Remember when this blog used to be funny?

Neither do I.

But, you know who does?  

DEAR APRON:

My niece, "Amy," got her driver's license last November. Since then she has been stopped six times for violations. Unfortunately, she wasn't ticketed for any of them -- just given warnings. Who knows how many other times she should have been ticketed?

When Amy told me about it, she acted like it was a joke and something she was proud of. Her parents are divorced and her father spoils her beyond reason. He gives her whatever she wants, including buying her a new car. Her mother has little control over her.

My niece doesn't seem to understand the possible consequences or what serious damage a car can do to her or to someone else. How should I handle this? I have no contact with her father. Any ideas? -- CONCERNED AUNT IN MASSACHUSETTS

DEAR CONCERNED AUNT:

Why, it just so happens I DO have some ideas-- thanks for asking!

Spoiled whorelettes like Amy need consequences-- any bald, mustachioed, jack-off T.V. therapist will tell you that-- so clearly, Amy needs to be taught that an automobile is a very heavy, potentially dangerous killing machine.  The first thing you want to do is take away the illusion of safety.  See, modern cars are stuffed to the gills with supplemental restraint systems, airbags, anti-lock brakes, collapsible steering wheels, traction control, doors-- you're going to want to get rid of all that shit.  Strip the car down so that it resembles a mail Jeep from the 1970s-- basically a hand-grenade on wheels.  Then, duct-tape the bitch into the driver's seat and put a cinder-block on the accelerator.  Make sure that it's rush-hour and the streets are filled with passively suicidal desk-jockeys heading home to their wives and children that they can't stand.  I have a funny feeling that Amy will be less likely to take driving as some kind of joke after this little motoring excursion. 

Kids... sheesh, right?!

DEAR APRON: 

My 60-year-old sister is being married for the third time. She's planning to wear a long, white wedding gown and will be having a maid of honor, bridesmaids, a rehearsal dinner and reception. We are encouraging her to have a small, quiet ceremony with only family and close friends. Who is correct? -- REALISTIC SISTER, PORT ORANGE, FLA.

DEAR REALISTIC SISTER:

That's a great pseudonym, R.S., I have to tell you-- it really does a lot to eschew any possible ambiguity regarding the relationship you gals have together.  Kudos to you!

As far as Unrealistic Sister's third wedding is concerned, all I can say is that, as long as she's marrying someone of the opposite gender, she can wear nothing but a pair of water wings and have the 32nd Precinct of the New York City Police Department as her bridesmaids for all I care, because marriage is a union between a man and a woman and no one else should have the right to make a longstanding commitment to anybody of the same gender in this country.  So help me God.

DEAR APRON: 

My sister-in-law is demanding to know why I won't accept her friend request on Facebook. Personally, I don't consider her a friend and prefer not to allow her access to my Facebook page. How can I politely and honestly answer her questioning? -- PREFER TO DECLINE 

DEAR PREFER TO DECLINE:

Tell her it's because you don't want her to see those pictures of you doing all that stuff to those homeless guys' assholes with the Nutella-covered bendie straws.

Well, Hold Onto Your Pampers and Swaddle Me Timbers, It's... DEAR APRON!

I know, I know, this blog post is a desperate attempt by me to hold onto my pre-fatherhood acidic wit and caustic disdain for all humanity, to prove to you that I have not lost my mettle or my resolve to junk-punch Middle America as it searches vainly for wholesome advice to its banal problems and quandaries.

So? Sue me, bitch. And, after you're done doing that, get a load of...

DEAR APRON:

I'm a 25-year-old woman with no future. I am the youngest of three daughters. My parents are divorced and my sisters are both married. Mom has no income of her own, so it's mainly me.

I have come to realize that I'll never be able to have an apartment of my own or fully live my life because of her. She's controlling and always finds a way to make me feel guilty about going out or enjoying myself. I have never had a relationship because she has always found a way of sabotaging any relationship I'm in.

I think she's bipolar, but she doesn't believe in medication or that it's even real. I feel as if I'm being forced to take care of her, and when I finally have a chance to have a real life, it will be too late.

I have discussed this with my sisters, but they haven't helped. I'm very depressed and don't know what to do. If I bring this up with Mom, she gets angry and won't talk to me for days. Please help me find a way out. -- TRAPPED IN CHICAGO

DEAR TRAPPED:

I've got to say, the first sentence of your letter absolutely takes the fucking cake as the single best, most awesome-sauce-coated opening line EVER.

