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"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."

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Well, Hold the Phone and Skin My Bone, It's.... DEAR APRON!

You know those commercials for yogurt where the white chick in her mid-twenties wearing the cardigan over the camisole is sitting on the thick, white-pile carpet spooning Elmer's smegma-looking skeez into her mouth while her eyes roll back slightly in her head and her moist lips close around the spoon like it's the pulsating head of 1990s Antonio Banderas cock while the jingle, "Acti-vee-aaa-haah!" plays in the background?

Well, you won't find any of that annoying shit here, 'cuz THIS is...


What is an acceptable time frame to receive a response to a question you send via phone texting? -- WAITING IN MONTGOMERY, ILL.


Chances are, by the time it took you to write this letter, send it out, coupled with the time it took me to read it, watch some choice programming at and come up with this lame-ass answer to your pathetic self, you've gotten your text reply by now. So go fuck yourself, kiddo and, next time, try to dig deep for a real problem.


I am a 20-year-old male who finds it awkward talking to women my age. I do OK approaching older women for conversation, but become tongue-tied with someone under 25. I would like to meet someone special and develop a relationship with her, but at this rate it's not going to happen anytime soon.

I am told by friends and family that I'm handsome, charming and have a good sense of humor. There will be holiday parties coming up soon, and my friends will be inviting some new people. How can I learn to strike up a conversation? I'm having a real problem here. -- H.P. IN MIAMI BEACH


Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but, you say you're "having a real problem here" but it seems that the only "real problem" you have is in addressing women under 25 years old. You seem to be very facile at attracting the varicosed-veined, washerwoman-armed, geriatric set. It doesn't seem to me that you have a real problem at all! There is much to be gleaned from having sexual relations with older women. Like... um.... their.... uh...

Exper... ience?

And they've probably got, like, careers and can... pay.... for.... dinner? Before... you know... it.

Yeah... old chicks are. Um... well, they're your thing apparently, and I say "roll with it, son." Old biddies get moist over me, too. Well, I mean... they would get moist if, you know, they.... could.


Anyway, H.P., I suggest that, when you find yourself talking to a woman, say, in a long-term care facil-- Ohmigod... Wait a minute.... H.P.? Is this.... this isn't... HARRY POTTER?! Holy Shit! HARRY FUCKIN' POTTER'S GOT THE HOTS FOR McGONIGLE!

OH! AAAAUGH! Do you know how OLD she is? Jesus, Harry! I mean, first Hagrid, and now... THIS? Fuckin'... NASTY!


My mother passed away two years ago, and her first great-grandchild will be born in less than two months. I had hoped when I was still in my 30s to have a child of my own, so I had Mom crochet me a baby set -- sweater, booties, cap and blanket. Sadly, motherhood for me was not to be.

Do you think this baby set should go to the firstborn great-grandchild, or to Mom's favorite grandchild's children? The color is gender-neutral. Should I perhaps "loan" it to each of the great-grandchildren when they arrive to ensure that it will be maintained as a family heirloom? I paid for all the materials and Mom's time in creating these items. I feel it would be selfish not to share them. -- SOON-TO-BE-GREAT-AUNT


Here's what I think: get some cats. You sound to me like someone who has a lot of built up energy and a need to concern yourself with things that don't matter. If this is the case (and it is, I'm just being nice by using that "if") then you need to purchase and/or adopt at least sixteen cats, to start. You will give them names like "Bootsie" and "Fenstermaker" and you may choose to dress them up in those handmade sweaters and booties and caps and blankets, once you have truly gone off the deep end, which, with sixteen cats spraying you in the face out their buttonhole anuses and shitting in your Special-K shouldn't take that long.

Honey, embrace your inner cat-lady. Can't you hear it meowing inside your brain, scratching at your skull, begging to be let out?


I can.


I have a beautiful 2-month-old daughter, and I like to dress her in little pants and shirts rather than dresses. Often these clothes are in gender-neutral colors -- yellow, green and, yes, sometimes blue.

Whenever she's wearing something other than pink, people assume she's a boy and say things like, "Oh, what a handsome little guy," or, "Hi, big boy!"

How would you suggest I respond to these people? Should I ignore them and go on with my errands or correct them? I hope that by reading this people will think before they assume a baby's gender based on the color of his/her clothing. -- ANNOYED IN PENNSYLVANIA


Here's how you should respond:

"Oh, I'm sorry that my choice to attire my child in clothing that makes his (oops, sorry-- her) gender deliberately ambiguous and confusing to strangers is going to give my child sexual-identity issues before he (DAMN! SORRY!) becomes twelve but also allows me to get righteously indignant and huffy and confrontational and superior because I know that I would never presume to make an assumption on gender because of the way a child is dressed and the way his (meh, I'm not sorry anymore) hair is cut or combed. Because I never make innocent mistakes while trying to compliment some worthless saddlebag's neuter kid."

Yeah. Try that.


  1. Not at all relayted to Dear Apron, but just in case it matters to you: If you stop seeing 'Bristol, UK' on your statistics, I haven't gone away, I can now be found under 'Southampton, UK. Although it will swap between the two. If it even matters.

  2. Ah, the members of the My Masonic Apron harem... considerate and acutely aware of my obsessive and unhealthy relationship with Blog Tracker. I am a lucky man.


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