My class has required seating assignments. It wouldn’t be a big deal to me except that I sit next to a smelly kid. How can I fix this problem?

Everyone can relate to you. At one point in their lives, they have told great tales of the smelly kid in their class. When they were younger, it really wasn’t the smelly kid’s fault he made people cringe. Now they’re older and still haven’t learned that soap plus water equals clean. My advice is straightforward. Recruit a friend for a blitzkrieg attack on John McSmellypants. Arm yourselves with a bucket of water and a bottle of Febreze. Proceed by throwing the water all over him and spraying him down. This is a method I have come to affectionately call a “French Shower.” Wait, excuse me. A “freedom shower.” No matter how successful you are in getting the stink off, this plan will backfire because the years of harsh ridicule McSmellypants has endured by his peers will result in you wearing the bucket as a pair of pants. The only other sure-fire plan is to beat him at his own game. Refuse to shower and start a “stink off.” No matter how horrendous the smell gets, just hold on a little bit longer. Don’t worry, he’ll end up showering and when he does, you will continue to not shower to prove your point. Sure, you will alienate all your friends. Sure, your girlfriend will leave you. But to out-smell the smelly kid will win you the pride only bums who urinate on American flags can generate.

It’s my birthday soon and I want somebody to surprise me with a party, present and/or anything at all. How do I let people know this without sounding too conceited?

Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll take care of the whole thing. I used to be a party planner until the accident, er, I mean … no, I meant accident. Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter now. For your birthday, I will notify all your friends to meet at a secret place. They will be given distinctive instructions. It will be a theme costume party, but everyone will get a different theme. Some will be there in their underwear, some as their favorite Popes from the past (mine is Pope Boniface VIII) and some will be there as Garth Brooks in his pre-fat before-retiring stage. No presents will be given to you because if I’m throwing you the party, everyone will be getting me gifts. The ones I don’t like will be given to the birthday girl. Actually, now I know why I’m not a party planner anymore. It must be I have no talent whatsoever, but I can make a mean stew. At the very least I will serenade you with the “Happy Birthday” song. Nevermind, it’s copyrighted. Thanks. I’ve just been sued by the RIAA. Happy birthday, princess.

Views expressed in this humor column do not necessarily reflect the views of the Northern Star or its staff. Send comments to [email protected].