Well Bang My Gavel & Pound My Ham-pies, It's Time for DEAR APRON!

Here we are once again, friendlettes. It's Friday, and who needs synagogue and all that confusing Hebrew when you've got the insipid dunderheads who write in to Dear Abby to solve their problems. They've already forsaken God, so why shouldn't you?

Kick back, pour some Manischewitz all over your bitchtits, and revel in another edition of the emotional bummer otherwise known in St. Vincent, the Grenadines and parts of Eastern Iowa as

DEAR APRON!

DEAR APRON:

I am a 76-year-old man who is romantically involved with a 65-year-old lady. She knows I take Viagra. I recently had to go out of town for a week. Before I left, she demanded that I give her my bottle of Viagra. She said she would return it as soon as I got back.

What I did not tell my lady friend is that I don't always need Viagra to "perform." Should I remain silent and let her believe that without the little blue pill I'll be forced to remain faithful?

Honesty is the best long-term policy, but is there a limit to just "how" honest one should be? -- A VITAL MAN IN ARKANSAS

DEAR VITAL:

This sounds like a healthy relationship that's worth preserving.

Old men like you crack me up. You're banging some sixty-five year old broad, and you call her your "lady friend." I love that expression. Nobody under the age 60 uses it, and it's used as a pleasant synonym for "fuck-buddy" because people your age are supposed to be too genteel to say "fuck-buddy," but you're not too genteel to seek medical attention for F.D.S. (known as Floppy Dick Syndrome, in medicalease) so that you can continue porking away long after nature has determined that doing so is cosmically irrelevant because your broken, busted-up, dusty-assed sperm could only produce an Aspergian Schizophrenic. If you were nailing someone without a pruney uterus.

Which, clearly, you're not.

Anyway, getting back to the Viagra situation-- your "lady friend" has no right to steal your medication from you. That's yours. Bad Lady Friend! BAD!

The next time she tries to take your drugs, throw her down the steps and, when the cops come, say she pulled a gun on you. Make sure you have a gun, preferably one with no serial number, handy so you can plant it on her twisted corpse.

If you're not quite feeling that, there's a more passive-aggressive way to deal with her. Let her take your drugs away from you the next time you're going away for a week. Then, while she's in the room watching you, pack your suitcase for your trip. Make sure to include the following items:

1 sterling silver cockring, preferably engraved/monogrammed with some other chick's initials/measurements.

1 gallon jar of Vaseline

2 skimasks, black

1 pair of leopard-print, vinyl chaps

3 yards of U.S. Navy-grade rope

1 E.P.T. home pregnancy test

1 dildo with a head shaped like Bob Dole's face

2 Jehovah's Witness pamphlets

1 tube of Preparation-H (you've probably already packed this)

1 pack of pornographic drink coasters

1 a copy of your revised will, leaving all your assets to a high schooler named "Candy"

And don't forget to kiss your "lady friend" goodbye. On the cheek.

DEAR APRON:

As a child, it was painfully obvious that my mother favored my brother, "Clint," over me. Everything he did was considered perfect and was bragged about. Because I was a girl, I was expected to step and fetch for him. To this day, my opinions hold no weight against those of my brother. I have always been hurt by this, but I have lived with it.

Clint moved 3,000 miles away years ago. I am the one caring for Mom, although Clint contributes financial assistance. When he and his family came to visit for a week, my daughter asked me why Grandma respects and is prouder of Clint's children -- all boys -- than of her.

Grandma is proud that one of the boys knows about computers, but my daughter has BUILT computers. Grandma is proud because one of the boys is studying piano. My daughter has played flute for 10 years. Grandma brags about another of the boys' ability at rowing, but never about my daughter's achievements in academics.

How do I keep my daughter from feeling resentful, and what should I tell her? -- LESS VALUED IN GREENVILLE, S.C.

DEAR LESS VALUED:

Oh my goodness! Clint's son knows about computers! I wish you would have written more about that-- he sounds like such a smart, brave, wonderful boy! I mean, well, hardly a boy-- he's a MAN! With a PENIS! A penis capable of producing heirs, offspring, carbon-copies of his sheer and utter technological brilliance! This is truly wonderful news! I mean, he's another Clint. And, if he has sons, which I hope he does, they'll be another him, which is basically just another Clint-- only younger, more spirited, more technologically agile and facile! This is simply marvelous!

Oh, and the other one plays piano, you say! And you didn't submit an MP3 sample of his work with your meager, pathetic, estrogen-laden excuse for a letter? I wish I could hear some of his undoubtedly superior performance capabilities! Does he have long fingers? Oh, I'll bet he does-- fingers that must absolutely glide effortlessly across the black-and-white keys of his destiny to become the next Vladimir Horowitz, no doubt. Oh, no doubt! The piano-- how exciting! Does he like Schubert? Mmmmm, I'm simply mad for Schubert. And Mendelsshon-- what a genius I'll bet Clint's piano-playing boy-- excuse me-- MAN must be! Yikes! To think of him, in his tux and tails, sitting ramrod upright on that piano bench, sending throngs of appreciative, awestruck audience members into a sonorous stupor-- you must be so proud...

DEAR APRON:

My husband's aunt was gorgeous when she was young. At 90, obviously her appearance has changed. After many illnesses, her looks have faded.

When she shows me pictures of herself in her youth, it's obvious she wants a response, but "you were beautiful" seems cruel, pointing out that she is no longer. To pretend she still is would be disingenuous.

I have been in this situation with other elderly people. What is a complimentary and sincere comment at these times? -- REALIST IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

DEAR REALIST:

Listen, she's ninety. Anything you say to her, she's going to forget two minutes later, so what are you so worried about? Who gives a shit? If you think "you were beautiful" sounds "cruel" then try these on for size:

"Wow, it's amazing what the ravages of time can do to a person."

"You look like a vintage handbag with eyes."

"Did you smell like a combination of urine, vinegar, scalp-flakes and old car interior back then, too?"

"So, this is what I have to look forward to?"

"That's not really you in that picture. It's impossible. I mean, look at you."

"I'll bet you Photoshopped that, didn't you?"

"You've shown me that picture thirty-seven goddamn times in the last hour."

"I'm going to smother you with a pillow while you're sleeping tonight."