An Award-Winning Disclaimer

A charming little Magpie whispered this disclaimer into my ear, and I'm happy to regurgitate it into your sweet little mouth:

"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

These views represent the thoughts and opinions of a blogger clearly superior to yourself in every way. If you're in any way offended by any of the content on this blog, it is clearly not the blog for you. Kindly exit the page by clicking on the small 'x' you see at the top right of the screen, and go fuck yourself."

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Moonwalk Over Here, Baby, 'Cuz It's DEAR APRON TIME!

Yes, that's right, chilluns. The time has come to take some letters written to Dear Abby and give them a right good lashing with the churlish, acrimonious tongue of Dear Apron.

Good times... good times.

DEAR APRON: For 15 years I was a happily married homemaker with a wonderful husband. "Duncan" and I attended church together, frolicked through the fields, even exterminated rodents together. He was my best friend. It was bliss.

Last year I found out my father had had an affair with Duncan's mother the year I was born, which makes him my half-brother! The news was too much for my husband. He had a fatal heart attack not long after.

What should I put on his gravestone -- "Loving Brother" or "Loving Husband"?


I'm sorry-- you've just found out you were getting the deep-dickin' from your half-brother for fifteen years, and you're fretting about his goddamn epitaph? That's your biggest problem? I hate to be those people who go, "Honey, you need therapy," but, honey, you need therapy.

But, okay, if you really want to know what you should put on his gravestone, how about this,

"Here lies poor Duncan,
I loved him like no other,
Fortunately, he wasn't my un'can,
He was, however, my fucking half-brother."

That should do it.

P.S.-- Did you really frolick through the fields? That's gay.


I'm in a relationship with a man I met online who lives out of state. He has been to see me a dozen times over the last three years. We say we love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together. But over the last 18 months I have realized we have NOTHING in common -- and our views on life, policy and politics are completely opposite.

For three years we have talked every single day, mostly about how much we love each other. It's when we try to have a real conversation we start to disagree. He says we're entitled to our own opinions, and I agree, but I can't help but wonder what kind of future we could have together when we cannot discuss anything but how we feel about each other. -- SECOND THOUGHTS IN ANAHEIM


Why do people always think that they have to "have things in common" with their lover or spouse? Do you think that both of you loving mint chocolate ice-cream and the musical "Carousel" is a great basis for a long-term relationship? Just because you're both members of the NRA doesn't mean that you're going to walk blissfully, hand-in-hand towards the sunset together, it just means you have a higher likelihood of mistaking the other for a burglar at 3am and blowing his goddamn head off with your legally-registered Glock.

You want something in common with your spouse? Go marry your half-brother.


"Ingmar" and I have been married -- on and off-- for 12 years. We have married each other twice. Ingmar loves "big" women.
The last time we separated was three years ago, after I lost 105 pounds. I lost the weight because my doctor said I had to for health reasons. When I first met Ingmar, I let him know my large size was not normal for me and was a result of some medications I was on.

After my weight started dropping, Ingmar told me I "grossed him out" and I was starting to resemble a "little girl." We have had no physical contact in four years, and we sleep in separate rooms. He often goes off by himself for two or three days at a time. I know he isn't involved with another woman because he can't do anything anymore and he's not willing to fix it.

I feel like a roommate instead of a wife. We don't eat together, watch TV together or kiss anymore. Although I care for my husband, I'm not in love with him anymore. But I'm scared of going out in the "dating world" again. I'm 46 and no longer a "spring chicken," but I crave affection. What do I do? -- AT A CROSSROADS IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA



That's the pseudonym you came up with for your piece of shit husband? I'd love to know his real name. Please tell me what it is so my life may finally be complete.

As for you, I don't know what to tell you. If I saw you in person, I've got a pretty good feeling that I'd be "grossed out," too, though probably not for the same reasons Ingmar is. (Ingmar... that kills me.) I don't know if the "dating world," as you call it, is such a hot idea for you either. Here's my advice.... um.... got any single half-brothers?


  1. Today's moral:
    Marrying your half-brother solves every problem.

    Words to live by.

  2. Don't never say Dear Apron never taught ya nothin'!

  3. Basically this made me lol as the cool people say.

    Looking forward to your next post, until then I am off to marry my half-brother. =)

  4. Crap. I only got a full brother.

  5. where the hell do you find these letters...
    a couple who "frolicked through fields" AND "exterminated rodents together" (tell me you didn't see the half-brother thing coming from these statements?
    and a man named "ingmar" who "can't do anything anymore and refuses to fix it"


Got something to say? Rock on with your badass apron!