass in the morning, he'd cut his later in the day, robbing me of ever having the shortest lawn. I tried timing it so I'd finish just as darkness set in, but his riding mower had headlights.

When I painted my house, he put on new cedar clapboards. When I had my gravel driveway re-graded, he paved his. When I reshingled my roof, he put in skylights. When I planted new bushes, he planted new trees. Last year, I decided that "keeping up with the Joneses" just wasn't important anymore.

When my two cars died, I parked 'em permanently out back. I now have handy resources when I need parts for my new clunker. When my garage started to fall in, I began thinking of it as rustic architecture. Somehow, the sight of my leaning garage makes me feel stronger. And, I've learned to love the wild, undulating look of an uncut lawn. Reminds me of my younger, carefree days.

Now, I'm just reading the latest WITBONES – "Ask A Humorist!" column, and I see where a man has written in with your same problem. Let's see what B. Elwin Sherman has to say about this:

Uh-oh ….

Thanks for WITBONING, and keep me posted.

DEAR WITBONES:

Looks like it's come down to choosing between Barack Obama and John McCain. My daughter says Obama and my mother says McCain, and they're both waiting for me to declare. I'm a registered Independent and I know who I want, but I'm in a no-win situation at home. Suggestions? Signed: HOBSON'S CHOICE IN HICKORY

Dear HOBSON'S:

First, yours is not a true "Hobson's Choice," a situation where you must take what's offered to you or nothing at all. In your case, you have an alternative to nothing, which is one or the other. Your dilemma more resembles the figurative "Buridan's Ass," named after 14th Century French philosopher Jean Buridan. (This was 700 years ago, so we're talking donkey, not derrière.)

But, in that paradox, a donkey standing an equal distance between two piles of hay, starves to death when it can't decide which to eat. No good.

You may really be facing a "Morton's Fork," named after a 15th Century English Lord Chancellor, John Morton. Here, you must choose between "two equally unpleasant alternatives." In your case, do you lie to your mother or your child? I'd suggest applying a "Sherman's Wangle":

Tell mom you're voting for McCain and make her promise not to tell your daughter. Tell daughter you're on board with Obama, but not to let Grandma know. Neither will want to hurt the other's feelings, and you won't have to choose, not choose, or starve.

Thanks for WITBONING, and keep me posted.

Copyright 2008 by B. Elwin Sherman. All rights reserved. Questions for WITBONES - "Ask A Humorist!" may be submitted to: WITBONES, c/o B. Elwin Sherman, P.O. Box 360, Bethlehem, NH, 03574. Or, you may e-mail Elwin via the Witbones.com website.