Last weekend, I went home for my Grandpa Boris’ 85th birthday party. When it came up in conversation that I was an advice columnist, Grandpa insisted that he answer the questions this week because “you wouldn’t know good advice if it crapped in your eye.” I was hesitant at first because he’s a senile communist, but it was his birthday, so how could I refuse?

Dear Grandpa Boris,

So there’s this guy Josh, and he’s soooo cute, but guess what? My stupid best friend won’t stop flirting with him! I told her to BACK OFF, but when she was in the shower I went on her Facebook, and she’s totally still messaging him! Ugh, what should I do?

Pissed on Picasso

Dear Picasso,

You sound like hag. Back in Soviet Union, woman did not chase man, because she was too busy working. It was Lenin’s glorious revolution, and no one had time for Facebooks or shower. The strongest man would choose strongest woman as his wife. Igor’s grandmother, Olga, and I could carry an ox between us, but look how Igor turned out: sickly and pale. I am surprised anyone even looks at him, much less puts lips on him. Igor is lost cause, but if you knew what was good for you, you would forget about Josh and best friend and join factory. Maybe you will meet a foreman who likes hags.

Dear Grandpa Boris,

I have a private “girl” issue. During the week before my period, I get hit with intense PMS. I’m super cranky and emotional, and I get wild cravings for peanut brittle or bone-in ham. Now that I have a boyfriend, I need to do something about it. Do you have any tips?


PMS Patty

Dear Patty,

Ah yes, the crimson river. Before onset of menopause, Igor’s grandmother, Olga, had heaviest and thickest flow in our village, with PMS to match. Back in Soviet Union, a woman was measured by the viscosity and duration of her she-geyser, so I was bursting with pride to be husband of “fire-hydrant Olga.” The week before the floodgates open is holiday in Soviet house because it show Soviet woman is real woman, not some dirty capitalist Barbie. Embrace your feminine funk, like your waterfall walls do a tampon. Your boyfriend is lucky to have his own volcano woman.

Dear Grandpa Boris,

I’d like to make dinner for my girlfriend this weekend, but I’m not sure which dish to choose. I know she loves steak, but I was thinking of making a seafood dish, maybe something with shrimp or mackerel. Also, I’d like to pick the perfect wine for the night, but I’m completely clueless in that department. Would you have any recommendations?


Romantic Ryan

Dear Ryan,

Are you mock? Back in Soviet Union, we had no steak, seafood or wine. We ate gruel for breakfast, mulch for lunch and dinner was a leftover dish we called grulch. But do you think we complained? Of course not! Listen to yourself – you sound bourgeois, like my dirty capitalist grandson. Instead of making dinner for girlfriend, maybe do something to help your comrades. When was last time you thought of your comrades? Take some steel to the factory and build them a tractor or a stove. Take girlfriend with you, and it can be like date. It really is staggering the number of times I made love to Igor’s grandmother, Olga, while working in the factory. It was hot. No, I am serious, it was like 3,000 degrees. Did you know sweat is natural lubricant? Hoopah!