<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207</id><updated>2011-12-23T10:25:12.987-08:00</updated><title type='text'>VoodooJock's Travelling Salvation Show</title><subtitle type='html'>VoodooJock provides real-world advice to assholes who desperately need it. 

No Oprah, No Dr. Phil, NO BULLSHIT!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>38</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-3276480382471117385</id><published>2008-03-24T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-24T21:37:11.113-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh woe is me.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;s&gt; Abby &lt;/s&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Stupid Fuck&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Stupid Fuck:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me a fucking break!  Repeat after me:  "The motherfucking world does not revolve around me."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see that key on your keyboard?  The one that says "DEL"?  That, is a delete key.  It sends shit into the trash.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;QUIT YOUR BITCHING AND LEARN HOW TO USE IT DAMMIT!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-3276480382471117385?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/3276480382471117385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=3276480382471117385&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3276480382471117385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3276480382471117385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2008/03/oh-woe-is-me.html' title='Oh woe is me.'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-7376094148682280469</id><published>2008-03-24T21:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-24T21:20:00.210-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You Gotta Be Shittin' Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;s&gt;Abby&lt;/s&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;My head is up my ass&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Head:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-7376094148682280469?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/7376094148682280469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=7376094148682280469&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/7376094148682280469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/7376094148682280469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2008/03/you-gotta-be-shittin-me.html' title='You Gotta Be Shittin&apos; Me'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1395494539146642221</id><published>2008-03-22T16:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-22T16:54:14.379-07:00</updated><title type='text'>She's ignored when dining out</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;s&gt;Abby&lt;/s&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Windmill Fighter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Windmill Fighter:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some reasons for waiters not addressing you:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1395494539146642221?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1395494539146642221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1395494539146642221&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1395494539146642221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1395494539146642221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2008/03/shes-ignored-when-dining-out.html' title='She&apos;s ignored when dining out'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-6500372912323919</id><published>2008-03-20T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T16:04:32.415-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's Mine Is Mine, What's Yours Is Mine</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt;Abby&lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed, &lt;br /&gt;Future Cat Lady&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Future Cat Lady:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. It's not your money.&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;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.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, you go after the weakest link, the people that brought you into this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TOUGH SHIT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SUCK IT UP&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.: ENJOY YOUR CATS&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-6500372912323919?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/6500372912323919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=6500372912323919&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6500372912323919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6500372912323919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2008/03/whats-mine-is-mine-whats-yours-is-mine.html' title='What&apos;s Mine Is Mine, What&apos;s Yours Is Mine'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1297059108098950897</id><published>2008-01-31T10:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-31T11:05:11.625-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shitbird</title><content type='html'>Inevitably, there will be some speculation as to the definition of "shitbird".  This post serves to clarify what exactly is meant by the word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The exact origins of "Shitbird" are unknown, however, the term is generally thought to have originated at some point during the illustrious history of the United States Marine Corps. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A shitbird, quite simply, is a fuckup.  It's someone who doesn't pull his own weight.  Think Private Pyle in "Full Metal Jacket".  Unfortunately, these sort of people are the sort who never seem to suffer the punishment for their transgressions, everyone else has to suck it up for these people's sins. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In essence, a shitbird is a parasite, a foul pile of shit who screws up everyone else's groove without suffering for it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cure for shitbird is PAIN.  The more pain the shitbird suffers, the less incentive they have to continue their current course of action.  Unfortunately, there are some people out there whose shitbird characteristics are so ingrained within their soul that they are essentially incurable by mere amateurs.  Only Drill Sergeants have the proper attitude, the motivation, and the 24/7 commitment it takes to cure the most shitbird of shitbirds. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think you might be a shitbird, you probably are one.  It would behoove you to stop.  If you think you know a shitbird, you probably do, and it's up to you to help cure them for society's benefit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1297059108098950897?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1297059108098950897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1297059108098950897&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1297059108098950897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1297059108098950897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2008/01/shitbird.html' title='Shitbird'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-5790563172604821307</id><published>2008-01-31T10:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-31T10:55:02.462-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Been 20 years since my last lay</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Abby &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I am a 61 year old man who has been faithful in his 35 year marriage.  But I am very unhappy because I am continually hounded by my wife about my previous mistakes.  The incidents involved alcohol and smoking and occurred many years ago.  She has never forgiven me and brings up the subject frequently. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My wife has withheld sex for 20 years because of her jealousy about my love for my mother. (Mom died in 1994.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I am so alone but my wife will not seek counseling.  I feel like I'm huddled in a corner....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Married to a Harpy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Dear Married to a Harpy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are to be commended for sticking around for 35 years, 20 of which were spent with out some nookie.  However, the time has come to cut your losses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, you need to talk to an attorney.  Don't tell that nagging harpy you married about your intentions.  Find out what you can do legally to protect your ASSets from this raging cunt.  20 years without sex?  She's been getting room, board, and access to your income for those 20 years yet can't bring herself to throw you some intimacy once in a while?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This cunt's beyond saving.  She's not going to change because, in her mind, she's morally right.   She's punishing you for shit you did an aeon ago.   Since she still gets room and board, and spending money, she has no incentive to change her ways.  She might have been sweet and kind, with face of fair, flaxen hair, and cornflower eyes, but now she's a parasite.  And we have a word for parasites like this: SHITBIRD.  You don't need counselling, you need legal advice.  You're 61 years old.  The average life span for a man is 74 years.  You have 13 years to live as a happy man.  There's plenty of older women out there that would gladly shack up with you for a dinner and a movie simply because, at their age, the next bus is unlikely to show up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You owe it to yourself to be happy.  You don't have to put up with this cunt's bullshit anymore.  In this society, you are under no obligation to provide for shitbirds.   There isn't a guy out there that wouldn't give you a slap on the back and tell you that you did the right thing getting rid of this parasite.  And if any women give you shit, piss on 'em, there's a lot more that want male attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the rest of you young folk that think the golden ring gets you a ticket into the sexual promised land, read what this dude says.  Think about it.  Ask yourself "Will this happen to me?"  And if the answer is still "No", go to the mall and watch the poor sonofabitch schlepping bags of overpriced shit from Kirklands and Bath and Body Works for his 'ol lady.  Look at his eyes.  You'll find your answer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-5790563172604821307?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/5790563172604821307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=5790563172604821307&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/5790563172604821307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/5790563172604821307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2008/01/been-20-years-since-my-last-lay.html' title='Been 20 years since my last lay'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1303856981148143485</id><published>2007-12-13T13:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-13T14:09:20.497-08:00</updated><title type='text'>She loves you, NOT</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_ydz5GFijZdU/R2GtI2Hu9cI/AAAAAAAAAAM/fBKPD8GABxw/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143582616912328130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_ydz5GFijZdU/R2GtI2Hu9cI/AAAAAAAAAAM/fBKPD8GABxw/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                        &lt;em&gt;One of these guys has a happy future ahead of him&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Courtesy of John Sedgewick:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Like every husband who suddenly turns into an ex, Martin Paul, a pleasant, unassuming 51-year-old, knows exactly where he was when it happened. He was sitting on the back porch of his pricey hilltop house in the Boston suburbs one sunny Saturday morning, relaxing over coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul is a professional collector, primarily of coins, but of other rare objects as well: Sonny Liston’s ring belt; a submarine that appeared in the James Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me. It wasn’t easy to build up his collecting business, but he had finally got it humming, and he was pulling down close to seven figures a year. Plus, the oldest of his three sons had suffered a frightening brain injury, but after two years of treatment, he had finally recovered enough to go to college. For the first time in a very long while, life was good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, that Saturday, he wanted to tell his wife he was thinking about finally easing off a little. They’d started going on expensive vacations in Europe and Hawaii, and he figured she’d be pleased at the prospect of taking more trips together, or at least at the prospect of seeing him around the house a little more, and not buried in his basement office. He had met her in graduate school over a quarter century ago, and they’d had their ups and downs, but he was still crazy about her. And he thought that, with a little more time together, she’d be crazy about him again too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no. She scarcely listened to any talk of retirement, or of vacations, or of anything he had to say. She had plans of her own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I want a divorce,” she said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul was so stunned that he thought he must have misheard her. But her face told him otherwise. “She looked like the enemy,” he says. He started to think about everything he’d built: the thriving business, the wonderful family, the nice life in the suburbs. And he thought of her, and how much he still loved her. And then, right in front of her, he started to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night, he found a bottle of whiskey, and he didn’t stop drinking it until he nearly passed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things turned shitty very fast. His wife took out a temporary restraining order, accusing him of attempting to kidnap their youngest son. The claim was never proved in court. Then, with the aid of some high-priced lawyers, she extracted from him a whopping $50,000 a month—a full 75 percent of his monthly income. Barred from the house, he was not allowed regular access to the office he used to generate that income. (On the few times he was permitted inside, his wife did not let him use the bathroom. She insisted that he go outside in the woods.) “My lawyer kept telling her lawyers, ‘You’re killing the Golden Goose,’ ” recalls Paul. “But they didn’t care.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crushed by the payments, and unable to work, he soon faced such a severe cash-flow crisis that he had to declare bankruptcy. His wife still did not relent. She charged that Paul had been abusive toward one of their sons. Paul says the charge is absurd, but it did its work, limiting his visitation rights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul was sleepless and nerve wracked; his spirits plunged. He still missed his old life with his family. He missed the sound of it—the bustle of all the activity, the life. “I can’t stand the silence,” he says. “I miss hearing my wife breathe as she lay in bed beside me.” In his desperation, he twice overdosed on prescription medication, but managed to call 911 each time before the drugs took full effect, and medics rushed him to the hospital in time. “I don’t want to die,” he says wearily. “I want to live. But I can’t live with this torture.” He did manage to keep a few mementos of his former life. Pictures, mostly. But also the kids’ baby shoes. “I was always the emotional one,” he says. “But that’s all I have—the shoes, a few pictures. That’s all. I used to be jovial, happy. But not now. I’m a broken man.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long before his wife came along, a frame-store owner named Jordan Appel, 55, had built a fine house for himself atop West Newton Hill in one of the fancier Boston suburbs. He loved bringing in a wife and then adding two children. “It felt so wonderful to say ‘my wife’ and ‘my children’ and feel part of a community.” He volunteered for the preschool’s yard sale; his wife took up with a lover. Sometimes she slept with him in Appel’s own house; in time, she decided to divorce Appel. As these things go, he was obliged to leave the house, and, as it happened, the community too. Money was so tight that he ended up sleeping in a storage room above his frame shop two towns away. His ex-wife works part-time on the strength of Appel’s child custody and alimony payments, and spends time with her boyfriend in Appel’s former house. She lives rather well, and he has to make $100,000 a year to support her and the children, which amounts to 70-hour workweeks. One day, he went back to his house and discovered many of his belongings out on the sidewalk with the trash. “My body feels like it’s dissolving in anger,” he says. “I’m in an absolute rage every single day.