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Hello "friends" Now It seems to me that all you people have problems, deep deep deep problems .... IN SPAAAACE!  Well, suffer no longer, "Dr" M. Puma is here ... IN SPAAAACE! to answer your questions and provide advice ... IN SPAAAACE!

So make with the unwellness already ... IN SPAAAACE!

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Comment by mellowpuma on October 15, 2011 at 11:29pm

A Reader Wrote ... IN SPAAACE!

Dr. Ipanema,

 

I've got tickets to the Spacely Spacester & the Space-Tasters concert, but I just found out that Spaceley supports the intergalactic ban on space-racing.  I have all his albums & have always wanted to go see him in concert, but I make my living selling space-racing t-shirts & astro-hats.  If this ban goes through, I'm black-holed! 

I'm not sure what to do, please help!  Also, please look at the awesome space-racing gear I have for sale:

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Dear Misdirected Marketer of Muclerocket Manfashion

I am good friends with Dr. Ipanema, and he received my call in between his daily 7:00AM bossanovacize and his daily 9:00AM tantric sexcapade.  A transcription of his advice is as follows:

"Jew should, like, mam, be having more of the sexualness in your patoonga. "

That's all he said. That son of a bitch did out advise me at the yearly advice columnist rap battle/chilli cook off, so ... I'd listen to him. Two things though:  I'm not sure if he was talking to me or you, and I think "patoonga" is a generic term for the trunk of a car, if that helps ... IN SPAAACE!

P.S.

I agree with you about the space racing, my record is 11 days check this out:

http://www.agame.com/game/into-space.html

Comment by mellowpuma on October 9, 2011 at 4:41pm

A Reader Wrote ... IN SPAAACE!:

Dear Dr. Puma,

I am a heavy masturbater, especially when I'm in the Space Lab for 6 months at a time. I find that I have great difficulty capturing my jism in Kleenex when I'm flogging away at zero gravity. As a result, it looks like hundreds of  miniature cumulus clouds are floating in my cabin. What can I do to alleviate this problem - and don't bother saying quit beating the bishop - ain't gonna happen.

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Dear Bishop to Pawn's Nook:

 

Now, space masturbation is a natural thing, which should be conducted by all space farers, at a MINIMUM of 10 times a day.  Any less and space dimentia setsin.  Kleenex?  Astronaught, please!  Head over to Malcrio 7, Planetoid 9, Dock 8, look for the boarded up optomotrist's office, and knock three times. A man with the glass hand will open the door, say nothing.  Follow him into the bowels of his establishment and negotiate to get your HoloVid chamber upgraded by Zanparn the Discreet.  Tell him Dr. M Puma, er wait, they don't know my real name there.   Oh yea, tell them that "Detective Blondewood" sent you.  Oh, and when they ask you if you want a "catcher and pitcher" unit, say just the catcher part.  Trust me, you don't want what that machine is going to be pitching coming at you ... IN SPAAACE!

Or you can just wait untill my new Sophia Loren bot hits market in two months (pending pervo engineer testing and approval).  It will take care of your particular problem and, coincidentally, provide you with a nutrient bar every two weeks, which will replenish your "vitamins".... IN SPAAACE!!!.

Comment by mellowpuma on October 9, 2011 at 4:29pm
 

A Reader Wrote... IN SPAAACE!:

Dr. M. Puma,

     It's really great being in spaaaace, everything is 30% better.  I mean, playing shuffleboard is nothing compared to 'playing shuffleboard.....IN SPAAAACE'.  No one ever extols the wonderment of 'eating soup.....ON EEAAAAARTH'. 

     I was alarmed to recently discover that, while raking space-leaves, I actually found it a little tedious.  My neighbor, a native of the planet Pikklegaar, hovered into his driveway, & I almost shared this with him, but caught myself at the last second, & just waved & threw saliva at him, as is the Pikklegaarian greeting custom.