Eh. Vah.



"I'm a 25-year-old woman with no future."



Just look at that, standing there alone, all by itself sort of... hanging there in a gentle abyss. Isn't it glorious, my dears? I just keep reading it, over and over again, loving the way it sounds on my tongue.

So. Good.

And not just limited in its wonderfulness to the context of this advice letter. I think you should use it as your calling card on pretty much every document you compose. Certainly it should be used to commence:

Greeting cards

Christmas letters

Employment cover-letters

Match.com/e-Harmony online dating profiles

Fundraising appeals

Thank you notes

E-mails to insurance companies, mortgage lenders, bill collectors, utility companies, etc.

Suicide notes

WHICH, quite neatly, actually brings me to my suggestion for you. Most people with absolutely no hope, who identify as "trapped" and are looking for "a way out" at some point consider taking their own lives.

Just a thought!

DEAR APRON:

I recently found out that my boyfriend of three years -- the only man I have ever been with -- cheated on me with a woman I thought was a good friend. I love him and have decided to take him back and fight for what we had. He assured me that he wants to be only with me, that what he did was "stupid" and he has learned his lesson.

Apron, although I have forgiven him, I can't bring myself to forgive her. I have never been someone who holds a grudge, but I have so much hate for her that it scares me. I did get professional help, but it didn't work.

I don't want to be like this. This is not who I am. I'm worried about how I might react when I see her. I can't avoid her since we work in the same industry. Why can I forgive him but not her? -- MOVING FORWARD IN TEXAS

DEAR MOVING FORWARD:

I'm not sure that "MOVING FORWARD" is the right pseudonym for you. How about "GON' CUT A BITCH"?

Seriously, though, your intense feelings of hatred will never be ameliorated until you cage fight this slut whilst the both of you are slathered in Newman's Own Mesquite (with Lime) Marinade. It tastes great and it's only 180mg of sodium per 1 tablespoon serving. I would strongly suggest not only selling tickets to the event, but also live-streaming it as well so maybe you can make some money off your boyfriend's infidelity.

Oh, wait-- sorry, he didn't have anything to do with it. He just lay there on the grass clutching his erect cock with this naked hussy tripped and fell on top of him while tripping through the daisies.

See you in the ring.

DEAR APRON:

My friend and I have a massage therapist, "Shelby," whom we hire on a regular basis because she does an excellent job. However, it's hard to get a completely relaxing massage because she likes to talk the whole time.

What's the nicest and most polite way to inform Shelby that we prefer peace and quiet so we can enjoy the massage? -- RUBBED THE WRONG WAY IN COLORADO

DEAR RUBBED:

Do I even need to say anything here?

DEAR APRON:

My marriage has been on the rocks since 2008, when I caught my husband talking to other girls online. He swore he would never do it again and I trusted him, only for it to happen again and again. We have a 2-year-old and I'm pregnant with our second child.

He has now placed another ad online stating that he's a single dad. I am torn. He keeps telling me he loves me and wants only me, and he doesn't know what's wrong with him. He is bipolar and not taking meds for it. He promised this time he will get help and try to get better.

This is the fifth time he has placed an ad or chatted with other girls online. I don't know if I should call it quits or keep trying. I love him and want us to be a family, but I don't know how much more I can take. -- TORN IN CALIFORNIA

DEAR TORN:

You should definitely keep trying. Marriage is a sacred institution well worth fighting for, even though homosexuals are trying to desecrate it by fighting for their right to be treated as equals and get married themselves.

I mean GAY MARRIAGE?

WHAT?!!!!!

Anyway, back to your particular issue, keep working at it. I'm sure you and Single Dad have a really bright future together.

Hey! I'm Going to Kill Myself If You Don't Read... DEAR APRON!

DEAR APRON:

Sometimes my secretary says things like, "I could just kill myself" or, "Just shoot me!" Apron, my son took his life by shooting himself two years ago. She knows what happened because we live in a small town.

I don't know what to say when I hear her utter those phrases, but it feels like someone has reached in and torn a piece of my heart out. Have you any advice for me? -- STILL GRIEVING FOR MY SON

DEAR STILL GRIEVING:

First, I'm very sorry for your loss. Your son was terribly handsome.

Now, I do have advice for you. Which is a good thing, since this is an advice column. If you wrote to me asking for advice and I didn't have any, why I'd probably feel so guilty that I'd kill myself.

With a gun.

