Sensible Suggestions for the Troubled

Tell me if either of the following scenarios sounds remarkably familiar to your own life story:

After a long day unworthy of remembrance, you sent your Zigzagoon to pick up your take-out order, only to later find that its ability to pick things up was limited to the gathering of discarded pesticide cans and lengths of rope. While those sorts of items certainly contribute to a lively Saturday night at home, they are not edible. Your Zigzagoon, not versed in the ways of GPS, probably never returned home and, worst of all, your hunger reached nigh unbearable levels. Your pantry, likely barren and cobwebbed, reminded you that starvation was approaching.
Being savvy, you tried using a Dire Hit in battle only to find that the product met its expiration date long ago and lost both its concentration of "direness" and "hit." Without the necessary potency of the D.H., as it is colloquially called, your Loudred lacked the adrenaline to triumph in acoustic combat. With the decibel level on its ear speakers slowly waning, victory via cochlear assault became unfeasible. Chronic defeat looms over the horizon. Hope is gone.

People constantly write to me complaining of their tragic scenarios like the ones above. You aren't alone, I think. I've got eyes, an email inbox, and technically speaking, I am not illiterate. I may not be certified in any way to reply, but then again, look at history: many tyrants, czars, and assorted royalty never needed qualifications to do their job. They only required smiles, a willingness to help, and nepotistic advantage. That's good enough for me.

Let's bring out some questions.

Nature's Bounty: How One Little Cocoon Changed the World

What have I done?

I recently realized that the tattoo on my ankle is pretty unsightly and wanted it gone. Naturally I tried, with aggressive circular motions, to rub it off with soapy water.

Sure, my leg became cleaner. Sure, my leg was now aromatic. The splotch of ink remained, however. An experimental two hours followed wherein I applied a wide array of household cleaning agents to my ankle (trial A: ammonia, trial B: liquid bleach, trial C: oven cleaner). After seeing no success from these "Western medicines," I turned to the forest to seek a more naturalized approach.

In my dazed bleach-induced stupor, I somehow caught a Cascoon in the hopes that it would impart some wisdom on the art of shedding one's skin. I heard it was a good molter.

With my clipboard in hand, I asked the pertinent questions: "How does your skin stay so crisp and untarnished? How are you able to occasionally rid yourself of ailments by simply removing a layer of your skin? Why am I so dizzy?"

I have since received no response. I think the household ammonia is starting to kick in, so I'm about to black out. How does one coax the stoic cocoon into dialogue?

S. Blisters,
Rustboro

You know when you walk by someone and they've got some strange odor wafting around them? That might be your problem right there. You reek, apparently, of low-grade cleaning supplies. Consequently, no one wants to be within a five-foot radius of you, let alone engage you in conversation. Get your stench figured out; magic moments await.

Silcoon probably would have been more open to your needs. It has definitely got a less sinister color scheme, so I'm inclined to believe it would have been more empathetic to your plight. That's what I think. Choosing the pupa that's right for you is no small task.

Your tattoo problem is certainly throwing me for a loop, but I think I've got the answer you crave. You seem to be trying to dissolve the ink away with solvents, when in reality you should be scraping at it little by little. Look at your horoscope to tell you which scraping tool to use.

Sometimes, life is hard.

Ghosts, Good Times, and Learning from Mistakes: An Owl Purchase Gone Awry

Was it all worth it?

I am no stranger to regrettable decisions. For instance, I've mocked several roadside memorials for their lackluster flower arrangements. I gave someone a four-year-old marked-up calendar for Christmas with the assumption that they were too dumb to notice anything unusual. I have many times put Styrofoam into recycling bins for a quick adrenaline rush. In all of these cases, the guilt I've experienced afterwards has been too much to bear.

I was trudging through a back alley one day looking to make some more poor choices when a shady man offered me a Hoothoot with a keen sense of Foresight. Maybe this owl could assist me with my life path, now undoubtedly askew? Maybe salvation had finally arrived?