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This settles some issues:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Cupcake is only looking out for herself. Not for you. You're replaceable, and will be upgraded ASAP. And she WILL use YOUR kids and YOUR government to get what she wants regardless of what it does to you. That, my friends, is a mercenary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. She doesn't care about your shit. Which is why she wants it in the divorce. She doesn't want it herself, mind you, she just DOESN'T want you to have it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Fathers really do care about their kids. That's what drives them to provide a home and security for them. It's a male version of "nesting". Kicking him out of his nest is akin to destroying him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, given these 3 statements, who in their right mind would get married? &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1303856981148143485?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1303856981148143485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1303856981148143485&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1303856981148143485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1303856981148143485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/12/she-loves-you-not.html' title='She loves you, NOT'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_ydz5GFijZdU/R2GtI2Hu9cI/AAAAAAAAAAM/fBKPD8GABxw/s72-c/untitled.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-4922838799083937244</id><published>2007-12-07T14:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-07T14:33:06.750-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Notice</title><content type='html'>This blog is now active again.  There's going to be a switch from an "advice only" to a mixture of advice and social commentary.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause I felt like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's also a new policy on comments.  All comments must pass moderation.  Say something stupid, say something I disagree with, if you're anonymous, or if I flat out don't feel like it, I won't approve your comments for broadcast.  Most of you are pretty good about this.  A couple of you are shitbirds.  This is a shitbird free zone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-4922838799083937244?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/4922838799083937244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=4922838799083937244&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4922838799083937244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4922838799083937244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/12/notice.html' title='Notice'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-8415711631379110267</id><published>2007-12-07T14:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-07T14:28:46.740-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Start writing the checks, bro</title><content type='html'>You see, Gents, big government really is there to help.  Help themselves to your money.  Know what you get for it?  Relegated to second-class status.  That's right, your income, the taxes upon which you pay until sometime in mid-May (for you US folks) are there to fund programs designed to help out someone that's "more equal" than you.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other words: "We have to be UNFAIR to make things MORE FAIR."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men in the west are increasingly becoming aware that government of the people, by the people, for the people is looking a lot more like government of the people, by the bureaucracy, for everyone BUT you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Minister-for-men - epetition reply&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7 December 2007&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We received a petition asking:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to restore equality for men by creating a minister for men."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Details of Petition:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"In this era of single parents, divorce and blended families, the role and reputation of a man has been diluted to a point where he is severely discriminated against in almost all arenas. I call on the Prime Minister to show true equality to men by creating a Minister for Men to reflect balance in Parliament as Ruth Kelly is currently the Minister for Women."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Government's response&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for your e-petition about the creation of a Minister for Men. Though the Government recognises that there are areas where men face disadvantage or discrimination, a glance at the income and poverty figures will show that, overall, inequality in our society affects women to a far greater extent than men. That is why the Government appointed a Cabinet Level Minister for Women in 1997 whose remit was, and is, to promote equality of opportunity in our society. The current holder of this office is Harriet Harman QC, MP and she is supported by Barbara Follett MP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite the passing of the Equal Pay and Sex Discrimination legislation over 30 years ago, and other improvements since 1997, women in Britain still experience significant disadvantage in our society. For example:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Women account for over half of the United Kingdom's population, but only make up 19% of MPs and 29% of local councillors.&lt;br /&gt;* Black, Asian and Ethnic minority women account for 8% of the UK's female population but make up less than 1% of local councillors.&lt;br /&gt;* Only 10.3% of the directors in the boardrooms of the top 100 FTSE companies are female;&lt;br /&gt;* The gap between the pay of male and female workers is currently 12.6% for full time and a staggering 40% for part-timers.&lt;br /&gt;* Women are the main victims of domestic violence in the UK and 83 of them are killed by their partners or ex-partners in 2005.&lt;br /&gt;* Women still shoulder the lion's share of caring for the old and the young and 90.5% of lone parents are female.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, the Government recognises that men do want to spend more time with their families and this is reflected in the action we have taken to improve work life balance. That is why, in 2003, we introduced the right to request flexible working for all parents with children of under six years old or with disabled children of under eighteen years old. In April this year this right was extended to include people who care for adults.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Government is determined to fight discrimination and ensure everybody in Britain can make the most of their talents regardless of their gender, race, sexuality, age, faith or disability and we are committed to tackling these inequalities to create our vision of a fairer society and the role of Minister for Women is crucial in delivering our aims.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Government have established the new Equality and Human Rights Commission which will champion equality, diversity, and human rights as defining values of our society, encouraging all our institutions to operate for the benefit of every individual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harriet Harman will be working across Government with Ministerial colleagues to ensure that we deliver on this ambitious agenda.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To all the readers out there, post this quote from the UK on your blog.  Spread the word.  Don't let them relegate you to second tier status (while paying first-tier taxes) without a fight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-8415711631379110267?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/8415711631379110267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=8415711631379110267&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/8415711631379110267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/8415711631379110267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/12/start-writing-checks-bro.html' title='Start writing the checks, bro'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1346304280358205424</id><published>2007-06-04T13:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-04T13:45:49.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nag speaks out</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Abby &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every faucet in our house has a slow drip - the kitchen sink, the bathtub, the upstairs bathroom.  My husband "Earl's" response to the kitchen drip is that he wants to replace the entire sink and countertop, so "we'll do it all then."  For the one in our bathtub, he says, "We're going to tear all that out anyway and put in a new tub."  Earl avidly watches home improvement shows and drags me to home improvement stores to look at the replacements but never buys anything or follows through with any projects.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am willing to approve anything that gets the drips stopped, whether it's a faucet replacement or a whole new kitchen.  Earl is fully capable of doing the job himself and has all the new tools.  I might add that he takes the same approach to the old truck he's going to fix up, the painting that needs to be done, the porch to be replaced and other projects.  He's full of talk, but to myself I refer to him as "the big drip".  How do I get him to fix the problem?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Nagging Harpy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Nagging Harpy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever considered that you're part of the problem?  I think you're pissed at Earl for something else, like the fact that he failed to provide you with the life you think you deserve to live, and that this garbage is just a bunch of displaced anger at some other shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fact of the matter is, faucets are not hard to fix.  Just about anyone who can drive to a hardware store can fix one.  Any reasonable person would get so sick and tired of it that they'd go out and fix it themselves.  Only you won't. Because the responsibility for the drip falls squarely upon him, his failure to do so means you can assume the moral high ground and claim some measure of superiority that comes from being a victim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Way I see it, it appears that you like being the victim.  Easiest way to get victim status and its accordant attention is to go provoke someone into a response so that, when he retaliates, you can go run crying to the nearest emotional tampon that will listen.  I bet you nag the shit out of Earl to go do stuff.  When he doesn't, you tell anyone who will listen what a big asshole he is.  Earl has figured out your game and refuses to play.  He's dropped out because he can't win.  He fixes it, you find something else to be unhappy about and nag him until he provides the needed response.  he doesn't fix it, he gets nagged at to fix it.  Either way, he's fucked.  In his mind he says "Fuck this, I'm doing something else.", or even better, he starts behaving passive-aggressively (because he can't give you the backhand--literally or figuratively) in order to rile you up.  That how he exercises control in a situation in which he's powerless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're an able bodied person, you're female, you've bought into that "Women can do everything, and do it better than men" bullshit.  Quit your bitching and put your money where your mouth is.  Fix the fucking thing yourself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1346304280358205424?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1346304280358205424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1346304280358205424&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1346304280358205424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1346304280358205424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/06/nag-speaks-out.html' title='Nag speaks out'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-4464939310937869749</id><published>2007-05-11T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T11:54:10.348-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Voodoo smells bullshit....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Abby&lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please help me to warn your readers about an alarming trend happening in the teenage community: prom babies. I first heard about it while driving my teenage daughter to a lacrosse meet with several of her girlfriends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One girl in the car, "Carrie," said she hoped this year she could have a prom baby. The girls were discussing two former classmates from last year's lacrosse team who had been unable to begin college because they had both become mothers at 17.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both had deliberately planned to get pregnant on prom night — hence the term, "prom baby." Abby, both of the girls were studious and hard-working with bright futures ahead of them. One had been accepted to several Ivy League schools. Needless to say, their parents were devastated, and many adjustments had to be made for the new babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter later told me that several of her other friends were considering trying to get pregnant near prom time so they, too, wouldn't have to deal with the pressures of going to college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, parents are less strict about their children's whereabouts on prom night and let their teens spend the night in a hotel or at mixed-gender sleepovers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought this sad trend might be local to our area, but during a class reunion in California, I learned the trend may be nationwide. One of my oldest friends, "Dana," confided during the reunion that she had become a grandmother at 43 due to her daughter having a prom baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As prom night approaches, please warn parents to talk with their children about the responsibilities of premarital sex and the dangers of a prom baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What The Fuck.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear What The Fuck:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's deal with the obvious first.  You talked to people in your neck of the woods, which turns out to be a suburb of Atlanta, and you talked to people in California. Hardly representative of the entire population.  Surely, being from the deep south, you've learned that most of the population of California are lunatics.  Why do you listen to their bullshit and accept it at face value?  Nationwide trend, my ass.  This sounds like a bunch of stupid scare tactics trying to use a few random occurences found in the terminally stupid as an indicator of a 'nationwide trend' in order to garner interest amongst people who wouldn't bother giving this column a second glance while looking for pizza coupons.  How about some hard evidence before you blab this bullshit?  And you're a dad?  You need a boot up your ass for being a gossip, cause that's what this shit sounds like. Men do not gossip.  Men do things that generate gossip.  You sound like the old hens down at the beauty parlor tut-tutting about some shit one of the other hens 'heard'.  Seriously. I question whether you're really a male or actually some chick ghost-writing bullshit to fill a column on a slow news day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why would these kids talk about this shit in front of you?  You're male.  You're more likely to bust the kid's ass over stupid shit than some chick would.  Why would these kids reveal deep secrets around an authority figure?  Either you're making this shit up, or you and your fellow citizens are breeding a generation of genuine morons.  In either case, you should be quite proud, as the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look at it this way.  Women are opportunists.  These women are young and nubile. Why would they want to get knocked up by some zit-faced teenaged boy or some knuckle-headed jock when they can go get knocked up by some rich old fart and make out better than they would had some teenage kid done it? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pressure of college? Pressure?  The mere thought of this is laughable. You can show up stinking drunk every day of class in a modern college and still earn a 2.5 GPA. There's no pressure in undergrad, unless you're an engineer, which your moronic brats most certainly will not be. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that we got that stupidity out of the way, let's assume you aren't completely full of shit, and that there are hordes of women out there looking to get knocked up on prom night so they can avoid the 'pressure' of college.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The solution is quite simple.  You get in your daughter's face and tell her that she can do what she wants with her uterus.  She's 18, (or is she 20? 25?  Hard to tell from the overflowing stupidity contained in your article, sounds like the valedictorian at your school had a driver's license in kindergarten) and therefore is an adult.  An adult has the distinct ability to do what they please.  And for this, they get to pay the consequences for their foolishness.  Your daughter wants to whore out and have a baby at 18, that's fine. You must inform her that she will take care of the kid, not you or her mother.  You will not be a babysitter.  You will not bankroll this kid.  You will not be there to bail her ass out when she can't handle the pressure of being a mother.  You must make this abundantly clear. If she doesn't have shit for brains, she will figure out that, with no safety net, this course of action is NOT A GOOD FUCKING IDEA.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-4464939310937869749?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/4464939310937869749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=4464939310937869749&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4464939310937869749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4464939310937869749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/05/voodoo-smells-bullshit.html' title='Voodoo smells bullshit....'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-8553223649239349010</id><published>2007-05-04T09:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T09:25:56.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pure of heart but not of body?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Abby &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a 28-year-old woman and have been dating a 26-year-old man I'll call "Chris" for four months. We have become good friends. On our last date, the topic of sex came up, and Chris told me that he was a virgin and that it was very important for him to find a girl who had "never been with anyone" either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, Abby, that bridge was burned when I was a teenager. I was honest with Chris about it, which was not easy because I now regret some of the poor choices I made at that time of my life. I am a completely different person now due to a religious conversion and am waiting until I am married to have sex again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told Chris this, and asked if he wanted to continue the relationship. His answer was he'd "have to think about it." We are still friends. He says he likes me and still wants us to date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, although I care deeply for him, I now feel devalued. I'm afraid this issue is going to cause problems in the future. I believe that purity is an issue more of the heart than the body. If I had known that virginity was so important to Chris, I would never have dated him in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pennsylvania Whore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear PW:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for the laugh. It's statements like "I believe that purity is an issue more of the heart than the body.", statements which I lack the comedic genius to come up with, that are so worthy of ridicule that one cannot help but bust a gut at the sheer stupidity contained within.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Purity is an issue of the heart and soul, dipshit.  You can't be pure in one area and impure in another. You should feel devalued because YOU HAVE DEVALUED YOURSELF by acting the whore.  You all but acknowledge this when you claim to have sworn off sex until marriage.  Obviously, you consider this to be an incorrect path upon which to walk through life and have cut it out.  If you didn't, you'd still be out there fucking bikers, thugs, and any asshole out there with a good line of bullshit, false confidence, and a crisp 50 dollar bill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just reading this bullshit lends me to think that you're actually looking for someone to tell you what a big fat asshole Chris is because he doesn't want some washed-up skank for a wife.  Chris isn't the unreasonable asshole here, YOU ARE.  Chris has something called "Moral Fiber", something that's lacking in today's society.  Chris is a man who knows what he wants, what's important to him, and wants someone who shares his moral code with him.  If Chris is a drinking man, I'd have the bartender send him one over for sticking to his principles and not compromising them for anyone.  And if he's smart enough to drop your washed-up ass, he'd drink on my tab for the rest of the night.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You, on the other hand, are the asshole.  You want this guy to change his thinking for you.  You acted the fool early in your life and now that you meet someone who, under the old ways, might have been a great match for you had you kept your panties on, you want him to accept you as you are and ignore your past.  Perhaps you should have thought of the consequences of your actions before you decided to go be 'pure of heart' without being 'pure of body'.  It's called the WAGES OF SIN, and the tab just landed on your table.  PAY UP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TOUGH SHIT!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-8553223649239349010?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/8553223649239349010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=8553223649239349010&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/8553223649239349010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/8553223649239349010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/05/dear-abby-i-am-28-year-old-woman-and.html' title='Pure of heart but not of body?'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-285542103467062035</id><published>2007-05-04T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T09:09:20.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'd like to buy a clue, Pat</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently left a comfortable marriage after 27 years because I didn't love my husband.  We lived a passionless, flatlined life, and I could go on, but it's not the point (or is it?).  We were separated for 14 months and are now divorced.  I started dating someone, and now I live with him.  I have not brought him to family events because I was being sensitive to everyone's feelings, but now I feel it's about time to move on with my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family cannot accept this.  They do not invite my boyfriend to anything but still invite my ex-husband.  We have two grown children and they take their father's side to the point I am left out.  If I want to attend dinners at my children's houses I need to leave my boyfriend home.  So here I sit wanting to know what went wrong and where to go from here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Can I buy a clue, Pat?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Clueless:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are a fucking moron.  No bullshit.  I have things rotting in my fridge that have more capacity for causal thought than you.  You can't figure out where you went wrong, and can't figure out why your family and your kids won't accept this new boyfriend?  And you have the gall to claim you're actually "sensitive to everyone's feelings"?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a hint:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IT'S BECAUSE YOU FUCKED OVER YOUR EX-HUSBAND!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find it astounding that you, and self-centered cunts like you, who spend so much time focused on themselves have the inherent inability to figure out why people take umbrage at their actions.  Here was a guy who, for 27 years, put all his hopes, dreams, desires, and hobbies on the back burner to put chow on your table, "your" (because the father is never included in 'ownership' of children) kids through the first 20-odd years of their life comfortably, and accorded you a lifestyle that you yourself acknowledged as "comfortable".  For all his hard work and effort in being a good father and husband, you bolt because there isn't enough "passion" in your life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well fuck you too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had the genders been reversed, you and all your pathetic like-minded harpy friends would have claimed this guy was the biggest asshole in the world for running off with some sweet young thing who, GOD FORBID, actually liked to fuck.  Yet, when you essentially do the same thing, you can't figure out why people think you're the &lt;br /&gt;asshole?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You ain't sensitive to SHIT.  If you were, you would have sucked it up and tried to put passion into your marriage and stuck it out like you promised to do on the altar.  Remember "Till Death Do Us Part"?  Guess you think that rule, like the one regarding your relatives events and houses, do not apply to you and are subject to modification at your discretion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a newsflash for you.  When invited to your relatives' respective houses, THEY MAKE THE RULES.  If they don't want your latest 'passion-filled fuck' in their house, this is their prerogative.  Accept the fact that they're at least inviting you, which is a lot more than I would do if you were related to me.  I'd tell you exactly what you need to hear: "You're a worthless bag of shit that needs to be tossed down the nearest accessible septic tank."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-285542103467062035?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/285542103467062035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=285542103467062035&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/285542103467062035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/285542103467062035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/05/id-like-to-buy-clue-pat.html' title='I&apos;d like to buy a clue, Pat'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-4913333906077417353</id><published>2007-04-26T13:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T13:41:57.919-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Purebred Shitbirds</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a single mother of two girls, ages 4 and 2.  Their father isn't in the picture much.  I love my kids, but sometimes I think I never should have had children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A while ago I put my 4 year old into group counseling because she was very aggressive with her little sister and argued with me about everything - what to wear, when to go to bed, etc.  She hasn't improved much, and it's making me crazy.  Rewards and discipline don't work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am on an anti-depressant and take a sleeping pill.  My children sleep in bed with me every night, just so I don't have to battle with them, which means I have to go to bed when they do, leaving me no time for myself.  They wear me down until I cry myself to sleep.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sleeping arrangements are also causing problems with my boyfriend.  Please help.  I don't know what to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Candyass.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Candyass:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who wears the pants in your family, you or these brats?  If you have to think more than 3 seconds about the correct answer, you should wash all those sleeping pills down with a fifth of Jose Cuervo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're a fucking adult, first for possessing the inability to realize that single motherhood is NOT a viable lifestyle choice.  Things like that are NOT to be done.  There's a reason why men are required in the family, and that reason is illustrated in your letter: to police the family and prevent shitbird from infecting one's progeny.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All you hairy-legged dykes with dog-collars who are pissed off at me right now, FUCK YOU TOO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to the original problem:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's obvious we cannot stuff these kids back up your uterus where they never should have exited in the first place.  That horse done run out the barn.  Thus, we have to work on fixing the problem from here forward.  First, these kids are 4 and 2, they have no business sleeping in your bed.  They have even less business sleeping in your bed when your boyfriend sleeps over.  Your boyfriend has no business sleeping over either.  Don't you fucking remember how you got into this mess in the first place?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, YOU make the rules.  YOU must enforce them.  Kids need to know rules will be enforced and transgressions will result in punishment.  If they do not, they grow up thinking the rules don't apply to them and turn into your average bar-skank.  Your 4 year old brat can argue all she wants.  You hold your ground and don't give in.  You give in, she learns she can wear you down by being a brat.  You outlast her, she'll figure out a different method to get what she wants.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your 4 year old brat wants to beat up her sister, you give her a nice hard wallop on the ass.   All you bleeding-heart assholes who think that you should treat kids like an adult: FUCK YOU TOO, for you are full of shit if you think treating someone who is clearly not an adult like an adult works.  She learns walloping sis ends up to be a (literal) pain in the ass, she will quit.  If junior shitbird #2 learns lying about sis beating her up works, you wallop her on the ass too.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are an undisciplined twit.  I genuinely share your wish that you never had children.  These 2 brats are going to be problems guys like me will have to straighten out after it's far too late.  Quit trying to be your kids' pal and start laying the fucking law down already.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-4913333906077417353?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/4913333906077417353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=4913333906077417353&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4913333906077417353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4913333906077417353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/04/purebred-shitbirds.html' title='Purebred Shitbirds'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-3225288482906712049</id><published>2007-04-20T09:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T09:29:49.425-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's wrong with ogling?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What makes a guy mature?  I am 43 and still have a problem with how I look at women.  I don't mean any disrespect and several I admire for their intelligence and ability to do their jobs, but I still undress them with my eyes.  I don't do it on purpose, and I stop as soon as I realize I am doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Jimmy Carter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear JC:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do you consider this a problem?  Why do you consider this a sign of immaturity?  You're a man.  You are attracted to women.  There is not a fucking thing wrong with that.  If anyone tries to convince you otherwise, they are full of shit and deserve a baseball bat to the back of their skull.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man is mature when he is able to take care of his business.  You pay your rent on time?  You have a good job?  You have food in the fridge?  You have goals you're working towards?  If the answer to this is "yes" then, congratulations, you are mature.  You are taking care of your shit.  You have successfully removed yourself from the ranks of shitbirds world-wide.  This is commendable.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the sexes didn't ogle each other, no one would fuck, and there wouldn't be any humans left roaming the planet. And if women didn't enjoy being ogled, why the hell do they run around with their thong poking out of the back of their jeans and why do they flash their tits at Mardi Gras?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have NOTHING to be ashamed of, brother.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-3225288482906712049?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/3225288482906712049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=3225288482906712049&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3225288482906712049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3225288482906712049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/04/whats-wrong-with-ogling.html' title='What&apos;s wrong with ogling?'