Here's my advice to you: stop being such an overbearing, demanding, taskmaster of a boss. Don't you see that it's your unrealistic expectations, your incessant micromanaging, your constant need for anal penetration, and your ignorance of the pitfalls and intricacies of Microsoft Excel that are causing your secretary to experience and express suicidal ideation? Believe me, if you weren't such a heartless bastard, your bespectacled, desk-jockey prostitute wouldn't be having such a rough time, and you wouldn't have to be re-traumatized by her statements.

Now, please, lighten up around the office, will ya, before I stick my head in the goddamned oven.

DEAR APRON:

I was at a party where guests were exposed to salmonella that was on one of the vegetables served as an appetizer. At least 11 people were affected by it. The hosts talked to only one or two of the people who were affected. Some of us were concerned that the hosts didn't contact everyone and warn them of what had happened.

Don't you think they had a responsibility to contact all their guests and advise them of the problem, and even express concern and apologies? -- SICK IN CALIFORNIA

DEAR SICK:

OH MY GOD!

Are you OKAY?!

Did the veggie-wedgies hurt my little bubbie-wubbie's tummy-fummy?

Yes. The hosts of this mass-murder-attempt absolutely should have contacted every single one of the guests and informed all of them of the insidious, calculated, and not-terribly-well-thought-out plan to commit eleven counts of homicide in the first degree through biologically-altered vegetables at a staged dinner party. Not only should they have contacted each of the guests, including you, but they should have gone to the local police station with the intention of turning themselves in to the authorities, but, at the very last moment, they should have wrestled a 9mm Glock from the holster of the desk sergeant and done a murder-suicide job on themselves.

God, just shoot me!

DEAR APRON:

I recently got out of a two-year relationship. He broke up with me without explanation. I'm not over him and it still hurts, but at the same time I am starting to have feelings for someone else. The problem is I'm afraid he's just the "rebound" guy. What should I do? -- READY TO MOVE ON IN OHIO

DEAR READY TO MOVE ON:

Wait-- are you a guy, too? 'Cuz, if you are, you should probably just kill yourself.

DEAR APRON:

I am a man who has tried to lose weight for my health and failed. I am trying again now and have lost 40 pounds. A couple of years ago I did the same thing, and then before I knew it I gained it all back. I'm really trying to keep it off this time.

A co-worker said, "You look good with the weight loss, but do you think you'll be able to keep it off this time?" I had no idea what to say. I told him we all have our vices, but I am trying. Apron, the comment hurt my feelings. How would you suggest handling the situation? -- SMALLER IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

DEAR SMALLER IN NEW HAMPSHIRE:

I think it's great that you're trying to lose weight again, and that you're finding major success this time, with the excellent loss of 40 pounds!

Did you lose the weight by taking large amounts of laxatives? I know a chick who did that, and she looks FUCKING AWS! Seriously, if you saw her, you'd totally want to fuck the shit out of her. Speaking of shit, if you lost the weight using laxatives, you probably shit yourself a lot-- but it's worth it, isn't it?

Being fat is no joke, like suicide is, and I think it's really important that my readership understands that. Unlike suicide, obesity is a serious issue. Just ask First Lady Michelle Obama. She could have picked suicide awareness or some other issue in the mental health sphere to be her pet cause, but, no, she picked improving the lives of tubby round kids who eat too much Kraft Macaroni n' Cheese. Isn't that shit good? Oh, man. It's so oooey and gooey. Just like my shit after taking too many laxatives.

Well, Pour Me a Sippy Cup and Smack Me My Bitchy Up, It's... DEAR APRON!

On Saturday night, my wife and I firmly established ourselves as middle-aged by irreversibly crossing the threshold of American balding/paunchy Hell: American Signature Furniture and, just to twist the broomsticks in our assholes, Raymour and Flanigan.

The most upsetting thing of all? We actually found a couple sofas we didn't detest.

If you feel the need to un-follow me now, I would understand. Just promise me you'll come back every once in a while and slip your sweet, tender fingers beneath my

DEAR APRON:

A friend recently purchased a mother's ring from a pawn shop. When "Caron" told me about it, I told her she didn't have the right to wear one because she's not a mother. I discussed it with some other friends and they agreed with me, but Caron says I "overreacted" and that everyone is on HER side.

Caron says it's "just a ring" with different colored stones and she has every right to wear it if she wants to. The women who agree with me say a mother's ring is set with varied birthstones to commemorate the birth of a child born in a certain month, and that's why Caron has no right to wear it.

