Dear Tommy,
My most recent film has drawn heaps of praise and I’m widely regarded as one of the foremost chroniclers of modern unease among wealthy, white, upper-middle-class Americans. My stupendous ability at creating worlds and characters where all is not quite what it seems on the surface is all well and good, but what I’d really like to do is make one of the greatest romantic comedies of all time. You know, kind of like that one where Meg Ryan has a fake orgasm in the diner, or one of the movies McConaughey made before he started taking himself seriously again. Unfortunately the studios keep phoning me about their next dark project (ugh … whatever) and my buddy Trent keeps posting me copies of his unsettling soundtracks. I can’t bring myself to tell him that I listen to boy bands when I’m driving around Hollywood and I can’t tell my bosses that I feel creatively trapped. It’s funny, but I don’t know what to do.
David F, Los Angeles

You mean, let me understand this ’cause, ya know, maybe it’s me, I’m a little fucked up maybe, but I’m funny how? I mean funny like I’m a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I’m here to fuckin’ amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?  I don’t know, you said it. How do I know? You said I’m funny. How the fuck am I funny, what the fuck is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what’s funny.
Hope that helps,

Dear Tommy,
I make films. I make a lot of films. I make documentaries, war films, human dramas, religious epics, all sorts of things. I even cooked and ate my own shoe for leftfield highbrow entertainment purposes back in the day. I can pretty much turn my hand to anything, but just once I’d like to have a hit. You know, a Michael Bay-sized hit, with hundreds of millions of dollars of box office takings and explosions and fast cars and slow-motion shots of women with long legs with flames in the background. Do you have Mr Bay’s telephone number so I can make it happen?
With warm regards,
Werner H, Munich

Motherfuckin’ mutt! You, you fucking piece of shit! Motherfucking… He bought his fucking button! That fake old tough guy! You bought your fucking button! You motherfuck… Fuck! Keep that motherfucker here, keep him here!
Hope that helps,

Dear Tommy,
Back in the 1980s I was a big star. I appeared in lots of hit films, and the roles just seemed to keep on landing right at my door. I was on posters in magazines and it seemed like the world was my oyster, but since then the really big roles have kinda dried up, and I wondered if you had any advice. I still work regularly but I’d like to be in a hit film again, maybe playing the mom of a young girl who is struggling to find her way in life and who has to give her daughter advice about whether to ask the captain of the football team to the prom or the dorky, alternative kid that sort of hangs around like a five o’clock shadow. Do you know who makes this kind of film today? Any help would be much appreciated.
Molly R, Los Angeles

You know, you’re a fuckin’ mumbling stuttering little fuck. You know that? Oklahoma kid. That’s me. I’m the Oklahoma kid. You fuckin’ varmint! Dance. Dance. Yahoo, ya motherfucker!
All right so she got shot in the foot, what is it a big fuckin’ deal?
Hope that helps,

59Tommy DeVito is a syndicated columnist and fellow of the American Guild Of Agony Uncles. His advice column appears in 87 newspapers daily.

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