People call Grosse Ile the Manhattan of Michigan and it really bothers me.

Listen, you pisshead: What the hell is wrong with you? You post onto my advice column not looking for genuine, heartfelt advice, but only to knock me down and make my hometown sound even more insignificant that it actually is. Well, guess what? You aren’t accomplishing anything. You’re the insignificant one, you stupid decomposing scumbag.

I’m well aware that Grosse Ile is not the Manhattan of Michigan. I’m guessing you haven’t quite developed a sense of humor in your 19-or-so years of living. For those who feel lost right now, let me clarify. Grosse Ile is an island located 23 miles south of Detroit in the Detroit River. Manhattan, as you hopefully know, is also an island, hence the nickname. There is no connection between the two besides mere geographic similarity, and the name is purely ironic.

Why does it bother you that people call Grosse Ile “the Manhattan of Michigan?” Are you jealous that my hometown is getting more attention than your stale Oakland County McMansion-filled suburb? Make no mistake; Grosse Ile is arguably the most boring place in the world. In fact, it’s so dull and stagnant that criticizing it just makes you sound like an asshole. Our newspaper’s front page covers deer sightings more than stories about actual human beings. Maybe if you knew this, you’d find the nickname a bit more funny.

When people who think they’re superior put down my hometown, the gloves come off. When I find out who wrote this, I’ll find some way to make you feel really bad about yourself. The google form for Bad Advice Will is not an Ask.FM. It may have worked for you in ninth grade, but unlike other drama-oozing anonymous forums, you don’t get away with curb stomping my self esteem.

Friends, family and acquaintances post on this column looking for real advice. Don’t waste my time insulting me.

How do I get girls to think I’m cool at Skeeps?

They say the first thing a woman notices about a man is his shoes. That is, unless he’s wearing a hat.

I’m not sure if you’re the rebellious, loner type, but you need to invest in a cowboy hat. Women love cowboy hats. If you pull up to Skeeps wearing a cowboy hat, everyone is going to be looking at you. No one else matters but you, not even your far more handsome best friend with immaculate hair and immense charm.

If you’re anything like me, you need to go through extraordinary measures to stick out. God did not bless you with the dashing, striking good looks of your friends. But, this doesn’t matter. The cowboy hat is basically a satellite that emits rays of oxytocin across the club to all the prospective lovers.

Or, you need to find friends who are equally as average looking as you. This is a bit trickier, but is a long-term solution to your problem. I only suggest this because, well, tragedies do happen: You might lose the cowboy hat someday. If this does happen — heaven forbid, because you’d definitely be screwed — you have friends who aren’t very good looking, therefore you’re still OK. No need to panic, my friend.

This is a damage control situation. I, in a state of inebriation, sent a bunch of questionable photos to several family members. Of me drinking and me being in various states of undress. Nothing sexual but just weird shit to wake up to on a Sunday morning. Do I just not acknowledge that this happened, or what? Who breaks silence first? Thanks Will, you’re a gem

I’m really sorry to hear about this, though I’m not quite sure how this happened.You should play along with it and make it seem like it was purposeful. Send more of these photos to your family members, just make them less creepy. Then, they’ll just think you’re being funny.

It’s all fun and games until you accidentally send your third cousin a shirtless picture of you holding a bottle of malt liquor. I wish you the best of luck. 

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