     I realized he would probably turn me in to the Space Police if I revealed my waning enthusiasm for  all activities not on Terra firma.  I heard horrible things that they do to "earth piners" out here in spaaaaace.

     What can I do about this acute case of space-fatigue?  My wife is a 3-Armed Puptentian, & as we all know, they are dumber than a bag of space-rocks, so she doesn't understand my problem. I mean, the other day she was making a batch of spacety-chip space-cookies, & I used to love them, but I couldn't eat more than half of one.  I puked all over Banana Montana, our space-hamster, a few minutes later.

     Please help, the Uvvu-Rotation Space-Festival is next week, & I have to help build the "Happy In Space" rocket float, & I'm just phoning it in. 

-Yawning In Space

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Dear Land Lubber in fear of Retrograde Obit. 

Have you tried an "ironic" love of all things earthly?  Have you tried casing your feelings in the intestinal sausage wrapper of sarcasm?  Start a trend! Get a tee shirt made with the words  " "Yeah, "I" "Miss" "Earth"  AS IF!" ".  Soon you will meet other quazi-reverse-ironic earth "loving" space hipsters, such as you must become in order to survive ... IN SPAAACE!

As far as a theme for the "Happy In Space" float, keep the love/hate but really love / no I really hate earth thing going!  And don't let the space man get you down!  Tell the space police that you are working deep cover, in a sting operation.  If they ask you questions about it, ask for their Lord Galron approved official inquisitor registry number.  If they don't know what that is, tell them that speaking to a person of their rank and clearance level is a poor use of your space time, and that if they continue to question you, you'll personally make sure they end up overseeing a prison astro mine facility in the yopauta sector ... IN SPAAACE!

Comment by mellowpuma on September 29, 2011 at 11:11pm

A Reader Wrote: IN SPAAAACE!:

Dr. M. Puma,

How can I "spice-up" my space-noodles?  Don't get me wrong, I love space-noodles, & not just because my fiance is the daughter of Billy "Wax n' Stax" Bartolucci, the president of Tummy-Time Space-Noodles®, no way, I really enjoy eating them, they're really, really nice.

It's just that, sometimes, they seem a little....flat.  Like they could use a little, like the Raxxnornians would say,  "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee brk-brk" (sorry, I can't do the Raxxnornian pitch just right.  Probably because I don't have a big old snout, right?!  Ha-ha-ha).  You know, something to make them like, great!

Ah, who am I kidding?  I fuckin' hate space-noodles.  Every day, with the space-noodles!  I can't take it anymore!  Would it kill her to make a fuckin' space-steak once in a while!?  I want to puke every time I sit down at the cosmos-nook!  "Do you want Skrollik Flakes on your space-noodles, or Duu'mik Powder?"  FUCK YOU, FUCK YOUR FA--

Oh, uh, hi Mr. Bartolucci...nah, n-naw, I was just t-talkin' about....OOOO-

[transmission ended]

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Dear Neglected Noodle being forcefieldfed Space Dimentia Stroodle:

I feel your pain, like a thousand points of light. That giant sucking sound, isn't noodles, it's the economy, stupid: but you're not a cook.  Fillet the course, they've misunderestimated you, even if you didn't have sexual relations with that woman.    It's not a big truck, it's a series of tubes, and mistakes were made.  Ask not what your Courtney can do for you—ask what you can do for her count, try a little fuzzy math, and remeber: only Nixon could go to China.  Nixion's the one, but someday, you won't have Nixon to kick around anymore. Someday, you'll be wondering "where's the beef?"  Remember, the most terrifying words in the english language are: I'm from the government, and I'm here to hump.  You have to get "Mr Gorvachev" to tear down that wall, because when the president does it, that means that it is not illegal.  The only thing you haven't reared is rear itself. Just tell her "the buck stops here", and remeber not to inhale. Yes, her can. My friends, a chicken in every poot will get you four more years.

Drill baby, drill ... IN SPAAAACE!