Caron says I'm crazy and need a therapist. She's ending our 10-year friendship because I will not agree with her. Am I right or wrong? -- RING OF TRUTH IN ARKANSAS

DEAR RING OF TRUTH:

Boy, am I glad you wrote to me, honey. You have EVERY RIGHT to dictate what other people should or should not buy, and what they should or should not place upon their person. If your friend "Caron" (that's a fabulous pseudonym, by the way) does not understand that a friend is not a true friend unless they're vetting purchases you make at secondhand stores, then she's just no friend of yours.

"Caron" might think that it's "just a ring" but she's wrong. Not only is she wrong, she's dead wrong. In fact, she should be dead. And, when she dies, if she's lying there stinking up that casket and wearing that ring, I want you to go into that funeral parlour and slice it off her finger with a rusty fruit knife.

Cunt.

By the way, you're crazy and you need a therapist.

DEAR APRON:

"Maria" and I lived together for two years. She had wanted eyelid surgery but couldn't afford to pay $5,000. I offered to give her $2,000.

A few months ago, Maria told me she didn't love me anymore. (She now has a new boyfriend.) She called me yesterday evening asking for the money I said I'd give her for the surgery.

Do I owe her this money? She's the one who ended it. I told her to ask her new boyfriend to pay for it, but she claims I need to keep my word. -- SEEING THINGS DIFFERENTLY

DEAR SEEING THINGS DIFFERENTLY:

Well, I have to tell you, Bucky, if I were in your pants, I'd be seeing things differently, (clever pseudonym, by the way) too. I certainly wouldn't be giving this bitch $2,000, much less $5,000.

See, the thing is, though, you did make a promise you'd help her out with the eye surgery. So, because you sound like a mature, reasonable adult, I'd do what mature, reasonable adults do in most situations: offer a compromise. Tell this rotten skank that, even though she ditched you for that guy with capped teeth and a spray-on tan that you're not going to totally leave her high and dry on this eyelid shit. Make sure she knows that, while you're not coughing up the dough anymore, that you'd be happy to perform the surgery yourself, right in the comfort of her own home.

At-home surgery is nothing new-- the Norwegians have been doing it for centuries (Wackipedia)-- and, if you follow a few simple guidelines, it's perfectly safe.

* Buy lots of plants for the "operating room"

Plants oxygenate shit or whatever. Medical research stuff says that it's really good for patients to be around oxygen. It probably couldn't hurt you, either.

* Be Asian or Indian or something

It's a generally accepted fact that the most competent, skilled and successful surgeons are from "the Orient" or whatever it's called now. Maybe this is just me, but I wouldn't want anybody cutting into my face who wasn't Indian or Asian. Well, except for maybe a Jew. But NOT a Jewish woman. I mean, come on already.

* Make sure the patient is asleep and not dead

Hospitals have expensive monitors and "machines that go 'ping!'" for this express purpose, but, chances are, you've only got a sofa and maybe a couple chairs and a coffee table in your living room. So you're going to have to take care to critically discern whether your patient, (in this case, "Maria") is asleep or dead. While the goal, obviously, is to operate on the patient in the living state, keep in mind that there are advantages to operating on a deceased patient. For instance, if she's dead, then you won't have to be nearly as careful during the operation as you would if she were simply asleep.

Just sayin'.

* Use a pneumatic staple-gun

When completing your surgery, (called "closin' up shop" by the pros in green booties) you've got to staple that bitch's face back together. After hours of tedious, energy-sapping surgery, your hands are going to be as tired as a mothafucka, and, trust me, you're not going to want to operate a manual Swingline. No, for ease, speed, and precision, you can't go wrong with the Pneumatic Crown Air Stapler by Makita.


Pumping out 18-gauge, 1/4-inch crown staples at 120 pounds-per-square inch, the #AT638 is available for only $179.99 (guaranteed lowest price) from Northern Tool + Equipment and is the top-rated pneumatic staple-gun, recommended by 9 out of 10 in-home amateur surgeons.

DEAR APRON:

I love my grandmother, but she constantly puts my grandpa down, even in front of the family. I know some of the harsh words she uses could be resentment built up over the years from past hurts. Still, if she talks so rudely to him when we're around, I wonder what she says when they're alone.

Grandma loves her family very much, especially the two of us grandkids. It just hurts that she's so mean to Grandpa. Immediately after she insults him, I'll ask her why she did it, but she acts like she has done nothing wrong.