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1168945592970997951</id><published>2007-04-20T08:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T09:20:34.700-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MESS CALL!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;So, met this guy at an event in late summer.  He was interested.  I was full of myself and liked having lots of boys interested so I blew him off.  Fast-forward to last weekend, when we bump into each other and hit it off like gangbusters.  Then last night, when he tells me he is not interested in a relationship with anyone.  And he's still (angry) about the first time we met.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Am I a total jerk?  Or did I just do some growing up in the intervening time and I am paying the price for my immaturity?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Too Good 4 U&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Dear Too Good 4 U:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're not a total jerk, you're a stuck up cunt!  And you should rightfully be paying the price for your immaturity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You wrote a 'cunt' check the night you blew this guy off.  You probably treated him like shit.  You liked being the center of attention and didn't think he was good enough.  Now that he's good enough, he's figured out YOU ARE NOT.  And you have the gall to wonder why he's pissed at you?  And you can't rub those two brain cells together long enough to figure this out for yourself?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SUCK IT UP!  The time has come to cash that check.  And he wants to be paid in full.  Tough shit.  Think about that next time you act like you're too good for someone.  YOU are not the center of the universe.  Contrary to the popular colloquialism, one found on plenty of female t-shirts, IT IS NOT ALL ABOUT YOU. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quit your fucking bitching and start eating that big shitburger you made.  CHOW DOWN, HOG!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1168945592970997951?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1168945592970997951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1168945592970997951&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1168945592970997951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1168945592970997951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/04/dear-carolyn-voodoo-so-met-this-guy-at.html' title='MESS CALL!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-5255088827215295879</id><published>2007-04-16T13:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-16T13:17:23.201-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A typical American Daughter</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;   Dear &lt;/span&gt;&lt;s style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Annie ,&lt;/s&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My 21 year-old daughter has been dating "Charlie" for three years.  My daughter attends college, works, and has many plans for her future.  She is a beautiful, fun-loving, intelligent girl - until it comes to Charlie.  Charlie barely graduated high school, shifts from job to job, and doesn't care about the future.  They never go out with her friends, always his.  He rarely comes to our house - our daughter always goes to his place.  He constantly is text messaging her to find out where she is and with whom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We've told her we can't get to know Charlie if he refuses to come around.  We invited him to a family dinner for my daughter's birthday, and he promised to attend, but at the last minute, said he was "too sick" - a common excuse for him.  We also invited his parents, but his mother "fell asleep and forgot."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Our daughter says Charlie is her soulmate, but we think she is being taken advantage of.  Now that she is 21, our hands are tied, not that she would listen to us anyway.  We have a great relationship otherwise.  I would hate to see her stuck with Charlie for the rest of her life.  What can we do?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Typical parents of a typical daughter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear typical parents of a typical daughter:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can't do shit about this.  Your daughter is a typical American woman. She will not be happy unless he's with some shitbird.  Evidently, she is perfectly content to fuck bums.  In this regard, she is no different than any other young American woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What you can do is leave her alone and let her fuck her life up. And fuck it up she will.  When she's 30, has a couple brats by this shitbird, and is up to her ass in drama, you can politely tell her "Tough Shit, we told you that you were fucking up, but you didn't listen.  SUCK IT UP."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get in touch with your local animal shelter.  See which ones have a good selection of cats.  Your daughter's going to need one, two, or 20 when she's 35 and a burnt-out ex-shitbird fucker.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-5255088827215295879?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/5255088827215295879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=5255088827215295879&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/5255088827215295879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/5255088827215295879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/04/typical-american-daughter.html' title='A typical American Daughter'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-3870655393854470065</id><published>2007-03-01T10:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-01T10:41:37.237-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Inheriting Shitbirds</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie  &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I've been dating "Bonnie" for six months, and it's been great.  We really are ideal for each other.  We are in love, and it all seems too good to be true.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The problem is that I'm the first person Bonnie has dated since she separated from her husband 6 years ago.  She caters to her kids, and they are extremely spoiled.  Her 16 year-old daughter refuses to make her own food or clean her room.  She won't even get herself a drink of water.  She'll call out to her mother, and Bonnie will get her the water so she'll stop complaining.  The 13 year old is a mama's boy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Neither child will accept me, even though we've never formally met.  They refuse to allow their mother to be happy and want her home with them.  Bonnie has met my kids, and they like and respect her.  Do I let her children's immaturity ruin our relationship, or do I stick it out?  People tell me it's just that the kids are teenagers, but I don't think so.  My children are exactly the same ages and don't behave that way.  What do I do?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Shitbird Intervention Counselor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Dear SIC:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, you have to ask yourself why "Bonnie" hasn't gotten a divorce yet.  If it's something that makes sense, it's one thing.  If it's some bullshit, it's quite different and you must drop this fool and not be sucked into the morass that is her life.  Furthermore, you're not going to make Bonnie happy.  Only Bonnie is going to make Bonnie happy.  If Bonnie hasn't figured out that being happy is her responsibility, you need to avail yourself of this mess immediately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, Bonnie's kids are not teenagers.  I know plenty of people who were teenagers who do not behave like this.  This is because their parents told them to suck it up, and that things around the house will (not should, not must, not possibly) be done before they get to have fun.   Bonnie's kids are SHITBIRDS, and she's enabling their shitbird behaviour by catering to their every whim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You must gather more information before you decide to fix this problem.  You need to tell Bonnie that her kids are a bunch of dipshits, and as the man of the house and CEO (Chief ENFORCEMENT Official) you intend to crack down on this nonsense and permit no shitbirds in YOUR house.  Bonnie is likely to act the  softie and tell you that you do not need to be such a hardass.  You need to be a hardass.  Being soft turned these kids into shitbirds.  If this is the case, you must kick Bonnie to the curb.  She has no intention of changing and it will be patently obvious that her kids come first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kids do NOT come first in this situation.  The Husband/Wife relationship does.  If a woman does not realize this, she is not worth your attention.  You teach your kids by example.  By showing that you will permit no disrespect to your wife, and you will not allow her to be bullied by shitbirds, you will set an example to these kids that will last them a lifetime. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If Bonnie is open to fixing this problem, and this is a problem that needs fixing for society's sake, not to mention the poor slob that will have the misfortune of dating her daughter, you must begin NOW.  You must inform these shitbirds that a new sheriff is in town, and everyone's going to suck it up.  This is important you do this before you do something stupid like marrying Bonnie, because shitbird is a contagious disease.  You allow Bonnie's kids to be shitbirds, your kids will begin to exhibit the same signs of shitbird. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are unable, or not up to curing shitbirds; and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that as you neither fathered nor raised these shitbirds, you must dump this chick post haste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're kids are well-mannered and well-behaved.  You are to be commended for this.  Clearly, you are a man who is in control of his castle.  You have my respect for taking care of your business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-3870655393854470065?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/3870655393854470065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=3870655393854470065&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3870655393854470065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3870655393854470065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/03/inheriting-shitbirds.html' title='Inheriting Shitbirds'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-4958043620096939698</id><published>2007-02-23T09:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T09:34:32.587-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More "Dynasty" Bullshit</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I have a friend, J., who, while a good person is competitive.  She would like to be married and have a family, but does not, and recently adopted a dog.  Recently she told me, in all sincerity, that having a dog was harder than raising a baby.  All I could do was stare at her, mouth open.  I have been through hell and back with this baby (some postpartum depression - which J. knows about) and I just can't believe she would compare the two.  I know this is probably jealousy, but this has gone too far.  I feel at a loss for what to do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Joan Collins&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Dear Joan Collins:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me a fucking break.  You actually wrote me seeking advice for this stupidity?  Incredible!  Seriously, there are better things to do than deal with this petty, schoolyard bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This chick did this to get your goat.  By your response, it appears she got it.  Way to go J.!  In the words of the sage and wise Mr. T., you're a SUCKER for falling for this shit, and a FOOL for writing me about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quit letting shit get to you.  Quit making tempests in a teapot.  Quit attention whoring by seeking advice in order to justify your belief that this harpy's crazier than a shithouse rat.  Grow the fuck up already.  When adults see foolishness, they don't even bother entertaining such bullshit notions; they shrug them off, consider the idiot crazy, and get on with their lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I found out my boyfriend's friend was saying not-so-nice things about me to my boyfriend.  He, of course, defended me, but I'm having a hard time getting over this.  I can't help but feel insulted and hurt by his friend.  Since my boyfriend and I are likely to move on to the next level of our relationship, I likely will have to see this person again.  How do you suggest I deal with the situation?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Future Mrs. Mangina&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Mrs. Mangina:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exactly where the fuck did you grow up?  An igloo in the middle of the arctic circle, away from society as a whole?  Seriously, haven't you ever heard "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" in the schoolyard?  It's already a given that you likely didn't learn jack shit when you were in school, just because they don't teach jack shit there, the least you could have done was pay attention when you were in the fucking schoolyard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're making a big deal out of this for no fucking reason other than to call attention to yourself.  Poor widdle victim of your boyfriends big mean friend!  As Brother Eli would say: SUCK IT UP BITCH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get your fucking shit together.  You think everyone on this planet is going to like you?  You think the world is just one big love-fest with the world singing in perfect harmony like that annoying motherfucking Coca Cola commercial?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Newsflash: IT ISN'T.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People will not like you.  It IS inevitable.  Plenty of people hate my guts.  But you know what?  I don't give a rat's ass what they think, as the opinions of known fools are of no consequence to me.  You would be well advised to adopt the same attitude, and quit wasting the valuable time of advice columnists with your silly-assed problems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-4958043620096939698?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/4958043620096939698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=4958043620096939698&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4958043620096939698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4958043620096939698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/02/more-dynasty-bullshit.html' title='More &quot;Dynasty&quot; Bullshit'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-5203002687567945604</id><published>2007-02-22T08:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T08:33:25.057-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chump, The Art of the Bigger Better Deal II</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have been with my boyfriend for five years and living with him for four.  I realize now after a long time and lots of soul-searching that we should never have moved in together and that I'm unhappy with our current arrangements.  However, I do not want to break up with him.  Is it possible for two people who have lived together for so long to back up one step and maintain a healthy relationship?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Signed,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Miss Leech&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Miss Leech:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't want to live with the guy anymore, but you still want to be with him in the same fashion.  Are you an idiot or something?  Do you genuinely think that disrupting the status quo is the best way to maintain the status quo? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This guy evidently thought enough of you (stupidly as it turned out) to allow you to move in with him.  Now, you're essentially telling this guy that he's good enough to serve as an emotional tampon yet not good enough to live with anymore.  On top of that, you still want things to be the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get your fucking head out of your ass.  You have a choice.  You can have a relationship with this guy, or you can go off and be on your own.  You can't have both.  You can't have everything.  That's life.  Tough shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;My sympathies to the woman married to a man addicted to internet porn.  