Comment by mellowpuma on September 28, 2011 at 9:31pm
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A Reader Wrote, IN SPAAAACE!: PAAART ONNNNE!

Dr. M. Puma, in SPAAAAACE,

When I purchased my current personal servant robots, I did not realize they were part of the SS-Y88 model line, which are programmed to be particularly "sassy".  Their operating protocols are intolerable, I can't get them to do anything without some kind of sarcastic back & forth.  They make snide comments about the oil they run on (it's a "budget oil", c'mon, it's not that bad).  They won't disinfect the space-toilet without snarky comments on my swampy-pee smell.

I've had it, Doctor M. Puma!  They stage elaborate scenarios in the middle of the night to make me think that the local sun is imploding, when serving me lunch they put mustard on a sandwich upon which I'd clearly requested Spaceonnaise®, they let space-squirrels in to run amok.  While I'm in my sealed Masturbation Cube Space-O-Vision room, they go through my space-checkbook & crack wise about how I paid too much for my Myrkon 3337-KXK FurtsTraf cruiser.

-Degraded, In Space *sigh*

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Dear Benny With The Jets suffering from Servile Motor Jests:

 

Ah robots.  God love em.  The easy answer is to wipe their memory and reprogram them.  But you already knew the easy answer, unless I miss my guess, you like to do things the hard way.   At this point, you don't just want them to follow your orders without lip, you want them to reget the day they first pointed out how tacky those shoes look with those K mart sweatpants.  Which would be totally impossible if you erased their memory.  Then they'd just think you were an asshole.   Hmm, making robots feel remorse.  You'll have to trick them into breaking all of Asimov's three laws of robotics.  That's the only proven way to make robots feel remorse. 

"1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."  to accomplish this one, the classic "If both of your children were drowing, and you could only save one, which one would it be" conundrum.  Of course, you won't use your own children, a pair of sutably short space hoboes will do, and if they are brother and sister, all the better. Create a situation where one will die in the fore control room, or one in the aft cargo bay within a fifteen second time span from the moment you inform your robot that it needs to save them both.  The robot will inevitably kill one or the other space hoboes through inaction, or both if it takes time to come up with a sassy comback, and will experience robo guilt. Score Sassy Robot: 0 You:1 Space Hoboes: -1 or -2.

2. "A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law."  This one is a bit easier.  Try the old "hey robot, this space hobo is going to murder someone if you don't kill him first".  If your robot does kill the space hobo, reveal the picture of an entirely different space hobo, who was also in the room, which you had palmed in your hand.  If your robot doesn't kill the first space hobo, in your robot's absence murder the second space hobo and blame it on the robot's refusal to preemptively kill the first space hobo. Score: Robot:0(or 1 if your robot sees your space hobo murder) You:2 (or 1 if your robot sees your space hobo murder) Space Hoboes: -2 or -3 or -4.

 

TO BE CONTINUED .... IN SPAAAACE!

Comment by mellowpuma on September 28, 2011 at 9:30pm

I TOLD YOU IT WOULD BE CONTINUED , IN SPAAAACE!:

Dear Benny With The Jets suffering from Servile Motor Jests: PART TWWWO!

3. "A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws."  A grand slam on this one is very difficult, because you have to make your robot save itself from destruction by either obeying or not obeying an order or taking independent action which causes a human being to come to harm.  The #3 big whammy is however essencial to the horrible revenge fantasy that has been brewing in your sadistic mind all this time.

