Couldn't keep away, could you? Must be that bad girl vibe I give off... pheromones and poligrip!
— I couldn't think of a better partner.
— Oh, no! It's painfully clear that you've been using me — to get to her.
— And you mapped out a very direct route.
— But... I have, it seems, found consolation in the arms of another man. A younger man!
— Whoever he is, he's a lucky man, too.
— You usually sneak out of bed and leave a woman in the middle of the night?
— I'm sorry. But last night I came up with an idea that could save your paper.
— How?
— Beating Simpson at his own game. If I can get 200 grand, I can turn it into millions. I borrowed 50. How much do you have?
— She has nothing.
— Less than nothing. If you count interest.
— Damn it. where am I going to get my hands on 150 grand?
— Here's my checkbook.
— Iris, no. I don't want your money.
— You have 150 grand?
— In one of my accounts.
— She's loaded.
— I'm a great housekeeper. Three divorces... I kept every house.
— She just works here for fun.
— Or until I find my next husband.
— Iris, I'll pay you back.
— Oh, I don't want it back. I just want a piece. I want part ownership of whatever he has planned, or I'll cash all my paychecks, and break you.
— You don't think I'd fit in with the elitist, high-brow, artsy fartsy downtown scene? I can be as progressive as the next guy.
— Okay, come on.
— What is «projected pastels»?
— You'll see.
— Okay, maybe not as progressive as the next guy.
— The artist inserts the hose and fills himself with paint.
— You're kidding?! You're not kidding.
— Now he'll projectile release the paint onto the canvas.
— Whatever happened to brushes?
— He calls it «Enemart». It represents the waste of his life being released from the bowels of his being. Do you find this offensive?
— No. No. What about this could possibly be offensive?
— I'm so sorry.
— Just because I got a little paint in the face from a man's ass?
— But it was a well respected ass. You should have seen your expression. It was actually kind of cute.
— Iris!
— The sexy turquoise one with the spaghetti straps, honey.
— No, I was looking for today's galleys.
— Right there on your desk.
— I see. Thank you. Not the navy suit?
— ...causing quite a buzz in the tri-state area, is advice columnist, Cindy Styne, who has a rather unorthodox approach, and unique perspective, to say the least. For example, a woman writes in she's having no luck finding the perfect caring guy.
— So Cindy advises, «The problem isn't finding a boyfriend who is perfect, gentle and caring. The problem is, guys like that already have boyfriends.»
«Dear Cindy, I've recently been introduced to your column, I don't have many people to talk to, so I thought, well... here goes. My son has the aids. I never approved of his lifestyle, and was always honest about it. Now, I live in shame, and have been telling people he has cancer. I know most of your stuff is about broken hearts and romance, but why can't I move past this? I don't have a lot of time to find an answer here. Please... help me. I don't have a lot of time to find an answer, please help me.»
— It is not how your son dies, but rather, how he lived. He may not agree with all your life choices either, but I'll bet he loves you. Don't be angry at yourself for feeling shame, be angry at the people who instill shame in you. Let go of your prejudice, and grab hold of your son. You'll have plenty of time after he's gone for anger.
— All right, Ryan. Hey, listen, if you want to quit, I don't blame you. When I was starting out, this doctor asked me to consult on this burn victim. I go in the room. This guy's got third degree burns on 90% of his body. He was in so much pain It... it was horrifying. And I look at the guy, and I was... I was scared shitless, all right? So I ran out of there. And then I was embarrassed. I didn't know what to do. So I called a friend of mine, told him what happened. You know what he said? He goes, «Hey, you're scared. How do you think that burn victim feels?»
— Smart friend.
— Yes, you were.
— Thanks, Barry.
— I am very pleased with cindy's performance. I guess this illness has had a profound effect on her after all. Or... you have.
— Thank you.
— Anyway... I have something for you. It's the first paycheck that Cindy actually deserves.
— Forgot all about that. That's great. You look nice today.
— Thank you. But may I remind you, you've been around a sick woman?
— No, you have a definite glow.
— If you're not taking him, I will.
— Iris, what are you babbling about?
— He obviously wants one of us.
— He has a girlfriend.
— What the hell. She'll be dead soon, anyway.
— Oh! Mr. Turner. Come in.
— Someone's excited to see me?
— Hell... that always happens when I wear a rayon blouse with no bra. Color me embarrassed.
— Dude, I am so not happy with the direction this seems to be going.
— Dude, get over it.
«Dear Cindy, I'm in a monogamous relationship with a great guy. It's just that sometimes I get the urge to stray. Maybe the stability bores me, or I just crave the excitement of sex with someone new? Help, I'm confused.»
— Dear «Confused», although multiple partners can be exciting, you have to think of them as you would a snowstorm. You never really know when they will come, how long they will last, or how many inches you will get. Stick to what you already have. It's so much nicer to watch the storm pass cuddling with someone, who loves you.
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