I know it must hurt my grandfather to be treated that way so often by the woman he's been married to for more than 50 years. Should I address her about it in private? -- WORRIED GRANDDAUGHTER

DEAR WORRIED GRANDDAUGHTER:

You don't love your "grandmother" (awesome pseudonym, by the way), you miserable, disgusting liar.

If you really loved your grandmother, you'd buy her a 115-Volt, 20 GPM Fill-Rite Fuel Transfer Pump.


That's right, model# FR700VNT, available in eye-catching Fire Engine Red from our friends at Northern Tool + Equipment for the low, low price of $519.99 has an explosion-proof (not resistant, proof!) motor with ball-bearings that'll transfer diesel, gasoline, mineral and white spirits and, probably, all manner of bodily fluids.

So tell old Grandmama to say "goodbye" to that pesky Foley catheter, and say "hello" to the Fill-Rite Transfer Pump!!!

Me Chinee, Me Make Joke, Me Make Pee-Pee on... DEAR APRON!

You remember that scene in "Glenngary Glen Ross" where Jonathan Pryce and Al Pacino are sitting around philosophizing, and Pacino says to Pryce, "All train compartments smell vaguely of shit. It gets so you don't mind it."

Yeah... that's kind of how I feel about the people featured in...

DEAR APRON:

My husband, "Vinny," and I were growing apart after 10 years of marriage. It was both our faults. Vinny reconnected with a woman at his class reunion and started an inappropriate, secret relationship with her.

I discovered some of their emails and saw they had been texting numerous times a day. When I "busted" Vinny, he denied everything until I showed him the proof of what I knew. We have had issues in the past with him not being honest, but this was the straw that broke the camel's back.

We have told our children that we have decided to divorce. It was the most difficult decision I have ever made. We are still living in the same house and haven't told many people what happened.

I don't want anyone thinking I strayed or that I was responsible for this. Would it be inappropriate for me to say why I'm divorcing him? I don't want to take his feelings into consideration after what he did. My neighbors are gossipy -- it's like ... WISTERIA LANE

DEAR WISTERIA LANE:

You have me really cheesed, woman. It isn't often that someone makes a reference that forces my hand to Google. The street where the characters on "Desperate Housewives" live.

Really?

Hon-bun, I've never seen that show, but I'm willing to bet that you wish your meaningless cow-flop of a life was anything like the lives of those STD-ridden soccer moms who "live" on "Wisteria Lane". Now don't ever write to me making reference to something I don't know about because I eschew pop culture, or I'll gut you like a motherfucking halibut.

Oh, and if you're looking for a way to let everyone else on "Wisteria Lane" know that you're perfect and that your soon-to-be-ex husband isn't, sew a goddamned red "A" onto all of his shirts and leave me the fuck alone.

DEAR APRON:

My husband and I have dinner with friends a couple of times a month. The wife likes to kiss and hug me. She even patted me on the behind once. This makes me very uncomfortable.

I enjoy being affectionate with my children, grandchildren and my husband, but I do not like being touched by women. What should I do about this? -- HANDS OFF IN HOLLISTER, CALIF.

DEAR HANDS OFF:

New experiences can often be uncomfortable and intimidating at first. Many hardcore lovers of the fish taco have said that, the first few times they attempted intimate contact with other women that the situation was awkward and fraught with anxiety and uncertainty.

You say that you and your husband dine with this swingin' pair "a couple of times a month". Obviously, if you're still "very uncomfortable" with the intimate contact with the female in this quartet, you need to start going out more frequently. The more you are exposed to her sexual advances on you, the less uncomfortable you will be with the inevitably escalating contact between you and this woman. Also, I would not limit your engagements to double dates at restaurants. You might want to try going on roller coasters, strolling down open air Italian markets, purchasing Peking duck, and hanging upside-down on ceiling-mounted meat hooks with this woman as well. Trust me, you may be a frigid, antiseptic, thin-lipped prude right now but, if you give it a chance, you'll be happily gumming away on each other's lumpy walrus nipples in no time.

DEAR APRON:

I have found my soul mate. We have a newborn son and are very happy. We plan to be married next year, after we have saved enough for the wedding.

I have been hiding a secret from him. I have had bulimia for 20 years. Should I tell him before we marry? I am terrified it will harm our relationship. How can I tell him without hurting him? I'm afraid he won't understand what it will take for me to heal myself. He will be worried about my health. Please advise, Apron. -- KEEPING IT TO MYSELF

DEAR KEEPING IT TO MYSELF:

This letter was, regrettably, written in code. Allow me to decipher the letter for you, using my Enigma decoder machine. The translation will be in italics:

DEAR APRON

"DEAR ALMIGHTY GOD"

I have found my soul mate.

