Monday, March 24, 2008

Oh woe is me.

Dear Abby Voodoo:

Will you please advise me on how to tell our computer friends not to send "junk" e-mail? My husband and I annoyed with all the chain letters, jokes, cartoons, opinion letters, cutesy pictures, etc. we are receiving.

Stupid Fuck

Dear Stupid Fuck:

What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have some sort of short circuit in your brain? You honestly believe that, because you don't dig something, the rest of the world has to suck it up and accommodate you?

Some dipshit sends the same ol' shit that everyone else has been sending, and this is the biggest problem you have? There's a war going on, there's governmental idiots devaluing the dollar, gasoline's 4 bucks a gallon, there's a recession going on, there's a sub-prime loan mess, and this is the biggest gripe you have?

Give me a fucking break! Repeat after me: "The motherfucking world does not revolve around me."

Yeah, the shit's annoying, but ADULTS (which you aren't because you're wasting everyone's time writing into some advice columnist instead of dealing with shit yourself) shake their head, say "BYE" and throw the shit in the same place they would toss those stupid vinyl siding advertisements that wind up in their mailbox on Wednesdays: THE TRASH.

You see that key on your keyboard? The one that says "DEL"? That, is a delete key. It sends shit into the trash.


You Gotta Be Shittin' Me

Dear Abby Voodoo:

My husband gets aggravated with romantic commercials on television -- the ones where men do sweet things for their wives, like putting jewelry on them while they sleep, or pulling out that special gift at the dinner table. He says the commercials try to make men feel guilty because they aren't like the one's portrayed.

I have tried telling him that men are, indeed, this way, but I couldn't think of any examples other than my brother and my father, who are very romantic.

There are more than two men who excel at romance, aren't there? Don't most men know how to sweep a woman off her feet?

My head is up my ass

Dear Head:

Your husband is a smart man. He sees through bullshit. And that's what commercials are: bullshit. They are designed to get you to do something you wouldn't normally have to do. If they weren't, and they were designed to get you to do something you'd normally do, why the fuck would the company waste money on advertising? They'd pocket the advertising budget and go to the titty bar.

You, on the other hand, are one deluded fool. You try to contradict his argument with examples that are off the same fool-tree that you come from? You got to be shitting me! Your moron brother and your foolish father aren't romantic if they run right out and buy some over-priced shit to stick on their ol' ladies while they sleep. That isn't romance, that is called being a SUCKER. There's also another term that's involved when someone coughs up some sort of monetary consideration to get access to some broad's pants. The person coughing up the goods is called a JOHN, and the chick who gets it is called a HO.

It's you, and those other dingbat broads like you who are responsible for this nonsense. There's plenty of guys out there who are romantic. In fact, most guys are. Only they're not out there emptying their wallet at Jared or Saks Fifth Avenue. They're out there doing non-monetary things to show their love for someone. They'll cook dinner for her. They'll give her a massage. They'll leave a love-note someplace that she'll find it. They'll burn her a CD of love songs that remind her how he feels about her. You dumb bastards never notice it because the only thing that registers in your pea-brain is the amount of money blown.

Why don't you get your fucking head out your fucking ass and start focusing on what you have instead of all the shit you don't. Maybe then you'll start seeing those gestures your husband does for you and the fact he does them because he LOVES you will sink into your thick fucking skull.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

She's ignored when dining out

Dear Abby Voodoo:

You printed a letter from a woman who told you her pet peeve was that when she and her friends went to restaurants, they were addressed as "you guys" by the servers.

Now let me share my pet peeve: What really frosts me is the way some waiters address only my husband. They greet only him when we arrive, and thank only him when we leave. Apparently I am invisible! If they don't value my business, why should I give it to them.

-Windmill Fighter

Dear Windmill Fighter:

There's a reason women are addressed as "you guys". It's because they look, dress, swear, act, and are generally poor caricatures of men. Best man for the job is a woman and all that nonsense.

Some reasons for waiters not addressing you:

When it's your husband leaning out the window to place the order in the clown's head, and when it's your husband grabbing the bag from the drive-thru window, OF COURSE THEY'RE ONLY GOING TO ADDRESS HIM you fucking idiot.

And yes, you're a fucking idiot. Most dipshits who suffer this "indignity" refuse to grace that restaurant with their presence again, tell their friends to do the same, and leave it at that. But no, you have to turn it into a national emergency and gripe about it to some cunt in the newspaper who can do absofuckinglutely nothing about it instead of telling the one guy that can: YOUR HUSBAND. He's the only one who can do anything about it because he's the one that's paying the tab. You dumb broads have been harping about how equal you are, yet, you never can seem to pick up the dinner tab. So of course they're only going to acknowledge him, he's the one directly responsible for THEIR tip, so he's the only one that counts.

Why are you even bothering others with this shit? Go pester the guy who had the misfortune of marrying your anal-retentive ass and leave those of us with more pressing matters to attend to alone.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

What's Mine Is Mine, What's Yours Is Mine

Dear Abby Voodoo:

I am in my 40s, single, and have bought a house. There is no man in my future. My parents helped me by giving me the down payment. They expect me to pay them back plus interest.

My parents paid for my sisters' weddings and also helped with my brother's wedding. Because they didn't have to pay for a wedding for me, I think the down payment should be considered "wedding money," and I should no be allowed to pay it back. What is your opinion?

Future Cat Lady

Dear Future Cat Lady:

1. It's not your money.
2. You ought to be on your fucking knees thanking your parents for loaning your ass the money. Your parents aren't going to foreclose on you if you miss a payment. Your parents aren't going to send Nicky the Bull and Icepick Vinny to collect if you miss a payment. You're getting a fucking bargain.
3. I can see why there's no man in your future. You lack the financial foresight to save your own fucking money for your own fucking down payment and instead hit your ol' man up for a loan. Then, when you get it, you try to renegotiate. You're a real fucking prize, aren't you? I bet some ex-boyfriend sits in a bar and buys drinks for his buddies on the day he broke up with your mangy ass.

The fact of the matter is, you took the money under a certain set of parameters. By taking the money under those parameters, you agreed to them. The time for negotiation was before you took the money, NOT AFTER. You're in no position to make demands.

I bet what really happened is that you got this loan from your parents. And you used it to get into a house you probably wouldn't normally afford without their help. Now, you're finding out between the mortgage and this loan, it's putting a serious crimp in your shoe-shopping, bauble-binging, materialistic/hedonistic/consumeristic lifestyle. Now you want to get out from under it while still keeping what you've connived your way into.

So, you go after the weakest link, the people that brought you into this world.

You motherfucking spoiled parasite. I hope your parents have the good sense to tell you to eat a bag of shit and die so that you end up learning your lesson. Because you're dishonorable, you're a shitbird. And my only regret is that your parents don't have the mob connections to send Nicky the Bull and Icepick Vinny over to your place to help educate you as to the error of your ways.