If It's for Morons You're Achin, Then Why Not Try DEAR APRON?!

Happy Friday, you lovely bitches. Welcome to DEAR APRON, where we take real letters that were written into Dear Abby, and treat these letter-writers they way they ought to be treated: like intellectually-challenged first graders.

DEAR APRON:

My husband, "Bud," and I have been married more than 50 years. It has been a great half-century. We have good jobs and a fantastic family.

A problem has arisen recently that I need advice about. When I met Bud, I wasn't a virgin. I wasn't promiscuous, but I did end several dates with a "grand finale." Bud knew about it and was OK with it then, and he's still OK with it now. But he keeps asking me to describe those dates down to the most intimate detail.

He says they are part of our "family history," just like our school activities and other events with family and friends before we started going together. I'm not sure I can remember everything, but Bud wants to hear about those things I can recall. What do you think about this? -- CAUGHT OFF GUARD

DEAR WHOREBAG OF YORE:

A "grand finale" you say? My goodness-- that sounds very exciting indeed. If that is the way you refer to your sepia-toned sexual conquests that no doubt occured within the vinyl confines of a Ford Fairlane, then of course Bud's going to want to know more about all of that. I certainly do. I mean, did you let any of these guys take a shit on your tits? Were vomit, the police, or rubber squeakie-toys involved? These are the kind of things that Bud needs to know, obviously, to complete his family history.

And, really, can you blame him? Most peoples' family histories are pretty fucking stale.

"This is when Bubba Blamma came over from the village of Potzekiasa to Ellis Island and they changed her name to George and she had TB but they let her in anyway because she showed them a bit of ankle."

"In 1921, Zayda Pearlsteinbergdorffgoodman opened up Shemp's Clothing Store at 4th and South and sold 3-piece-suits at a 400% mark-up until the blacks started moving into the neighborhood and now they sell neon-blue pimp suits and crack."

"This is a picture of your great-great-gread grandmother. The moustache is real and we just had it appraised on Antiques Roadshow for between $4,000-$6,800 dollars."

I mean, come on, honey-- give Bud some props for trying to spice up his family history with cum-ridden details of your whorey sexual exploits from the days where you'd lift your poodle-skirt for any loser with a cucumber pointed in your general direction.

DEAR APRON:

I work for a national package delivery company. It's nearing what we refer to as "peak season" (Christmas). We try our best to deliver the much-anticipated packages on time, but sometimes we are unable to find the addresses. If there are no names or numbers on the mailboxes or on the houses, we waste a lot of time trying to locate the right residence through the process of elimination.

What concerns us most is, if we -- experienced delivery people -- have problems finding a residence, we know an emergency vehicle will encounter the same problem. A few minutes' delay can result in a tragic outcome if an EMT is unable to find a house.

Please advise your readers to post their addresses clearly. If they do, it will help all of us to have a safer and happier holiday season. -- SANTA'S HELPERS IN ALABAMA

DEAR BOX-JOCKEY:

So, you really think you'd get fired from UPS if they found out that you wrote this milquetoast letter to Dear Abby? "A national package delivery company." What do you think, we're all morons here? Give me a break.

You're seriously trying to tell me that, with GPS, which all of your trucks have, you are still bitching and moaning about how you have difficulty finding peoples' houses because their addresses are done in fading paint or are partially obstructed by a fucking azalea bush? Boy. I've heard some punk-ass excuses for incompetence in my life, but this is stretching it pretty thin. Put a little effort into that sweet job of yours, pal. From what I hear, you've got one of the best benefit packages of any employer in the country. Work for it.

And, by the way, I'm an EMT, and I know that, even if they do find the address where a true emergency was taking place with all possible speed, most of the folks I used to work with wouldn't know what to do once they got there.

DEAR APRON:

Would it be improper of me to write the owners of a house we are buying to thank them for selling it to us? My wife and I keep getting conflicting answers.
They have small children, so they're probably moving to a bigger place to accommodate their children. Selling us their house is allowing us the opportunity of starting a family like they did.

What do you think? Should we send it to them directly or to their real estate agent? We don't want to overstep our boundaries. -- SOON-TO-BE HOMEOWNER IN PHILADELPHIA

DEAR YOUNG, STUPID PEOPLE:

Awwww... that's sweet. You know, Mrs. Apron & I bought a home together last year, and the thought of sending a thank-you note to the sellers of our home never occured to us. Maybe that's because the sellers repeatedly screamed at our real estate agent, refused to pay liens and outstanding bills, re-negged on offers, and threatened to call the police if my wife or I set foot on the property, after they had permitted us to do so.

Ah, memories.

While I don't know if a thank-you note is exactly in order, here's a list of things that I would consider sending to sending to the folks who sold us our home:

1.) Anthrax.

2.) A home-baked lasagna, containing ample layers of noodles, ground beef, horse vomit, fresh vegetables, fontina cheese, grizzly bear semen, tomato sauce, and seasoned with fresh basil, oregano, anthrax, and fresh ground pepper to taste.

3.) Photographs of me target-masturbating in every room of their old house with a dead chicken tied around my neck, like a shawl.

4.) A collection of Neil Diamond CDs.

5.) A DVD of Bud's wife's sexual exploits (family history).

6.) A forty-pound box of my yellowed toe-nail clippings.

7.) Several hungry, destitute, alcoholic immigrant families.

8.) Kanye West

9.) A free membership to the Puppy Poodle Tongue-of-the-Month Club.

10.) More lasagna!

If you really want to send that thank-you note, though, you just rock on with your bad selves. I might wait a little bit, though, until you've done battle with all the rats, termites, mold, carbon monoxide, leaky roof, broken pipes, sinking foundation, rotted walls, cracked walkways, and shitty wallpaper that they've left you with.