First, while your robot is in the charging station, double check it for hidden EM pulse generators. Then place the first space hobo in the ship's airlock with a 15 minute oxygen supply. Put the robot in silent mode, I'll explain why later. Let the robot know that any physical attempt to manually rescue the first space hobo will release the airlock, killing him and trapping the robot in space, where its battery will die(hide a large magnet in the airlock to catch your robot if it takes this option, 'cause robots don't grow on space trees).  Then tell the robot that a second space hobo has been wired with an explosive device which will detonate if the robot makes any sassy comment.  Then tell the robot that only a sassy comment will open the airlock to free the first space hobo before he runs out of air.  Then tell the robot that a bomb has been placed in it's body while it was in the charging station, which will destroy it, if it doesn't make a sassy comment in 15 minutes(not really, see above). Finally, tell the robot, that if it does the most logical thing: opens the airlock, jumps toward the first space hobo, and uses it's momentum to launch him toward the portal which it set on a timer built into it's arm, that lord galron will kill everyone, and revive it's robot body. (that acutally does sound like something lord galron would do). Now take your robot out of silent mode. It will most likely self destruct, wherein you can return it to the store, and get a perpetually showering Sophia Loren bot.

Score:

Robot: 0(or 1 if your robot sees your space hobo murder, or 2 if it has an EM pulse generator that It'd been hiding from you all this time, and saw your space hobo murder) 

You:3 (or 2 if your robot sees your space hobo murder, or 1 if your robot had an EM pulse generator that It'd been hiding from you all this time and saw your space hobo murder) 

Space Hoboes: -3 or -4 or -5 or -6

Perpetually Showering Sophia Loren Bot Manufacturing Plant: 1 (or 0 if your robot had an EM pulse generator that It'd been hiding from you all this time)

 

So there you have it, happy housebreaking, and don't forget to save those space hobo pelts for lord galron ... IN SPAAAACE!

Comment by mellowpuma on September 27, 2011 at 10:17pm

A Reader Wrote:

Dear Dr. Puma,

 

I've just discovered that my cat is no ordinary cat.  In fact, he isn't a cat at all, but an alien (from Spaaaace, that is, not Mexico) in disguise.  I believe he is here to test me and record my reactions to various stimuli.  For instance, taking a shit on my bed (always on my side of the bed...apparently my wife's reactions are not worth noting.) Or shoving his hairy ass in my face and letting out a really noxious fart while I'm asleep on the couch watching football,  having come to the conclusion that the players on my fantasy football team really suck, (I think his farts, being alien farts, are composed of a radioactive gas, since I have lost all of my hair.)  He has also pissed all over the box of porn I have hidden in the garage to the point I can't even get near it anymore.  And how did he know it was there?  Did I mention he can read my mind?  Damn alien telepathy.  Which makes it really hard to shove my boot up his ass, because he's already read my intentions, and is always four hairy paws ahead of me.  I am really at my wit's end.  What should I do?

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Dear Schrodinger's Cat Snatched Furvor.

 

Hmm, and omnipotent and stealthy adversary.  Yes.  This will be quite interesting. Assuming that you don't have acess to a timelord, or that your cat is a timelord, you are in a very bad position. 

I will start my space advice with a story, there was once a scientist in a very much similar position.  His name was Schrodinger, and his cat was also a space asshole.  Every time he thought of a way to kill his cat, the cat caught wind of it, and pooped on his glasses.  One morning, after a long night of weighing the virtues of theoretical ways to kill his cat, he awoke to only a fraction of a cat turd on his specticals.  The glasses were only half foul!  Eureka!  He had it!  The omnipotent, all knowing cat had a principle weakness, uncertainty.  The next night, he thought of 50 amazing ways to kill his cat, and one really stupid one.  He slept in a sealed box with a radioactive element that would set off a hammer that would somehow totally poision his ass or not.   Idaknow, the details are kinda fuzzy, like I said, it was a super dumb idea.  The cat couldn't figure out if he was trying to kill himself, or was trying to lure the cat into the box or a muddy mixture of the two.  He was directly challenging it's omnipotence with omnipotence's oldest enemy, science.  The cat, suddenly realized that it was not omnipotent,  which is a death sentence to a theoretical construct.  Saddly, Schrödinger was a single man, and with no wife to let him out of the box, died a horrible death.  Or didn't.  It's hard to tell .... IN SPAAAACE!