No; this owl, in addition to being unable to grasp the concept of bipedalism, was only able to use its powers of Foresight to point out nearby ghosts. Consequently, an entourage of these spirits has now begun to harass me and I have since been afflicted with several curses. I think most of my organs stopped working about a half hour ago. Both my physician and my accountant say that I have four minutes to live. What should I do with my precious remaining time?

Derek Crastleaux, Sr.,
National Park

You know, a wise man once told me that you should "live life to its fullest," which sounds like a pretty reasonable suggestion to me. I don't know, maybe there's some solace to be found somewhere in that. No one ever advises you to "live life in the doldrums," so chew on that for a while as you pull yourself out of your little slump.

It sounds to me like you've got some unwarranted hostility toward owls, seeing as you mocked Hoothoot's inability to stand on two feet. In 2014, that is, frankly, unacceptable. I'm not sure who raised you, but they could have done better, frankly. Much better. In an effort to avoid being antagonistic, I would advise attending a bird sensitivity training course in your area.

I've got many purifying pendants, trinkets, and Cleanse Tags at home that I wear in anticipation of spectral attacks. These sorts of accessories, in addition to being visually stimulating, do wonders for a busy lifestyle plagued by the paranormal. Give them a go?

If your organs aren't working at 100% capacity, it may be a telltale sign of a sedentary lifestyle. I don't subscribe to this "curse" business. Your body might just be decaying particularly rapidly this week. Throw the Frisbee around. Get the Acro Bike out of the garage. Be less slothful. In a week's time, something good might happen. I can't, however, verify that.

I hope I helped.

How Far is Too Far? The Trials and Tribulations of Harnessing Cricket Creations

Well, I've done it again...

It has recently come to my attention that my Kricketune has a singing voice both magnificent and pure. An urge to capitalize upon its jaunty autumnal tunes welled up within me, leading me to stealthily capture its melodies with the aid of a hidden tape recorder. I have since distributed and sold these illegally produced cassette tapes through several underground channels and, consequently, my savings account has increased to thrice its original value. You may know the popular bootlegged tape under the name of "A Cricket's Tune: The Handlebar Thorax Experience."

Tragically, I now face stacks upon stacks of litigation issued by my Kricketune and imminent bankruptcy. Where can I find some quick cash?

[redacted],
Idaho

It seems like you've recently encountered some hardships. That's the vibe I'm getting.

You need cash? What is cash, exactly? Something used for the exchange of goods and services? That all sounds very superficial to me. Focus on the important things. Namely, eating a good breakfast.

I also don't understand how a cricket is filing a lawsuit against you. An imagination of that caliber leads me to believe that you might just be dehydrated. I like tap water, but I guess you can go for bottled if you are in the mood for it. Consult your psyche for best results.

Look into representing yourself at your trial. You shouldn't need anyone to speak on your behalf. Be strong.

The Magma Dilemma: Nice to Look at, But Offers Little Else

I think Magcargo makes a friendly household pet, but my limbs keep getting amputated after attempting to pet it in an affectionate way. Moreover, my newly varnished wooden floors do not respond well to trails of magma; they incinerate pretty quickly. My basement is now exposed from above and I don't want anyone seeing what is down there.

It feels like the only sounds I hear around the house now are either sizzling or crackling. It won't stop.

My love for gastropods is indeed great, but I cannot help but feel as though this Magcargo is ruining my life and my valuable waterfront property. My wife is also divorcing me.

What decision am I should to make?

Help?
C. B. Töllus,
Route 114

It seems like your Magcargo has a temperature control problem.

I find that whenever I chew mint-flavored gum, I get a nice cooling sensation in my mouth area. Give some of that to your fiery buddy. Maybe he'll cool down. I don't know.

How about ice cubes? Those are cold. They're in your freezer.

Throw some oven mitts on top of your flooring. I use them to take food out my ovens, but seeing as they are heat-resistant, they should repel hot things, e.g., magma, pretty nicely. Scatter them around haphazardly and marvel as you file fewer insurance claims. Problem solved.

Always try to keep your cool. Get it?

Also, what's "divorcing?"

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