"I have found someone who is oblivious, emotionally fragile, and is the perfect enabler."

We have a newborn son and are very happy.

"I told him I was on the pill so he would unwittingly impregnate me. We have a newborn son and I am very happy."

We plan to be married next year, after we have saved enough for the wedding.

"If I threaten to kill myself every time he decides he wants to leave me, I will eventually be able to trap him into marrying me, assuring him a life of misery, frustration and closeted despair."

I have been hiding a secret from him.

"Everybody knows I'm as bulimic as a member of the Roman senate."

I have had bulimia for 20 years.

"I have had bulimia for 37 years."

Should I tell him before we marry?

"I have a fetish-fueled desire to involve him in my bulimia, and have fantasies about sneaking off to his closet and vomiting into the breast pocket of every one of his shirts."

I am terrified it will harm our relationship.

"I am terrified that he will involuntarily commit me to an eating disorder treatment facility, which I don't want, because I love being bulimic."

How can I tell him without hurting him?

"If he interferes with my bi-hourly vom-party, I will stab him in the back of his neck repeatedly with a pair of scissors."

I'm afraid he won't understand what it will take for me to heal myself.

"If I really wanted to stop, I probably would have done something about this somewhere within those thirty-seven years."

He will be worried about my health.

"He will leave me for someone less fucked up, forcing me to get those scissors."

Please advise, Apron.

"Excuse me, but I have to go eat a half-ton-weight of lasagna, four cartons of Breyer's chocolate ice cream, seven dozen packages of microwavable bacon, fourteen boxes of orange Peeps, a bottle of Maraschino cherries and re-enact the Mr. Creosote scene from "The Meaning of Life".

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.

Well, Burn Me a Cross and Give My Salad a Toss, It's... DEAR APRON!

Ever get the feeling that maybe life isn't worth living?

If so, you should probably consider killing yourself.

BUT, not before getting your fill of...

DEAR APRON:

I have suffered from allergy-induced asthma for 10 years. It becomes a problem only on the major holidays when we visit my mother-in-law. She has two cats and poor ventilation in her house. For years, I have followed my doctor's treatment of inhalers and allergy remedies with slight success.

This last year the prevention methods didn't work. My breathing was labored for several hours after leaving my mother-in-law's house. I am now considering not attending these holiday gatherings unless they are held elsewhere. Any suggestions?
-- FEELING WELL (FOR NOW) IN BUFFALO

DEAR FEELING WELL:

This is a very interesting letter. As a fellow asthmatic, I have similar experiences/sensations. However, my breathing only becomes especially labored when I am making anonymous telephone calls to the residences/cell phones of hot girls I went to high school with. And, it's funny, because there are never any cats around and the ventilation in the basements and abandoned warehouses where I frequently make these telephone calls is relatively sufficient-- you know, for basements and warehouses-- and so the only thing I can think of that is causing the labored breathing is that, while I'm making these telephone calls, I am masturbating to the thought of inseminating these former suburban beauties whilst my other hand is balled up in a fist and is violently inserted inside my own asshole with the lubricatory assistance of "do-a-dollop-of-Daisy" sour-cream. All I can say about all of this is: thank God for speakerphone!

DEAR APRON:

My dilemma is how to deal with rude, obnoxious children whose parents allow them to get away with bad behavior. In my home, I have learned to tactfully tell the kids, "We don't jump on couches, bang on pianos or turn the TV on and off." However, what do I do when visiting a parent whose 8-year-old constantly butts into the conversation and tells the parent and me to be quiet? Of course, the parent stops the conversation and gives in to the child! Do I just suffer through this annoyance, or is there something I can say or do? -- TIRED OF BAD BEHAVIOR IN PENNSYLVANIA

DEAR TIRED OF PEOPLE WHO WRITE LETTERS:

Have you ever tried dressing these eight-year-old children up as Vikings and parading them down your town's Main Street? It may sound unorthodox, but that always works for me when dealing with impetuous little imps. No child wants a roughly-constructed deerskin vest chafing up against his or her burgeoning nipples or the indignity of being marched around with a horned helmet strapped to their head.