I am in a similar situation.  My husband even uses viagra for this.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Counselling for her is a good idea, so she doesn't have to feel inadequate as a woman.  To the men out there, get help before your marriage is over.  My solution?  I'm the tech person at our house, and I've got our computer locked down pretty tight.  Good luck to him trying to figure out how to unlock it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Signed,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me so sly&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Sly:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're a real smart one, aren't you.  You have your computer 'locked down tight'.  Way to go!  You showed him!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too bad your husband is just a $399 laptop and a broadband connection away from his beloved internet porn.  All that 'tech' knowledge you have, defeated by a simple credit card and Chinese manufactured loss-leaders.  Yep, you showed him indeed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But hey!  It's always better to lay the blame on some scapegoat like internet porn rather than addressing the root cause of the problem: YOUR failure to put out and address his needs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don't think for one minute that because you don't bother with internet porn you have the moral high ground here.  You're just as much, if not more, guilty than he is in this situation.  Your mocking, condescending tone exhibited in your letter, not to mention the gloating over how you managed to 'fix' the problem lends all but the most intellectually vacant among us to deduce that you're just a mean, spiteful cunt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To you, and the rest of you bitchy harridans who read my shit yet prevent the lessons taught here from sinking into your thick skulls, you feel inadequate when your husband views porn BECAUSE YOU ARE INADEQUATE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All those years of putting the kids first, for not throwing him a fuck because he left the toilet seat up, for griping that he got you some uncomfortable piece of clothing he'd like to see you wear, or because you didn't feel like it are coming home to roost.  He's figured out that he isn't going to get sex from you, so he's going to seek gratification elsewhere.  And since the guy has enough moral character to honor his vow and not fuck other women, he gets it off the internet and fucks his fist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Way to go sisters!  When you make everything all about you, don't be surprised if he discovers you're not good enough and finds something better to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-5203002687567945604?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/5203002687567945604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=5203002687567945604&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/5203002687567945604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/5203002687567945604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/02/chump-art-of-bigger-better-deal-ii.html' title='Chump, The Art of the Bigger Better Deal II'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-3705954008971466191</id><published>2007-02-12T08:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-12T08:46:53.003-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I live next door to shitbirds!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I need an outside opinion.  I was in the process of repairing the windows on my garage, only to discover that they do not make this type of window anymore.  My neighbors of 15 years, who I'd thought were our friends, recently replaced their garage windows with glass block ones.  Since my original windows were not available, I decided to go with glass block windows, also, I called my neighbor and told her that she had good taste, and we were going to get similar windows.  She was furious and berated me like you wouldn't believe.  I thought she was joking when she said if we put in glass block windows, she would never speak to me or my wife again and this friendship would be over.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We installed glass block windows anyway, and the neighbors are not talking to us.  Our windows look totally different than theirs.  Ours have black bars in front and are partially covered by bushes.  Also, our two houses are not alike in size, shape, color or landscaping.  In addition, after touring the neighborhood, we see that there are eight other houses in the immediate area with glass block windows.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I don't understand the big deal.  I wrote them a letter an apologized, saying imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but nothing.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I really hate to end this friendship over something so trivial.  Any advice?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Henry Kissinger.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hank:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, go to your safe, your desk, your basement, or wherever the fuck you keep the deed to your house.  Give it a good, hard, look.  Whose name is on this title?  Is it your neighbors?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's YOUR house, you can do whatever the fuck you want to it.  At least as long as you don't piss off the facisti in the homeowner's association.   Do you like these glass block windows?  If the answer is 'yes', you don't have to do anything more to justify your position.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It matters not how many assholes in your neighborhood have them or not.  It matters not whether your house is different than theirs or not.  What matters is that YOU have to live there, and it's up to YOU to make the place YOU bought a place that YOU are proud to live in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've done everything you can to placate these assholes.  Nothing worked.  So get that idea that you broke this friendship out of your head.  You're not the one that has a stick shoved up her ass over something stupidly trivial like glass block windows.  You're not the one who refused an offering of peace.  You didn't do SHIT to end this friendship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These people are shitbirds.  If it wasn't glass block windows, your friendship would have ended over something equally stupid.  Because these people are not happy with the appearance of their own house, and now think they have a right to tell you how to fix YOUR house, they are not worthy of your friendship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's time to say 'Fuck them', and move on with your life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-3705954008971466191?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/3705954008971466191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=3705954008971466191&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3705954008971466191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3705954008971466191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-live-next-door-to-shitbirds.html' title='I live next door to shitbirds!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1309494030971821333</id><published>2007-02-06T14:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-12T08:49:12.816-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Granddaughter is a Shitbird.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; My granddaughter, "Tiffany," quit school at 16 because she didnt like her teachers, and "all the kids did drugs". She got a job as a maid, then quit. She got the job back and was fired. She went to work in a restaurant. It lasted three days -- you get the picture. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Tiffany has lived with various pregnant girlfriends on their child support until the inevitable squabble occurs and she's kicked out. She has tried cigarettes, alcohol and various drugs -- and is currently dating a prisoner who is on work release and with whom she plans to live with when he's released from jail. She's 19, He's 32. He has been in prison or jail twice, the last time for nine years. He has two illegitimate children in NYC so we assume he's unmarried.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Tiffany wants us to welcome him into the family with open arms, even though she wont tell us his name or why he went to jail. She refuses to listen to anyone. Should we give up on her and disinherit her or keep trying to persuade her out of this ridiculous relationship? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Potential Grandshitbirds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Dear Potential Grandshitbirds:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe you haven't got two braincells between you to figure this bullshit out for yourself.  Seriously, how did you manage to reach the age of grandparents without acquiring some of life's wisdom?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your daughter is an adult.  It's time to treat her like one.  She wants to lie in shit, then come over to your house so you can swat the flies.   You want to spend the rest of your life cleaning turd stank out of your house?  There's nothing in the book of adult that says you have to accept anyone.  However, there is something in the Book of Adult that says you should use some fucking sense.  How fucking stupid do you have to be to realize that, if the smell of shit in your house is undesirable, then you do not allow turds through the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This guy has all the signs of being a turd.  If he's in jail once, yeah, he probably screwed up or got railroaded by the legal system.  If he's not a turd, he'll realize that he'd better get his shit together so he doesn't wind up back in the hoosegow.  Not this shitbird.  He's been in there twice, and one of those convictions caused him to be sent up for 9 years.   Your grandidiot doesn't want to tell you what he's up for, so it's probably some shit like selling crack to toddlers or something.  He's got 2 illegitimate kids, and who knows if he's supporting them.  And I'm not talking about some bullshit check the MAN demands you fork over to keep babymama in heels and Starbucks.  I'm talking about being a man and being a father to your kids so they don't wind up to be a couple of shitbirds like yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as your granddaughter, I wouldn't let this turd in my house either.  She's lazy, she's a mooch, she's probably an entitlement queen, and she likes fucking losers in jail.  If you want a purebred shitbird, these two are a perfect match for each other.   It's time you force this shitbird to lie in the bed she's been using as her toilet.  Don't even think about trying to 'rehabilitate' her.  She thinks you're a bunch of idiots, and refuses to listen to you.   The power of shitbird is very strong within her.  Too strong for you to cure.  This shitbird needs the professional help only the United States Marine Corps could offer her.  Maybe after having a boot shoved up her ass and a couple of blanket parties she'll see the error of her ways.  Until this happens, wipe your hands of this shitbird and don't waste a second thought entertaining any of her stupid ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1309494030971821333?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1309494030971821333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1309494030971821333&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1309494030971821333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1309494030971821333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/02/granddaughter-is-shitbird.html' title='Granddaughter is a Shitbird.'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1592535446786583390</id><published>2007-02-02T08:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-02T08:58:49.131-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chump: The Art of the Bigger Better Deal</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I got engaged last year to "Lynn", and we were completely happy until one night a party went bad, and alcohol and chemistry led my fiancee to cheat on me with someone she works with.  At first I accepted that things happen.  Then I began to get confused.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I told my girl I was not happy with their hanging out together anymore. She said she needed friends, it was a mistake, "please trust me".  So I did.  She is still friends with him and they hang out once in a while, to this day.  I am thinking I should tell her to pick him or me, but that feels wrong.  I know the value of friendship.  But I also don't want my heart trampled again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;AFC&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear AFC:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are correct.  You are wrong to feel that.  Giving this harpy an ultimatum is completely wrong.  What is right is giving her the boot to the ass that sends her flying out the door and bouncing off the curb.   You don't believe me?  Grab a motherfucking dictionary and look up the word "Cuckold". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have no business trusting this woman.  She has proved that all it takes is a little booze and she's ready to cough up the nookie to someone else just to piss you off.  You want to be married to that?  Trust, like respect, is always earned, never given freely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're being played the fool.  She doesn't want to lose you, she just wants to keep you on the back burner until she can get a toe-hold in this other asshole's life.  Soon as she does, it's your ass that's going to be bouncing off the curb.  If she is unsuccessful, she's going to come running back to you until she figures out how to get a toe-hold in some other asshole's life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's plenty of other 'friends' she can go pal around with.  Friends who haven't, nor will fuck her.  There's a reason why she wants this one.  It's because she's training your replacement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get rid of this cunt, then get your ass to nomarriage.com and maybe you'll be able to cure yourself of this bullshit permanently.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1592535446786583390?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1592535446786583390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1592535446786583390&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1592535446786583390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1592535446786583390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/02/chump-art-of-bigger-better-deal.html' title='Chump: The Art of the Bigger Better Deal'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-2076710188772568201</id><published>2007-01-30T13:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-30T13:45:14.049-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bro, or the Ho, that is the question</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt;Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I am having an internal battle over loyalties. I'm a recently divorced man. My friend, "Jim" also is divorced. A few days ago, I ran into Jim's ex-wife, "Tammy" at the store. We talked for a minute and exchanged numbers. Tammy called me the next day. We hit it off extremely well.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have always thought Tammy was a fun person to be around. We've talked several times, and I'm pretty sure she is interested in striking up a friendlier relationship. I'd really like to date Tammy, but am not sure what to do. I don't want to alienate Jim or our other mutual friends. I need your advice. What should I do?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Signed,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Needs his priorities straightened&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Needs His Priorities Straightened:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tammy probably is fun to be around. And I'm sure the butcher, the gardener, the pool-boy, half the guys at the corner bar, and the mailman have all found this out as well. You don't want to alienate Jim? Do not fuck this woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bros before hoes is an oft repeated maxim. There's a reason for this. You cannot replace a pal like Jim as easily as you can find someone else to fuck. 90% of the female population fucks, and most of them take credit cards. You would be wise to find someone else to go have fun around rather than this harpy. After all, there's a pretty good reason Jim got rid of her. And it's likely because there's a rabid, foaming at the mouth harpy underneath that fun-girl facade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-2076710188772568201?