In this final treatment of Those Questions Most Frequently Asked, I turn my ample attentions to the Question Most Frequently Asked regarding the asker him- or herself. Of these, I find that they break into three broad categories: The Hows, the Whats and the Whys.

Umm, how do I get the A's I need?

First, to you I ask, why is it that you these A's need so badly?

But, to answer:

It seems that Ramon Hernadez is your best candidate for capture. At 6 feet long and 227 pounds in weight, Hernandez seems by far the fattest of the A's, and therefore is likely to be the most easily overtaken at a dead run. Also, as catcher, Hernandez probably is not asked to train as hard as his teammates and it is likely that while they huff and puff through their assorted drills of the line and jogging quickly, he leans back in his hot tub full of Hammadryads and sups at the thick syrupped nectar of a chocolate soda pop.

It has come to my attention by way of Rob, who it seems cares somewhat for the Ball of Bases, that the A's are no longer of that fine cattle town, the City of Kansas but have instead moved to that great used condom of a city, Oakland of California. With that in mind, to seek the location of Ramon I visited the below computerized information site:

The A's that you Need.

Furthermore, the below address will assist you in the acquisition of Ramon on game days.

Network Associates Coliseum
Nimitz Freeway at Hegenberger Rd. 7000 Coliseum Way
Oakland, CA. 94621

I recommend that you lay in wait in the locker room. Perhaps, if you are small, you might even secrete yourself within Ramon's locker. Armed with a taser, a large net, and a bit of gumption I am sure that the A's you so richly deserve shall be yours forthwith.

How do I end up getting Some?

Is Gil gonna get laid?

Ah, "Some." The Some, the Lay, the Greased Dirt Lane of Passions, the Forming of the Beast Two-Backed— the first aspect humana which managed to charm its way past my utter disgust for your monkey sort was your boundless ability to coin euphemisms rather than speak plainly about intercourse sexualis.

But, of course, this is all a matter to-the-side. What most perplexes me is the frequency at which my Readers ask me how they might obtain Orgasmus with/in one of their fellow caste-mates. In all honesty, I have but the most crude and rudimentary understanding of your anatomy (on this topic, I wonder now: is it four hearts or four stomachs that you have? Rob doesn't seem to know, and it is a question which vexes in passing.), let alone the myriad details of your many cultures', sub-cultures' and counter-cultures' rut-rituals. What on earth grips you which causes you to ask me how you might capture the Lay?

As for Gil, despite never having made his acquaintance, nor knowing of him in any way, I very much doubt that he shall obtain the lay. Gil is clearly a "nert."

What is the meaning of life?

Life, n.; pl. {Lives} (l[imac]vz). [AS. l[imac]f; akin to D. lijf body, G. leib body, MHG. l[imac]p life, body, OHG. l[imac]b life, Icel. l[imac]f, life, body, Sw. lif, Dan. liv, and E. live, v. [root]119. See {Live}, and cf. {Alive}.] 1. The state of being which begins with generation, birth, or germination, and ends with death; also, the time during which this state continues; that state of an animal or plant in which all or any of its organs are capable of performing all or any of their functions; — used of all animal and vegetable organisms.
2. Of human beings: The union of the soul and body; also, the duration of their union; sometimes, the deathless quality or existence of the soul; as, man is a creature having an immortal life.

Ha ha ha. I jest. Must assuredly, this is not a simple chore for the libro dictionario. Pardon me for being pragmatic, Gentle Readers, but what is the meaning of this question? Week upon week I am asked to explicate the meaning of your lives— it is second only to the Concerns of the Lay in frequency of request.

How might I tell you your life's meaning in the absence of a knowledge, either partial or catholic, of the sundry details of your life? Most of you petitioners fail to even include a name, let alone the debt records, health reports, genealogies, job descriptions, family group photographics, chest x-rays, which I might need to shine an exposing light into the dark corners of your much-occluded Life.

Why do nice guys always finish last?

The race is not to the fleet of foot, nor the battle to the strong. Rather, the battle to the cruel and the race to the runner most adept at redefining the parameters in his favor. As the "nice guy" does not engage in needless cruelty, nor sideline fixing, it is not conceivable that he might finish "first" in anyone's esteem. These matters are elementary, readers! Must I now explain why the water is blue and the blue-green algae blue-green?

why iam so stuped?

There are two beasts which rule our days, the Nature and the Nurture. The former determines of what you are composed, and the latter the manner in which that composite material is organized. As such, Nature might allot you bricks, and than Nurture may form those into a mighty battlement, or simply leave them scattered about the nursery. Likewise, perhaps Nature gives you nought but mud, and yet Nurture deems fit to form that mud into a mighty, sun-baked dome, impervious to all attacks.

In any event, either Nature or Nurture may be wholly, or in part, responsible for your "stupedity." In the first part: Were your parents stupid? Your grandparents? Your grandgrandparents? Perchance your bearers, grandbearers or grandgrandbearers bore a shared surname afore nuptials? Is it plausible that each of your moderately intelligent blood-parents bore a recessive gene for the stupidity? In the latter part: Do you recall a childhood rich with theater, ballet, museum visits, demolition derbies, situational comedies, stand-up philosophies— all of the "finer things" that your culture attempts to offer? Or were you perchance raised within the confines of a cardboard shipping carton? I imagine a childhood confined to a cardboard cube would indeed stultify the mental development.

Why do I have to work?

In order to earn the shilling and daily bread which you then might forward to my esteemed colleges laboring in an editorial capacity at this fair publication . Show us the moneys!

why?

Why me?

Why not?

oh it's all shit

Indeed.

Kindest Regards,
The Giant Squid