Comment by mellowpuma on September 27, 2011 at 9:33pm

A Reader Wrote ... IN SPAAAACE!:

Dr. M. Puma,

If you had answered my question sooner, I wouldn't have pushed the button & launched the Silky Missiles, triggering the apocalyptic Saucepan Wars.  You know as well as I that spaceships were invented to be able to push a bunch of buttons, & flip some switches, because it's fun to do that.  There was no way I could have known that button would have done that, you really should have warned me.

The blood of a billion Saucepanians is on your hands.

My original question:

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Dear Doubting Thomas that made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs

Remember, that when you point a finger, three point back at you, and a thumb points slightly off to the side and down, and your elbow points at the ground.  In this scenerio, the rest of your body is however, free of retorical devices.  Even though saucpans killed my talking space dog, and took a dump in my holo-pleasure reciptical.  I will assist you.  I just heard your question and am now using my time mind ray to stop you from doing that, which will make this message disa  ....  Yeah, I just went back in time. I totally told you not to push it. I stressed over and over again the importance of not pushing it.  I showed you this message you wrote me.  You totally pushed it the second I broke the mind ray. Before that, you spent what little time I had to talk to you, making jokes about my space shoes, even after I explained that I was only appearing in your mind, and that every part of my appearance was a figment of your own imagination. I can't believe what a space dick you were.   Anyway, the saucpanini's, (yeah, that's their propper name, jerky), are all dead, and I'm glad IN SPAAAACE!

Comment by mellowpuma on September 27, 2011 at 9:12pm

A Reader Wrote ... IN SPAAACE!:

Dr. M. Puma,

As you know, it's that time of time-space continuum again, Space-Thanksgiving.  I offered to host the festivities at my space-domicile, & I'm more nervous than a Glyyyxi-Snarrd about it. 

I thought it would be good to feature a 15.57 glik-unit Kbbllbb carcass for the main course, then I'm all like "duh!", Kbbllbb carcasses turn into pure Utullium after three space-clicks!  Plus, I ordered a case of carbonated Slrrg Syrup, & because of the Space Conflict in the U System, delivery is delayed indefinitely!! 

All of this stress has caused my space-pee to smell like fertilizer from the swamps of Nodalle 3.  Heeeellp!!

-Space-Holiday Fucked

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Dear Eddy Gormet sans Primo Souffle

It's hard transitioning from the nutricapsules on that one special day a year.  And then there's all that moving of the jaw up and down, what a bother! But hey, you only have one spawning group, and when all thousand of you get together, and regale stories of the specific task all of you were bio-engineered to accomplish, the laughs never stop.  Don't let the preparations turn your urine into a breeding ground for mutagenic parasites, go primitive cooking utensil - outdated concept of preferentiall fate. And, remember the reason for the season, celebrating the genocide of the good natured and welcoming hair crawlers of Centrui 4  IN SPAAAACE!

Comment by mellowpuma on September 27, 2011 at 8:50pm

A Reader Wrote:

Dr. M. Puma,

      I'm faster than light mother fucker! HA HA, I ain't got no problem, I'm just here to say you can take the last hundred years of theoretical physics and blow it out your ass, cause I just made light my bitch! 

Yeah that's right, no more of this nothing faster than the speed of light bull shit, it's nothing faster than the speed of me mother fucker! Neutrino. And you remember that.

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Dear Lashing out at Einstein's Coefficient

In order to go faster than light, you need to be in a vehicle traveling at the speed of light, and walk toward the front of it.  Anyone with hyperdrive can do that.  Aren't you basically just bragging about your car?  It's ok, many men go through a mid life crisis ... IN SPAAAACE! 

Again, overcompensating for what you percieve as a lackluster experience of life by erratic behavior is completely normal, and forms the basis for many a hollywood script filled with zany antics, wacky companions, and dialogue about gettin too old for this shit ... IN SPAAAACE!  

My advice to you, is to learn to enjoy the beginning of your golden years, and be more patient with yourself and your diminishing bladder functions ... IN SPAAAACE DIAPERS!

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