If this doesn't work, and they insist on jumping on couches, banging on pianos and turning the TV on and off, I would recommend dressing them up as Scottish folk heroes. And bludgeoning them to death with a half-ton weight of haggis.

DEAR APRON:

Eight months ago, I became involved with "Ted," who was separated from his wife, "Erica." I fell head-over-heels for him, but in the end, he decided to work things out with his wife.

When Ted told Erica about me, she said she wanted to meet me. I decided I owed it to her, so we met. Believe it or not, we hit it off. Within a couple of weeks we were friends.

The problem, of course, is that hanging out with Erica means I also see Ted. I thought I was over him, but recently old feelings have come back and I feel awful thinking about him while being good friends with his wife. I don't want to give up the friendship with her, but being around him is making me sad.

What should I do?

-- DISCONCERTED FRIEND

DEAR DISCONCERTED FRIEND:

Three words: Three. Some. Idiot.

DEAR APRON:

If someone tells a white lie about something trivial, is it because he/she is lazy and wants to avoid conflict? Should the lie be ignored or should I be concerned about trust? -- SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS

DEAR SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS:

I'm so glad you wrote.

If someone tells a white lie about something trivial, it is because they are secretly a member of the opposite gender. And Communist. And, quite possibly, stockpiling weapons. Use EXTREME CAUTION around such people. The white lie about something trivial is actually 9 times out of 10 a smokescreen for a plot involving the smuggling of illegal underage Chinese prostitutes and sneaker manufacturers to build fortified replicas of the ancient Pyramids in a mine-shaft in western Ohio. Notify the bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Fireflies immediately and take shelter in the nearest women's prison, even if you're a woman.

As to whether or not the lie be ignored or should you be concerned about trust, all I can say is this: you should probably consider killing yourself. BUT not before getting your fill of...

DEAR APRON:

I'm only 12 and I feel like my life is ending. I just finished seventh grade, I don't have many friends and I feel like the ones I do have don't really care.

I do gymnastics and volleyball, but my friends there don't really care, either. My family is no help. My sisters are too busy with their friends and boys to care. My parents don't know anything about me. On top of that, there's a boy I like who acts like I don't exist. What should I do? -- FRIENDLESS IN MICHIGAN

DEAR FRIENDLESS:

See above.

By the way, there's a girl I like who acts like I don't exist. I don't mind, though. I just place blocked calls to her home and do a dollop, do do a dollop!

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,

ALLO, LOVE! WELCOME TO ANOTHER RIGHT BALLS-UP EDITION OF...

DEAR APRON:

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

DEAR 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.

DEAR APRON:

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

DEAR THAT'S NASTY 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.

(Infatuation?)

DEAR APRON:

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

DEAR FAITHFUL:

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:

ARISTOCRATS!

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

Your Father's Gay. At Least You Heard it From... DEAR APRON!

A nap on the couch.

A nap on the hammock.

A nap with your head by the toilet bowl with your new striped tie getting absolutely saturated and stained inside the toilet bowl.

Ah, Father's Day...

Thank God that horseshit's over, because it's time for a more 55% more avuncular edition of...

DEAR APRON:

I have been in a relationship with a great guy, "Jonah," for four months. We get along well and enjoy a lot of the same things. At times he can be jealous when other men notice me, but we have never had arguments about it. Only one thing about me really bothers him -- it's my infatuation with actor Mark Wahlberg.

Jonah is so upset about it he refuses to see any of Mark's films with me and gets annoyed when I mention him. It irks me because I know being with Mark isn't a realistic option, but Jonah acts like it is. What can I say to make him see that he (Jonah) is the only one I want to be with and Mark is just a fantasy? -- STAR-CROSSED LOVER

DEAR STAR-CROSSED LOVER:

I'm sorry-- I don't get this at all. Are you talking about Mark Wahlberg, the star of such films as "We Own the Night", "Boogie Nights" and "I Heart Huckabees" (seriously, he was in that-- but I had to IMDB it to make sure)? Or are you referring to Mark L. Walberg, the cloying, sychophantic chimp-douche from "Antiques Roadshow"? I mean, I could see it going either way, frankly, depending on your tastes. I hear both of them are killer in the sack.

I wonder if either of them are Jewish. Not that that's at all relevant in any way, I just... wonder about that.

Sometimes.

Regardless of whichever M.W. hottie-pants you're talking about, I think Jonah has some serious insecurity issues that he ought to address. Then, after addressing those issues, he should probably kill himself because, really, compared to Mark Wahlberg and Mark L. Walberg, he's basically just a worthless piece of shit. Whether one, both, or neither of them are Jewish.

