Sean Beaudoin

Enough excellent writing to fill a large tube sock

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Dear Sean Beaudoin

I recently met this great guy, Tim. He's got a good job and he's cute and we like the same things and everything is going really well. Except he has this weird habit of constantly honking my breasts like a trumpet. I'm not kidding. He's always reaching over and giving them a pinch and making these weird jazz noises like Sqwonk! and Breep! and Fraaf! And I'm not talking about at night alone in bed, I mean he does it at dinner and at the movies and in the car driving. All my friends liked him at first and now they think he's nuts. I've asked him a dozen times to knock it off, to no avail. He's totally normal in every other way that I can tell. I'm sore, bruised and embarrassed. What should I do? Praaap!

                                                                               Neither Of These Is Miles Davis


Dear Neither Of These Is Miles Davis

Wow. This is a tough one. On one hand, I'd say get away from this loon quick. Anyone that doesn't respect your basic privacy or space rights is someone you don't want to turn your back on, let alone share a life with. On the other hand, I love jazz, so it's hard for me to say anything bad about a fellow appreciator of a little hard-bop trumpet. How about this: have you tried reaching down and giving him an F-sharp on the ol' bassoon in response? And I don't mean gently. That may give him a sense of how you feel about his habit. Go ahead and yank out the first twelve measures of "St. James Infirmary", or an extended Charlie Parker solo, and I bet he'll get the hint.
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“Whether it’s beer, flu, or too many Cheetos, never, ever, ever pass out at a party. Ever.”

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