(Photo copyright 2009, all rights reserved)
For those of you who don't know me at all, this is my very first experiment in blogging. A bunch of us who used to post on Slate Magazine's Fray decided a week or so ago to start our own magazine, so here we are at The Fly, and it's all thanks to Schuylercat, our resident Internet god.
This space is for a lot of different things. I'll be posting my own responses to the weekly Dear Prudie letters here. Please note that this is a parody and not to be taken seriously. Ever. It's just that some people ask such ridiculous questions that I think they need to be told to SHADDAP! This is not meant for children. There will be some cursing and swearing, some explicit answers to explicit questions and occasional nastiness.
If you're planning on taking me to task for saying things that "aren't nice" or that aren't "politically correct", or that you think are "offensive", forget that notion right now. I'll be ignoring those comments. Probably I'll mock you unmercifully for it. After all, I didn't pay attention to you on Slate, so why would I start now?
I do love to hear from people, though. Feel free to say pretty much whatever you want. If you think I'm full of crap, by all means tell me so. I can take it. Then tell me why. I am wrong on occasion (she said a trifle arrogantly), and I know there are a lot of smart people out there, so go ahead.
I'll answer your letters, too. If you really want MessyONE to answer your letter, I will do that. Be prepared, though. I am notorious for giving straight answers that may or may not be what you want to hear. If I think the situation is silliness, I'll tell you straight out. If you think I'll give you permission to do something dumb, you aren't going to get it here. I may well (and probably will) tell you to SHADDAP!
Now I am going to clearly label this for entertainment only. I am not a counsellor. I am not a doctor. I am just a certified smartass with a big mouth and a lot of opinions. if you want serious help, you are not going to find it here. If you want to have good smart-alecky fun, you've come to the right place.
Oh, and the photo is of Miss Ella bo Bella, She of the Beauteous Paws, Queen of the Most Expensive Chair in the House.
I'm going to start here with last Thursday's Prudie letters, since a fair number of people have asked about them. First, go to http://www.slate.com/id/2231720/ and read the letters. Now off we go!
First, I just have to say....Congratulations on having the biggest, most monsterly oversized widdler in the history of the world. I bet you've never, ever peed on your feet in the woods! A noble accomplishment. So often men CLAIM to be hung like a heater hose on a Mack truck. It's a mean trick, because generally it leads only to the triumph of hope over experience, but you are apparently telling the truth.
How do I know this? Ask. G'ahead. I'll tell you.....
It's because your wife has rented a van with one of those speaker thingies on top and she's telling the whole fucking WORLD about marrying a nice guy whose nickname just happens to be GARGANTUA SCHLONG! Your name, or at least your John Thomas, is legendary, dude! The tabloids have long articles every week full of first hand locker-room testimony from people telling the reporters that yes, you ARE that big. Women around the world shiver, just a little, at the notion of inviting you over for...
Finding that a bit embarrassing? Ok. First tell your wife to
...and let her know right now that she is NOT to post photos of your massive member on her Facebook page. Take away all of the cameras in the house at night and lock them up, even the ones on the cell phones, and don't let her near them unless you're fully clothed. Got that so far?
Then.... Say this:
"Sweetie, you are acting like a real bitch here. The whole world does not need to know that I'm hung like a donkey. Really! I'm tired of having people look me in the crotch instead of the face when they're talking to me. Even my boss, a straight 75-year-old man, is staring and it's all because you can't shut your filthy fucking pie-hole!
It's ultimatum time, dear. Every time you mention my *ahem* honkin' big love rod in my presence, I'm going to whip it out. Right there in front of everyone. I figure that once they see it, they won't need to hear you talk about it any more. Of course, they may never speak to either of us ever again and we'll become social outcasts and I'll probably get arrested for indecent exposure and serve prison time.....
...but I'm ok with that if it will shut you the hell up! "
Now I have to say, dude, that you're being just a tad disingenuous here. Admit it. You LIKE it, just a teensy-weensy bit that your wife is bragging. Your ego, like that of most of the men on the planet, is partially or wholly wrapped up in the old trouser snake. Just remember, if you manage to get your wife to SHADDAP!, she'll be the last and only person to know that in any room, YOU are the big swinging dick.
You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding. I can't stand it if you're serious, because I'll have to subject you to some serious mocking here... Seriously? Ok. You asked for it.