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/2076710188772568201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=2076710188772568201&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/2076710188772568201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/2076710188772568201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/01/bro-or-ho-that-is-question.html' title='The Bro, or the Ho, that is the question'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-3574499479669807986</id><published>2007-01-30T08:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-30T08:30:33.699-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Foreign Guy tries to survive in Hell</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm male, 24, living at home, attending university, and dont have a girlfriend. In fact, I've never been with a woman. I'm not much of a looker, rather on the fat side, I dont have friends since immigrating to North America and English isnt my first language.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dont know what are, if any, my good qualities. I'm not a self-loathing individual with low self-esteem, but all these things are considered the recipe of a "loser" by society's standards. Do I have any chance to make it out there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed&lt;br /&gt;Stuck in Hell&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Stuck in Hell:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, you haven't been with a woman. Since the majority of women are skanks who enjoy binge drinking, sex with 'bad boys', and photographing the evidence for their myspace profile, I'd say the fact you haven't been with a woman is something to be proud of. Look at it this way, while everyone else is getting sloppy 50ths with these women, you get to spend your time doing things that don't result in having to go to the free clinic to get a shot of penecillin in the ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to sit here and bullshit you. You need to do something about your attitude. You have good qualities. Quit bitching to me about not knowing them and go out and find out what they are. If you're tired of being fat, quit whining about it and start the Jared diet or go throw some iron around in the gym.  If you think you look like shit, either figure out ways to not look like shit, or accept that you're going to look like shit and cease giving a shit about it.  And as far as not having command of the English Language, I wouldn't worry about that.  You're no different than the average high school graduate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's an old maxim that says "The masses are asses." If the asshole masses deem you to be a loser, fuck them. They're wrong. After all, these are the same people that thought shit like pet rocks were cool, the same people who bought polyester leisure suits, and the same morons that consume everything about Britney Spears. But hey, if you want to be like that, fine with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're a man. You're genetically predisposed to go out and grab the fucking world by the fucking balls, and to squeeze them until it gives you what you want. You're the latest in an evolution that gave the world such badasses like Oshmans-ravaging Gengis Khan, Hannibal, Henry the Fifth, Sun Tzu, Clausewitz, and George Patton. Start acting like it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-3574499479669807986?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/3574499479669807986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=3574499479669807986&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3574499479669807986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3574499479669807986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/01/foreign-guy-tries-to-survive-in-hell.html' title='Foreign Guy tries to survive in Hell'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-6876348995256086193</id><published>2007-01-23T14:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T14:59:41.953-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More Harpy Ultimatum Bullshit</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a faithful reader and love your matter-of-fact approach, which is why I am writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a 40-year-old single mom.  I work part time and am nearly finished with my college education.  I am in love with "Michael".  We have been living together for a year, and he is a great deal of help with my children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael pays the majority of the bills with no complaints.  He is a very successful businessman, extremely generous to my children, and he dotes on me.  My problem is, Michael never wants to get married.  He is content with the way our relationship is now.  We have had the conversation about marriage several times, but I always end up frustrated and upset..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have both been married before.  Michael always knew my intentions were to be in a stable relationship that would end in marriage. Knowing this, he still maintains a relationship with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know Michael loves me tremendously, as I do him.  What now?  Should I sacrifice my happiness and continue this near-perfect relationship or should I give him an ultimatum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;One ungrateful fucking cunt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Ungrateful Fucking Cunt:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keeeryest!  It's always some other asshole's fault.  And just when things are a little too perfect, you have to interject some bullshit drama in an effort to kill the goose that laid the golden egg.  That's right, it's all his fault because 'he still maintains a relationship' with you.  Did the thought that since you have a stake in this relationship too, that YOUR actions might contribute to the problem?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just who the fuck do you think you are?  The center of the universe?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that I think about it, you probably are.  One gigantic black hole with 2 kids worth of stretch marks that's sucked the life and resources out of one man, and is currently in process with another.  Fuck you!  You're 40 fucking years old.  No matter how much Oprah tells you to the contrary, you're an old worn out harpy.  Guys like Michael are rare enough, and at your age a replacement will be non-existent. Furthermore, because this guy has put a roof over your head and raised your two bastard brats, you are in no position to make an ultimatum.  In fact, you ought to be cooking his dinner, cleaning his house, not to mention sucking this guy's dick while he's watching football on the weekend to express your gratitude that this guy has done all the shit he's done for a used-up harpy like you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So go right fucking ahead and do it.  PLEASE give this man an ultimatum.  Then he'll see you for the disgusting, worn-out, ungrateful parasite you are and kick your sorry ass to the curb.  Clearly Michael has his shit together.  Since you don't, he can do a whole lot better than the likes of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/Strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My stepdaughter, "Lois", is 30 years old and has one young child.  They have recently begun to visit us every Sunday.  Each visit begins about 2 p.m., runs through dinner, and ends well after 8.  These are not visits by invitation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lois doesn't offer to help with cleanup or setup, nor does she bring a dish.  In my family, we contribute.  Sometimes a family member may ask us to help clear the table or put food away.  Would it be considered improper etiquette to ask Lois to prepare a dessert for the next visit or help with the dishes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mind the visits, but I'd appreciate a little help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed, &lt;br /&gt;Another Candyass&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not improper etiquette to ask Lois to help you out.  It is also not improper etiquette to put your boot up her ass when she refuses.  The only reason why Lazy Lois doesn't offer is because you haven't made it patently obvious that she had better offer or the boot will be forthcoming.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-6876348995256086193?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/6876348995256086193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=6876348995256086193&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6876348995256086193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6876348995256086193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/01/more-harpy-ultimatum-bullshit.html' title='More Harpy Ultimatum Bullshit'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-4056549601879043616</id><published>2007-01-22T09:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T09:23:30.487-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Girlfriend Demands this Man's Balls!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My girlfriend basically has told me I have a year, then she expects to get engaged.  We have been together about two years.  I am in my mid-20's, and don't want to get married until 30 at least.  She is great, I love her, but I am not sure that she is the person I could spend the rest of my life with.  HELP.  I have tried explaining that I am not ready to think about that, but she doesn't seem to care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Needs a roadmap to find my balls.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Roadmap:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, stick your hand down your pants, right between your legs.  Find something?  Those are your balls.  You have them.  Now start acting like you have a pair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You say this woman is great.  She is not great.  She's giving you an ultimatum.  Therefore, she is not great, she is a cunt.  You need to ask yourself if you want to be married to a cunt, even if you marry this cunt after you're 30.  If you cave in to this chick's ultimatum, congratulations, you have yanked off your balls, and put them in her purse.  She will be giving you ultimatums for the rest of your life.  Next ultimatum is knocking her up.  Then it's a Lexus.  Then it's a fur coat or some other over-priced bauble that catches her eye.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Few women are keepers.  This cunt is not one of them.  You need to drop this cunt like she was radioactive and RUN TO THE HILLS.  You are a MAN.  You must remember this.  YOU are in control of your own destiny, it is YOUR responsibility to act in your best interests.  Furthermore, if the next chick demands you buy her shit, thus you will be supplying the gold, you must NEVER forget the golden rule:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HE WHO HAS THE GOLD MAKES THE RULES.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You write the checks, you call the shots.  If she doesn't like that, she's a gold-digging parasite and must be discarded immediately. After all, a woman can do anything a man can do, therefore she can go get her own fucking gold.  Make her do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lastly, I suggest you get your ass over to nomarriage.com before you turn 30, and read it.  Then try to convince yourself getting married is a good fucking idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-4056549601879043616?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/4056549601879043616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=4056549601879043616&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4056549601879043616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4056549601879043616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/01/dear-carolyn-voodoo-my-girlfriend.html' title='Girlfriend Demands this Man&apos;s Balls!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-3503998990482988203</id><published>2007-01-22T09:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T09:12:01.156-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Voodoo seeks advice</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a blogger with a problem.  You see, there's this anonymous fuckwit who posted a dare on my blog; a dare to post one of my problems.  So I am seeking your advice.  Do I tell this cowardly asshole who hides behind anonymity that their head is full of human excrement, cow extrement, or dog excrement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;Voodoo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Voodoo:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are a courageous fellow to solicit advice from such a 'hard case'.  For this, you are to be commended on your intestinal fortitude and good looks.  One must always remember to see the forest for the trees.  It matters not whether this asshole's head is full of human shit, bullshit, or dogshit.  It just matters that they are full of shit.  It's patently obvious that this self-proclaimed know it all is a candy-ass for hiding behind anonymity.  As such, since they do not feel their letters are important enough to sign their name to them, their letters are not worthy of my attention. Thus, they are wasting my time.  Anyone who wastes my time has earned "Shitbird" status, and will be ignored. Let this be a lesson to this, or any other asshole who doesn't have the guts to post their real handle when they're trying to call me out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-3503998990482988203?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/3503998990482988203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=3503998990482988203&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3503998990482988203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3503998990482988203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/01/voodoo-seeks-advice.html' title='Voodoo seeks advice'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-2071245652029086204</id><published>2007-01-22T09:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T09:02:30.059-08:00</updated><title type='text'>VoodooJock returns from Vacation</title><content type='html'>I had a vacation.  It wasn't long enough.  Deal with it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-2071245652029086204?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/2071245652029086204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=2071245652029086204&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/2071245652029086204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/2071245652029086204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2007/01/voodoojock-returns-from-vacation.html' title='VoodooJock returns from Vacation'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1151957261763603496</id><published>2006-12-08T12:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-08T12:36:00.552-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Inner-skank demands freedom!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started dating very late for a girl in the current generation and have only had one bf so far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bf is an acceptably nice guy but we have many differences, the biggest of all with culture and religion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking of leaving the relationship in search of someone better. Should I? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;I wanna be a ho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Ho in training:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By all means, go find yourself a new boyfriend that's not so "boring".  Save this guy that hassle of dealing with your whiny, naggy, phony ass.  Let your inner-skank run wild and free!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By doing this, the rest of us men who are searching for a woman who isn't fucked in the head like you will see your behaviour and heed the warning it provides, and several hundred adorable stray cats will find your house a nice warm place to live.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1151957261763603496?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1151957261763603496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1151957261763603496&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1151957261763603496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1151957261763603496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/12/inner-skank-demands-freedom.html' title='Inner-skank demands freedom!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-2795076972931763583</id><published>2006-12-07T09:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-07T09:14:25.819-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Husband marries nagging harpy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband and I have been married for 25 years and have two sons.  "Dan" is a wonderful husband and father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dan has a friend who calls him constantly -- several calls a day, most days of the week.  "Chuck" always has a reason to call.  "Where is milk on sale?" "Where is a good place to golf?" "What are you doing today?" He even calls during our vacations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dan knows how upset I am with his annoying and pesky friend.  We have small children who require our attention.  CHuck is married and his wife is always working or involved with other activities.  They don't have children.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dan tries to ignore the calls, but Chuck keeps at it, either on our home phone or Dan's cell phone, until my husband responds or calls him back.  Dan knows how much chuck irritates me -- we've even had arguments about it-- so now he waits for me to leave before he returns the calls.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have asked Dan to tell chuck that the overwhelming calls annoy me and he must limit them.  But Dan is afraid of hurting Chuck's feelings and refuses to talk to him about it.  Dan says our life is strong and no one can come between us, and I need to let it go.  Is he right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Nagging Harpy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Nagging Harpy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea how a man stayed married to you for so long.  I bet Dan was a good guy who was a good provider, and over the course of time you nagged him into catering to your every whim, no matter how fucked up that it may be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chuck is Dan's friend.  Not yours.  Would you do the same if Dan thought your pal Sarah was every bit as annoying as you think Chuck is?  I think not.  You'd stamp and moan to all your equally vacuous girlfriends about how mean Dan is that he won't let you hang out with Sarah.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck you and your nagging harpy ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dan waits until you leave before calling Chuck back.  He's compromised to the extent he's willing to compromise.  Chuck's friendship is important to Dan.  And I bet Dan's friendship with Chuck is based on a mutual gripe: wives who don't give a rats ass about their husbands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You need a big steaming cup of shut the fuck up.  Get a fucking hobby.  Get over yourself.  Quit being a nagging shrew.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-2795076972931763583?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/2795076972931763583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=2795076972931763583&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/2795076972931763583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/2795076972931763583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/12/husband-marries-nagging-harpy.html' title='Husband marries nagging harpy'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-6293045184950571277</id><published>2006-12-05T12:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T12:27:10.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a neighbor who is creating havoc in my life.  I'm convinced that "Ellen" is mentally ill and becoming worse.  Her "friendship" has become a drain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we first moved here, our children became pals, and I found Ellen to be fun.  As the years pass, however, I find the friendship is very one-sided.  Ellen has a miserable marriage, does not get along with her family, and has isolated many friends due to her bizarre behaviour.  She never listens to anything I say; it's all about her.  She is consumed with money and constantly discusses how important it is to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ellen comes to my house, stays longer than she is welcome, and the entire time, she gulps my wine.  Since I believe she has a drug-and-alcohol problem, I feel as if I'm enabling her by letting her drink at my house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day, Ellen blatantly lied to me and upset my family in the process.  I told her she had violated my trust, but I don't believe she understands the depth of my anger and how much she has damaged our relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been very good to Ellen, but I think our friendship has run it's course.  I no longer want her coming to my home or involving my family with her problems.  Perhaps I should be more sympathetic, but I simply cannot deal with this anymore.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Short of moving across town or telling Ellen that I no longer wish to see her, what are my options?  I don't want this to affect our children's friendship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Chickenshit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Chickenshit:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What kind of an idiot are you letting someone whom you suspect is a booze-hag drink your wine in your house?  What kind of idiot are you letting someone you think is loony in your house in the first place?  And apparently you've earned mother-of-the-year status by blabbering to me all these vile nasty things this woman has allegedly done to you, yet, you're more than willing to let your kids stay around this nutcase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's your house, your life, and your kids.  Lay down the law. The only reason this loony does this shit is because you let her get away with it.  Tell this nutjob that there will be no booze consumed in your house.  Tell this nutjob to shut the fuck up when she starts blabbering.  Tell this nutjob that if you catch her lying again, you're going to split her skull open with a stick.  If you are not prepared to do this, you must banish this person from your life and forever remain on the 'candyass' list. If she doesn't want to do this, congratulations, you've successfully removed a thorn in your side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is in response to "Anxious", whose 16 year old daughter is under 5 feet and doesn't look her age.  I am 5 feet nothing and small boned.  It was not easy as a teenager.  I was not taken seriously and hated it with a passion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, she will reap the rewards later.  I am now 48 and look 30.  It is wonderful and I am having the last laugh.  I exercise and eat right, and I've noticed younger men giving me the eye.  So tell her to hang in there.  Yes, it will be frustrating but her time will come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Bullshitter Deluxe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Bullshitter Deluxe:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're deluded.  If you think younger men are giving you the eye, either these men are 47, drunk, or you're interpretation of their 'look' is incorrect.  They're probably looking at you trying to figure out what clothing store sells skank-wear in sizes for pre-teens.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-6293045184950571277?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/6293045184950571277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=6293045184950571277&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6293045184950571277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6293045184950571277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/12/dear-annie-voodoo-i-have-neighbor-who.html' title=''/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-8114516464839260710</id><published>2006-12-05T11:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T12:04:17.284-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My family is full of shitbirds!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My nephew's parents are dead, and I have always been close to him.  His ex-wife and daughter live in a shabby mobile home.  The place is squalid.  I am not talking about cobwebs on the ceiling.  I am talking about filth and bugs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked if I could help clean up, and she agreed.  I filled six large trash bags, and still uncovered only a quarter of the kitchen floor.  It was coated in animal waste.  My great-niece is in high school and goes around smelling like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ex-wife suffers from fibromyalgia and probably depression.  So far, she hasn't been able to get disability.  I told her, gently, that if someone reported her, they could take away her child.  In response, she took a dose of morphine for pain.  Now I'm worried she might have a dependency problem. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking of telling my nephew how bad it is and suggesting he take custody of his daughter.  My apartment is too small, so that's not an option.  But what will become of his ex-wife?  Is there an organization I can contact for her?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Free Maid for Shitbirds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Free Maid for Shitbirds:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a reason why your nephew isn't involved.  It's because he has these people spotted for what they are: SHITBIRDS.  He's the only smart one of the whole bunch, a bunch that includes YOU.  You're not a shitbird, you're a fool for cleaning up after a shitbird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's also a reason why this shitbird ex of his can't get disability.  It's because she doesn't have chronic fatigue syndrome, it's because she's chronically lazy.  And her daughter is a chip off the ol' cunt.  She's in high school and doesn't give a shit about where she lives or whether she smells like cat piss enough to clean her surroundings up?  Definitely a sign of shitbird status.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quit cleaning up after shitbirds.  Leave your nephew alone.  Let these assholes sit in their own piss and shit to their hearts content. God helps those who help themselves.  These people don't want help, they want to live in shit. Outside of the military, there's no organization that will cure these shitbirds.  And only the Army would want these two shitbirds, and only so they can use them to clear mine fields and blow up IED's.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am 72 years old and read your column daily.  Why do some people complain and moan about such unbelievably minor concerns?  My wife has had multiple sclerosis for more than 10 years and is homebound.  I take care of her 24/7, 365 days a year because I love the woman and would do the same for me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell these insecure people to wake up to reality and face life the way that it has been dealt to them.  Thanks.  Just wanted to get that off my chest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Grumpy old fart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Grumpy Old Fart:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These shitbirds write into the paper for the same reasons shitbirds write into me complaining about the shitbirds that write into the column.  They have too much free time on their hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go take care of your wife, ignore the shitbirds in the paper, lest your case of shitbird-itis progresses to the point that only a severe beating will cure you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-8114516464839260710?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/8114516464839260710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=8114516464839260710&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/8114516464839260710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/8114516464839260710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/12/my-family-is-full-of-shitbirds.html' title='My family is full of shitbirds!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-6997845678443119464</id><published>2006-12-05T11:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T11:42:37.263-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lifetime has rotted my brain!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About two months ago, I met this guy named "Troy" online.  We hit it off in a major way and have become very close.  We talk on the phone and online every day and have found we have many things in common.  Troy has expressed a very real desire to meet and would like to be more than just friends.  While Troy and I both want many of the same things -- especially real love -- I feel as though he has a hidden agenda for rushing us into something.  I have heard horror stories (experienced a few myself) about people meeting in real life after connecting on the Internet.  I don't want to go down the road that has, more often than not, led to disappointment, and in some cases restraining orders.  Am I being overly caustious or should I accept the chance at happiness that Troy is offering?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Lifetime-addicted fool&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You need to buy a gun.  Then buy some ammo.  The first thing you need to do is shoot your TV.  Not every mundane, plebian, everyday occurance results in the shit that happens on LIFETIME.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next thing you need to do is shoot yourself in the head.  You admit that you've "experienced a few" hookups with people online that didn't wind up the way you wanted and required restraining orders.  This means that you are incapable of learning your lesson.  Do us all a favor and shoot yourself.  Preferably in the head, definitely in the uterus so as to keep your genes from poisoning the rest of the population who happens to have a lick of sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe someone who possesses neither the capacity for understanding cause and effect, nor the common sense to learn from one's mistakes, comes from Texas.  Do Texas a favor and move.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt;Carolyn&lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got an e-mail from my sister listing the toys she thought would be good for the family to buy her son for Christmas.  She does this every birthday/event/holiday, and I am getting quite irked about it.  For starters, Christmas was almost two months away when she sent it.  Second, shouldn't she give us the chance to ask what her son wants, before telling us what we should buy?  It takes all the joy out of shopping, and frankly, considering she is the only person in our family who chooses not to work, it feels like she is sponging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Anal Aunt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Anal Aunt:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you too fucking stupid to use the "Delete" function?  Is the sole reason you're able to use your computer stem from some divine intervention that resulted in the power button being pressed to 'on' when you plugged it in?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I'd call you a shitbird but you're worse than that.  You're anal.  I bet you have irritable bowel syndrome the cause of which is your inability to let shit go.  The first thing any sane person would do is shitcan that sister's "list of appropriate toys" and completely ignore it.  Some of us would actually print it out and make a point of not purchasing anything on the list.  People like me, who happen to stand up for themselves, would buy her kid a set of drums, the gift that keeps on giving.  Forever and ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You really need to quit getting your panties in a&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-6997845678443119464?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/6997845678443119464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=6997845678443119464&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6997845678443119464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/6997845678443119464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/12/lifetime-has-rotted-my-brain.html' title='Lifetime has rotted my brain!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-9170350013846009643</id><published>2006-12-02T13:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-02T13:49:30.199-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ass-kissing Drama Queen wants help</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never would have thought about writing to an advice column, but yours has caught my eye.  I notice people ask truly heart-wrenching questions and get intelligent responses, so please help me.  I cannot go to someone close to home without ruining my husband's reputation.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I discovered that my husband has lied about his past.  In fact, since I found out, I've noticed he does it quite a lot.  He has lied about his military service.  He has lied about his life before I knew him.  Now I see that he lies about stupid little things, like putting his car in the paper to sell, or whether he kissed me when he came to bed, or things that are so insignificant they are meaningless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not confronted him because I don't know how.  I don't want him to feel as if I don't love him, because I do, and he will take any mention as a personal attack. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand how someone who is such a good dad and husband can be such a liar.  How can he demand honesty from the people around him?  How will I know when he is telling the truth about important things?  My heart is broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed, &lt;br /&gt;Sucker&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Sucker:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're a drama queen.  Get over yourself.  No one gives a rat's ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Terri Schiavo in her vegetative state could have figured out your silly drama-queen bullshit.  You start your letter by kissing ass.  This indicates that people are so tired of your bullshit that they will not put up with you for the amount of time it takes to hang up the phone unless you suck up to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before "But I'm not like that!" comes out your festering pie-hole, yes, you ARE like that.  You admitted as much in your letter.  You're griping that your husband lies over "stupid little things..that are so insignificant they are meaningless."  If they're such stupid, insignificant things, why do you give a shit whether he's telling the truth or not?  You're the only one who gives a shit about them, thus, YOU'RE the problem, NOT HIM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a reason this guy lies to you.  It's because you can't handle the truth.  I don't know you, and I thank the Lord that I don't have the misery of knowing you, but I suspect it's because you turn into a raging harpy when he tells the truth.  I bet you're so insecure that mentioning these stupid, insignificant things incessantly serves both as a method to satisfy your pissant-sized ego as well as provide cheap entertainment when Desperate Housewives and Sex and the City aren't on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You admitted that he's a good husband and father.  You should be fucking greatful for that.  In fact, I commend you for marrying someone who's not a card-carrying SHITBIRD.  Get the fuck over yourself, or he and his secretary will really have something worth lying about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my co-workers drives me up a wall.  "Gina" sits beside me and copies everything I do or say.  She imitates my mannerisms, my giggle, my dress, my accessories, and my verbal expressions.  This has become so annoying it is causing me to withdraw and say as little as possible when she is in the room, which is most of the day.  How can I handle this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Swollen Ego&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;KEEEE-RYEST!  When it rains it fucking pours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, if you can't handle this shit without writing to the paper for advice, you have no business in the workplace.  You belong someplace where they let you take naps at 2pm, then play duck-duck-goose before passing out milk and cookies.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you were a guy, or a reasonably mature female, I'd advise you to start doing things like picking your nose, burping, and farting around her.  Play the brinksmanship game to the limit.   However, you're neither a guy, nor a reasonable female.  You're a fool who spent too much time watching Soap Operas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  This problem is not nearly the crisis you make it out to be.  I bet she wore the same pair of shoes as you one day and you managed to extrapolate this out to some scandalous plot to ruin your world.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus,&lt;br /&gt;2. She's not copying you.&lt;br /&gt;3. You're not the center of the world&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So,&lt;br /&gt;4. Stick your head back in the TV set and let those who do not have a tenuous grasp of reality run the show.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-9170350013846009643?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/9170350013846009643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=9170350013846009643&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/9170350013846009643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/9170350013846009643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/12/ass-kissing-drama-queen-wants-help.html' title='Ass-kissing Drama Queen wants help'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-4263819385851611109</id><published>2006-12-01T08:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-01T10:43:43.152-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a spineless pussy!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt; Carolyn &lt;/strike&gt;   Voodoo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We have a 2-year old son and receive visits from the out-of-state in-laws several times a year. It is a "win-win" situation: My wife and I get a rare evening out together, while the grandparents have time to dote on their grandson.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;However, our relatives treat our house as if it were a hotel room -- dirty dishes lying around, crumbs on the floors and furniture, random trash and newspapers strewn about, etc. What bothers us is not as much the clean-up afterward, but rather the seeming disrespect for our house -- they certainly don't leave their own house in such a state. We would like to say something but fear they will either scoff at it or, worse, become offended and not visit as much, which is certainly not our desire. Is there a gentle way to communicate our feelings without hurting theirs?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A spineless pussy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Spineless Pussy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's 2 reasons why these assholes trash your house. 1. They don't have to clean it up. 2. You let them get away with it. The obvious solution is to either 1. make them clean it up, or 2. quit letting them get away with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You were a kid once. When you put your feet on the furniture, did your mom tell you to knock that shit off? And after she told you for the 50th time, she'd swat you in the back of the head with a rolled up newspaper. You wouldn't put up with your 2-year old brat trashing the place, why do you let a pair of 60 year old brats do the same thing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is abundantly clear. Tell them nicely to clean up after themselves. If it doesn't sink it, next time you visit your in-laws, you and the 2-year old play the "Let's trash grandpa's house" game. If it still doesn't sink in, then you swat them with the rolled up newspaper until it does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man's home is his castle. Think the king puts up with slobs in his castle? Fuck no. There's a gentle way the king would inform the slob that trashing his castle is not permitted. He'd slap them across the knees with the blunt edge of his sword. For fuck's sake, it's your fucking castle, start acting like the king.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-4263819385851611109?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/4263819385851611109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=4263819385851611109&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4263819385851611109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/4263819385851611109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/12/im-spineless-pussy.html' title='I&apos;m a spineless pussy!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-3570828068235211955</id><published>2006-11-30T08:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-30T09:58:48.593-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a nosy fucking cunt!</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt;Annie &lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have two older brothers. One recently died and the other is strange beyond words. "Dennis" has been married several times and is a father and a grandfather. However, he is estranged from all his children. Worse, the rest of us are not allowed to have his grandchildren over because their parents fear we would allow Dennis to see the kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dennis' children won't tell us what happened to cause such animosity, but we have our suspicions. Two years ago, Dennis was supposed to take my children for ice cream, and he left town with them and returned 6 hours later. I was frantic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem now is Dennis insists our late brother's grandchildren call him "Grandpa." He dropped by with these children, and when the 7-year old called him "Uncle", Dennis yelled at him saying "I am your grandfather! Remember that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I called my nephew and asked if he was aware of this situation. He was not and also did not know his kids left the area with Dennis. They came home well after midnight on a school night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told my nephew that Dennis forcing the kids to call him "Grandpa" is an insult to his father. He says it is not. And he still allows Dennis to take his kids for "rides". We are so afraid Dennis is going to drive off and not come back. I don't think I can stay out of this because I fear for the safety of those children. What can I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Nosy Pain in the Ass.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Nosy Pain in the Ass:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who the fuck are you to think you can tell a man how his kids need to be raised? Who the fuck are you to tell a man what he thinks he shouldn't tolerate around his kids? Dennis' lunacy must be genetic, cause clearly you are fucked in the head if you think that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your nephew doesn't care if his kids call Dennis "Dennis", "Uncle", "Grandpa" or "Aunt Myrtle". Why the hell should you? Your nephew doesn't think it's a big deal that Dennis runs off with the kids for a while. Maybe his kids are such brats that letting crazy Uncle Dennis have them for a few hours is preferable to trying to keep them from writing "FART" on the wall when he's not looking. You're the fucking Aunt, and a fucking NOSY PAIN IN THE ASS Aunt at that. I bet you're the first one to throw a fit when someone tells you how your kids (and if you have real kids, they have my utmost sympathy for having spent the first 18 years of their life being raised by the likes of you) should be raised. Quit telling your nephew how to raise his.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You want a hint as to what you should do? BUTT THE FUCK OUT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt;Annie&lt;/strike&gt; Vooodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am an average boy in 7th grade. I have several friends, and one of them is my cousin, "Bruce", who is a couple grades younger than me. My problem is that he's always laughing at anything I do wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have been friends since our youngest days, and I have withstood his mocking until now, but my tolerance has snapped. When Bruce laughs, he does it for a reaction. I would laugh along with him if it were just for fun, but that is not the case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Waldo who's being bullied&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Waldo who's being bullied:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time he opens his fucking mouth, tell him to shut it or you'll shut it for him. If that doesn't work, kick his motherfucking ass. This fuckhead is younger than you. You going to let some little shit push you around? Don't listen to your teachers, don't listen to some dumb cunt in the newspaper. They will tell you to settle things like an adult or something equally foolish like "Ignore him politely" or something like "Save your friendship for someone else".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You tried ignoring him. It didn't work, did it? You tried treating him like an adult. Did that work? FUCK NO. That's cause, contrary to what these idiots will tell you, this motherfucker IS NOT AN ADULT. You have to treat him like a kid, because he's a kid. That means you tell him once. If the message doesn't sink in, you bust his skull open. You think this kid is your friend. He's not treating you like he's your friend. He's treating you like you're a shitbird. Do you want to be a shitbird when you grow up? If not, you better start not being a shitbird now, because the shitbird reversal process gets a lot harder the older you get. Since he thinks you're a shitbird and not a friend, not treating him like a friend will accomplish nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't let those assholes tell you "violence never solves anything". It's bullshit. Violence solves plenty. Give this little shit the beating he has coming, and you'll see how much nicer he'll be to you in the future.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-3570828068235211955?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/3570828068235211955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=3570828068235211955&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3570828068235211955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/3570828068235211955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/11/im-anal-retentive-cunt.html' title='I&apos;m a nosy fucking cunt!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3335081583054476207.post-1675541173983676756</id><published>2006-11-29T10:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-01T10:47:49.711-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Help me! I'm a retarded control freak!</title><content type='html'>Today's letter:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Dear &lt;strike&gt;Carolyn&lt;/strike&gt; Voodoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm on the verge of moving in with a man I am deeply in love with. I have a young son who I am very protective of and who I've been solely responsible for raising for most of his life. I don't approve of smoking, cursing, violent movies, overly loud music, and the usual non-kid friendly behaviour around my son, and my boyfriend has agreed that once we move in, the smoking stays outside and the behaviour stays PG as long as the little one is around. Everything seems like it's going smoothly, but just to be on the safe side, I'd like advice on how to start "enforcing" the new code of conduct once we move in. It is his house, and he's a grown man so I'd like to avoid reprimanding him or being a harpy, but my son comes first. How do I go about being a good mom to my son without being too much of a mom to my boyfriend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Hypocritical fucking cunt&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hypocritical fucking cunt:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy, are you one stupid motherfucker. You abhor smoking, drinking, swearing, fighting, and acting like an asshole around your son, yet you're moving in with the first son of a bitch who meets this criteria (READ: &lt;b&gt;THUG&lt;/b&gt;) and who soaks your panties. I'm in awe of you. Most people fuck up at some point in their lives, but it takes a pure genius to do it on the level you're doing it. You don't like that shit? HOW ABOUT NOT MOVING IN WITH THE THUG AND FIND SOMEONE ELSE WHO DOESN'T DO THAT SHIT IN THE FIRST PLACE?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, you're moving into his house. I bet he's paying the rent/mortgage too. What right do you have to tell him how to behave in his house, given that he's paying the rent and taking YOUR sorry ass and that of your poindexter-in-training wussy brat of yours as well. You dirty fucking carpetbagging, parasite! Just who the fuck do you think you are? Adolf Hitler with a pussy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's an idea. #1: Don't date thugs in the first place. #2: He who pays the bills makes the rules. and #3: if you can't do #1 and #2 and therefore take some initiative and responsibility for your own ass, don't fucking write into the newspaper looking for advice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3335081583054476207-1675541173983676756?l=vjtss.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/feeds/1675541173983676756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3335081583054476207&amp;postID=1675541173983676756&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1675541173983676756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3335081583054476207/posts/default/1675541173983676756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vjtss.blogspot.com/2006/11/november-29-2006.html' title='Help me! I&apos;m a retarded control freak!'/><author><name>VoodooJock</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11530565035783192490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://www.doggiedee.com/images/Download/download2/tiki.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
