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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."

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Well, Sneeze Out Some Cheese, It's... DEAR APRON!

Do you remember those commercials John Cleese used to do for Magnavox? God, I miss those. It was like-- was there really a time when people in this country needed to be persuaded by the zenith of acerbic English comedy to buy a television set? Amazing that such a time existed, in the space of our lives.

I humbly regret that I have no ex-Pythons at my disposal to promote my blog, but, if I did, it would most likely be Terry Jones, who was easily the funniest "woman" of the group, and I'd stuff him into some awful, floral-print dress, a babushka strapped unceremoniously over his wig, an obscene amount of lipstick and, in his best screechy voice, I'd have him say,



I'm a 16-year-old gangbanger looking at spending the rest of my life isolated in a little bird cage. Every day I ask myself the same question. Was it really worth throwing my life away? All I did was help a "homeboy" from getting hurt. I got caught and was convicted on eight charges that led to more than four consecutive life sentences. That ain't no joke! The sad part of it is that the so-called homeboy turned his back on me when I needed him most. I should've pulled away when I could've.

The main reason for this letter is to help parents and teens like myself who are choosing the wrong path to realize what you're getting into while there is still time. Tell parents out there, if you see your kid is messing up in school, using drugs, hanging with the wrong crowd, anything that would lead to gang affiliation, reach out and help them while you still can before they're in too deep. They (teens) turn toward gang life in search of the love they need from their family. Or they want to fit in and be cool.

To all the gangbangers who think you're cool and being a gangster, get away from it while you still can. It may be fun at the moment, but it's not when you get caught and you have to spend the rest of your life behind bars. There's better things to do in life than hang around all day frying your brain from all the drugs and alcohol. Trust me, when you're behind bars thinking about what you did, you'll be missing your family the most. You think your homeboys are going to be there for you? Well, let me tell you this ... they're not! I guarantee you that the only people who are actually willing to change places with you are your parents. Your real family. Do you think your homeboys want to do time for you? Hell, no!

I hope this letter helps some people out there. I just want to make a contribution to society before I get locked up in the dungeon forever. This is to show you not all gangbangers are evil and cruel. Life is short. Live it smart, not stupid. Now I can finally answer the question I ask myself, "Was it all worth it?" The money, the girls and all the material things go faster than you think and could all be taken away with the snap of a finger from the split second of a decision you make. It's not worth your life. -- HOMESICK HOMEBOY


Are you fucking serious?

I'm sorry-- I just don't believe that this letter was written by some cap-poppin' gangsta-ass mothafucka named "Cop-Killuh" or "W8sted" or "Niggwich". I have my sneaking suspicion that this letter was ineptly written by some Methodist prison warden who spends his Sundays fantasizing about giving the church organist's breasts 5-to-10 in solitary.

If, however, on the exceedingly off-chance that this was written by a genuine "16-year-old gangbanger" then I have only one thing to say to you: I hope you get the electric chair. Not for your crimes, though. For that letter.


I am madly in love (infatuated?) with my surgeon. I had a bilateral mastectomy and he saved my life. The cancer is gone.

It has been almost a year, and I need to return for a checkup. I haven't stopped thinking about "Dr. Dreamy" this entire year. We are both in our 40s; I'm single, he's single. Would it be unethical if I act on my feelings and let him know? Should I get another doctor? Or do I just go to the appointment and "grin and 'bare' it"? Help! -- "GEORGE" ON MY MIND IN PHOENIX


I'm tempted to advise that you sit on that sixteen-year-old gangbanger's lap in the electric chair for the "grin and 'bare' it" line in your letter, but, because it's Thursday and you're a cancer survivor and I'm feeling horny, I'll let it pass.

No, it's not unethical for you to act on your feelings and let him know. You're a patient-- you're not supposed to have ethics. You certainly didn't swear to a Hippocratic Oath. He's the only one who has to worry about an ethics violation, the loss of his medical license, a potential lawsuit and being shunned by his colleagues, peers and superiors by playing Hide the Tongue Depressor with you in his exam room.

Instead of just coming right out with it, I always suggest stalking first. That tends to warm potential lovers up and it shows them that you have invested significant time in researching their financial history, family tree, the engine intake displacement of their personal vehicle, the level of asbestos/termite infestation in their home and any irregularly shaped moles they may happen to have on their bodies through your purchase of high-caliber, infrared AN PVS-5 Night-Vision binoculars that you will utilize to gaze at him through his bedroom windows late at night.

Remember-- nothing, not even a restraining order or a chemical eye-irritant spray, can stop love.



I'm writing you about a disgusting, rude and, in my opinion, obscene habit -- the bride and groom shoving wedding cake in each other's faces. The couple are all dressed up in their beautiful finery. They have a wonderful ceremony and a perfect reception table. How rude and insensitive to the person he or she has just promised before God to love, honor and cherish -- not to mention disrespectful.

What do you think of this "custom," and do you agree with me? -- FAITHFUL LITTLE ROCK READER


I love it. Most people write in to these columns ostensibly seeking advice but, really, they just want their own feelings/perspectives validated by the writer of the advice column. While this is really just a fallacious appeal to authority, it's a natural human inclination to want people to side with you in times of emotional turmoil. I really respect you, Faithful, for just coming out and asking, "do you agree with me?" and not pretending to ask for advice you don't actually want.

Yes, in fact. I do agree with you. I think the practice of a newly-married couple shoving cake into each other's mouths is deplorable. I think the groom should shove his fist into the mouth of the oldest living wedding guest and forcibly remove their dentures. After he does that, the groom should attach the dentures to the panties of his blushing bride and use the dentures to grip onto the panties and pull them down around her ankles. After he has the bride in a "plowing the field" position" (legs up in the air while she is on her back) he should shove his portion of cake straight into her vagina. The bride, once thoroughly incakeinated, should then rise and punch the groom as hard as she can in his throat. While he is reeling backward in pain, blood spurting from his nose, she shoud remove her earrings and jam them into both of his nipples. The groomsmen, who would all be performing the ceremonial circle-jerk onto the officiant's head, would tackle the groom and remove his trousers, bending him over the altar so that his rear end is exposed and the photographer has a good angle. It should be the responsibility of the Best Man and the Bride's father to pull apart the groom's asscheeks at this time. The bride and bridal party should then consume as much of the remainder of the cake as they can and then force themselves to throw up the contents straight into the groom's gaping asshole while the entire cadre of wedding guests gleefully shout:


That, I think, would be far better suited... to my tastes anyway.

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