Well, Sass My Curmudgeon and Halve My Hyperbole, It's... DEAR APRON!

In college, my favorite hobbies included being pretentious, illegally downloading music from Kazaa, playing said music using Winamp (which really did whip the llama's ass, by the way), watching endless hours of Court TV, and masturbating.

Nearly ten years post graduation, my favorite hobbies include being pretentious, legally listening to the same eleven songs over and over again on Pandora, watching endless hours of bullshit online, masturbating, and tellin' it like it is (read: "helping people") by whipping up a steaming hot shit-storm's worth of advice with...

DEAR APRON:

At age 60 my mother ignores basic safety rules. She drives her older model car with the doors unlocked. I have tried explaining that she's making it easy for a carjacker to gain entry, but she insists "that won't happen to me."

Mom walks her dog alone at night and leaves her front door unlocked, claiming, "If anyone tried to get in, I'd see them." Not true. She goes for long walks, and while she's walking, she chats on her cell phone, completely oblivious to what's going on around her.

She actually nailed a key ring with the key to her back door (labeled as such) outside next to the door. Anyone could scale the short fence and walk right in. She also leaves the key to her front door under the mat on her front porch for anyone to find.

Mom makes me crazy with worry. I don't know if she's aware of the risks she's taking. I have begged her to lock her door and hide the keys, but she says I am "paranoid" and that nothing could ever happen.

Now she has bought a gun and claims it will keep her safe. I say it's better to exercise common sense and prevent the break-in and possible assault in the first place.

At age 30 I feel like I'M the parent. Am I being unreasonable? -- WORRIED SICK IN DALLAS

DEAR WORRIED SICK:

Normally, I don't re-post letters as long as yours, because I figure, if my attention is wandering to thoughts of dutch-dooring it with blaxploitation film star Pam Grier and the Today Show's Natalie Morales, chances are the average schlock-face who reads this shit wouldn't make it to the other side of a letter that long either. However, I found your situation interesting (read: "comical") and so I thought to myself, "Meh."

Clearly, it's not your mother's bizarre, asking-to-get-anally-violated actions that are the problem here, it's her "It won't happen to me" attitude about said actions that's the problem here. The answer is quite simple: people like this do not change behavior until there are clear, negative consequences. Simply stated: things need to start happening to her. And who needs to start making these things happen to her? That's right, Bucky.

While the idea of sneaking into one's own mother's kitchen through the back door and bludgeoning her into a coma with a rusty hammer might feel slightly uncomfortable and off-putting at first, please keep in mind that you are performing this vaguely criminal act in an effort to keep her safe. Sometimes as we age, the relationship between child and parent changes in such a manner as to allow the child to become the teacher for the parent, whose synapses are dulling and whose brains are melting.

That said, you have some serious stalking to do. The next time your mother drives into town, I want you there at a choice, sparsely-populated intersection, ripping the driver's side door of her Oldsmobile open and smashing her in the mouth with the butt of a 9mm Glock.

"HAND OVER THE MOTHERFUCKIN' KEYS, CUNT-BUFFET!" I want you to scream at her as blood pours out of her mouth.

It won't happen to me? Oh, guess again, Mom.

DEAR APRON:

What do you do when your husband doesn't like your best girlfriend? She keeps asking us to go on double dates and vacations. Should I be honest and tell her he doesn't like her, or continue to make excuses? It really gets on my nerves. -- IN A PICKLE IN OHIO

DEAR IN A PICKLE:

This is indeed a real problem-- the veritable definition of "in a pickle" if you ask me. I don't see a reasonable way out. Do you? I mean, look at it objectively: you love your husband, you love your best friend. You don't want to hurt either of their feelings. In fact, you couldn't LIVE with yourself if you hurt either of their feelings-- could you? No. No. No, clearly you couldn't. It just couldn't happen.

NO!

IT WON'T HAPPEN! We won't allow it to happen.

I'm in a panic-- you are too, right? I'm panicking. Sweat. Tremors. Headache. Anxiety. Diarrhea. Oh! I spelled that right on the first go! Sorry-- dizziness, racing pulse. Gotta get out of here! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE! Just KILL YOURSELF ALREADY! DO IT!

AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DEAR APRON:

My daughter watches TV sitcoms along with her precocious 4-year-old son who is being exposed to many "adult" themes, terms and politically incorrect infractions. She doesn't see the harm. Do you? -- NOT A TV FAN

DEAR NOT A TV FAN:

No, I don't see the harm in it at all. Human sexuality is very mysterious, and drawing conclusions about a person's sexual practices from third party hearsay is not only dubious, but uncalled for. People express their love an affection for other each other physically in a wide variety of different ways. Urinating on one's spouse or engaging in carefully-structured physical violence is a preference in which some people engage.

It is up to you and your partner to make mutually-agreeable decisions about what is and what isn't permissible in the bedroom, or whatever room you happen to use for the purposes of sexual congress. Just remember, it is best to seek the advice of a licensed medical professional if ingesting human or animal feces is a consistent component of you and your partner's sexual activities.

DEAR APRON:

A dear friend, "Harold," passed away suddenly from a heart attack. Since we knew his wishes, he was cremated. Harold always hated having his picture taken, so the only photo available for display at his memorial was his driver's license photo, and he looked like a deer in the headlights.

I wish we'd had a few candid shots of Harold to remember him by. I would have loved to have kept one for myself. Please urge your camera-phobic readers to permit family and friends to snap a shot or two of them every once in a while, before it's too late. Thanks. -- MISSING HIM IN ILLINOIS

DEAR MISSING HIM:

His DRIVER'S LICENSE?

That's fucking HILARIOUS! Thanks for the yuck.