You wrote to an internet advice lady about your three-year-old not wanting to wear his jacket. THIS is your biggest problem? What did you hope to hear? Clever strategies to point out the illogic of his contention that the jacket is an Instrument of the Evil One and is part of a conspiracy to destroy his little life because it either looks geeky (three-year-old kids DO think some things are geeky) or is too tight? Really?
Did you miss the part where he's three? What kind of moron gets this upset over a cranky baby? Where is this angst coming from? What do you want, a list of "jacket wearing" meds to give to the poor little spud? What kind of morons are you and your wife?
You're the adult, shithead. You're bigger than he is. You're smarter than he is. You should KNOW better than to argue with a goddamned toddler!
Excuse me. I have to get a drink. Seriously. You make my head hurt.
Ok. A lot of people on the Fray gave you all kinds of serious advice. They can be a terribly earnest bunch. Some even suggested that he's mentally disabled in some way (and truthfully, if the best he can come up with is "no jacket" at three, then the kid is WAY behind on his verbal skills), or that the jacket's too snug, or that he's hot or whatever. None of it matters. You don't care about that shit. YOU are stuck with a screaming kid, and NOTHING is worse than that, right?
So? Take their advice, dolt. If he doesn't want to wear it, don't put it on him. He'll be chilly, but you've made it HIS problem. You could give him a choice of two jackets and let him choose one. Kids that age LOVE that - it's the only power they have. Throw the jacket in the car and take it with you. If he gets cold enough, he'll ask for it.
Fertheluvamike, though, stop being so fucking stupid about this! Of course there are no chapters in the "care and feeding of toddlers" books about them not wanting to wear a jacket! You don't need to take him to a doctor. There is nothing wrong with this kid except that he's three!
Look at it this way. In a few years, he's probably going to trash your car, get caught drinking in school or smoking pot in the toilet, knock up his girlfriend or tell you that he's gay. THESE are things that are going to require skill to deal with. A jacket? You ain't seen nothing yet.
Mommy told you Daddy's broke. He took early retirement, burned through his savings and now your mother is starting to pick up cans on the side of the road and haunt phone booths (if she can find them), tampon dispensers and condom machines for spare change. Yup. Dear old Dad really managed to screw up his life.
But now you think you should be sending him money?!
Now think hard here, kid. I know your parents bought you an education, so I think you'll eventually get that nothing about this is your fault! Your parents CHOSE to send you to school. They CHOSE to travel with you and make sure you were raised wanting for nothing. And to tell the truth, at the time, it sounds like they could more than afford it.
So how is this your problem now? If you do decide to send money to your father, what the hell do you think he's going to do with it? I guarantee he won't be paying down debt or paying the bills. No, I think it's pretty much guaranteed that he's going to piss it away in a bar somewhere, or in the casino, or the bingo hall, or paying the rent on his girlfriend's apartment before your mother sees a nickel.
Of course, this is no secret. Go ahead and confront your Dad. Tell him you're worried about your mother. Tell him he needs to get his shit together and GET A JOB! He can't be more than in his fifties. That's a little young to be a Wal-Mart greeter, but I'm guessing that a responsible fellow like him has a long and fruitful career ahead of him saying, "You want fries with that?"
See, they do say that "a fool and his money are soon parted". And they say it because it's true! You're father's a fool. Your mother isn't exactly the brightest light in the chandelier, either, given that she had no idea what was going on until it was too late. Only a real chip of the old block would give that fool a penny.
Why would you risk your own future by enslaving yourself to a spendthrift? They're the ones that gave you a chance at that future!
Don't. Just. Don't.
Hmmm. You dumped your boyfriend, but you like his mother. You aren't missing the relationship, and you aren't missing HIM, and I get that.
There's no point whining, and as much as I hate to admit it, I have to agree with Prudie. This is just not that big a deal. Send her a birthday card or a Christmas card and put, "Thinking of you" in with the greeting. Problem solved.
There's no etiquette breach involved here (unless you're only doing this because you want to be invited to your ex's wedding and throw rotten tomatoes and bottles at the groom or something), and it would be a nice gesture on your part.
If she wants to stay in touch, she will. If not, she won't.
This is kind of a...no-brainer. It's one of those things that you just shouldn't have to ask....