DEAR APRON:

I am being married at the end of the summer. It will be a formal wedding. I have a biological father I see once or twice a year, and a stepfather who has been a big part of my life.

I would prefer my stepfather to walk me down the aisle, but I feel guilty about what my biological father and other relatives might think. Should I worry about their opinions or just do what makes me comfortable? -- TOUCHY DECISION IN OHIO

DEAR TOUCHY DECISION:

Yes, you should worry about their opinions, and no, you should not just do what makes you comfortable. Thank you for writing. You are very brave.

P.S. Where the fuck's my invitation, you whore? You can forget about that Keurig.

DEAR APRON:

Our daughter "Melanie" is finishing her master's degree in social work. She's excited about pursuing her future career; however, when we tell our friends about her, we get disappointing -- and sometimes, hurtful -- responses. Some samples: "Whose idea was that?!" "You know she's going to starve, don't you?" "Oh ... they don't make much money," and, "I'm sorry!" These comments come from people with whom we've had warm relationships for years.

We know our daughter won't be rich. That's not her objective. We're proud of Melanie's choice and how hard she has prepared. We think she'll be a wonderful social worker. We have always been supportive of our friends' children and their choices. Is there a way to respond to these people without being rude? -- PROUD PARENTS IN DES MOINES

DEAR PROUD PARENTS OF SOON-TO-BE IMPOVERISHED CHILD IN WHO CARES, IOWA:

I'm sorry that you have to deal with people who give insensitive and unsolicited responses to the fact that your daughter is a burgeoning social worker. You should not only be receiving supportive comments, but monetary donations because, let me tell you, that bitch is done for. Soon, she'll be making her own clothes out of used tea bags and brushing her teeth with twigs covered in rat poison.

Fortunately, she'll most likely burn out on social work after a year or two, at which point she will either be institutionalized in one of our nation's finest, fleeting state psychiatric hospitals and/or spending inordinate amounts of time poking around in dumpsters outside vacant Blockbuster Video stores muttering to herself about treatment plans.

DEAR APRON:

After moving out of your parents' home, is one expected to knock on the door when visiting, or is it OK to just open the door and walk in? -- HEY MOM, I'M HOME!

DEAR HEY MOM, I'M A LESBIAN!:

I don't know. A knock on the door is just so... predictable. So formulaic. So... boring.

Personally, I've always been a big fan of thinking outside the box-- you know what I mean? Instead of a knock on the door, why not try something new, like attaching a pound or two of C-4 to the garage and detonating it to announce your arrival?

Nothing says, "Hey, guys, I hope you made extra egg salad because I'm visiting for dinner!" like hurling a Molotov Cocktail through the second-floor bathroom window or climbing up on the roof and taking a big, heaping shit down the chimney. If you're really ambitious, try dressing up all in black with a black ski-mask and making terroristic threats to your parents in a Northern Irish accent through a megaphone while standing on the front lawn playing with yourself?

Points for creativity, man.

Mad.

Points.

Well, Tongue My Groove and Let's Bomb MOVE, It's... DEAR APRON!

Partly because I'm too lazy to come up with a completely original post, and mostly to allay your fears that "My Masonic Apron" is henceforth going to become some randomly tearful, mushy-assed, goateed Daddy Blog, I decided to bend you over the sofa and forcibly introduce you to another fondlicious edition of...

DEAR APRON:

"Kyle" and I have been good buddies for 10 years. The problem is I'm crazy about his younger sister. She and I have been talking over the last few months. Kyle knew we were talking in the beginning, and he told her to stay away from his friends. I think I understand his reasons, and I tried to talk to him on my own.

Kyle said he doesn't want to deal with me calling him eventually about problems that may arise between me and his sister.

Now when I hang out with her we have to be secretive. I would like to be open about being with this awesome girl. Can you please help me? -- JOHN IN PENNSYLVANIA

DEAR JOHN:

As a fellow Pennsylvanian, I feel I am uniquely qualified to give advice on matters such as these, and I'm glad you came to me, even though you neglected to come up with a clever, alliterative pseudonym-- like "Passionate for Paul's Sister in Pennsylvania". Of course, you'd have to have changed "Kyle" to "Paul" for that to work, but you weren't clever enough to think of that, and for that, I challenge you to a duel. Shall we say pistols at dawn?

Now, John-- from one Pennsylvanian to another, let's level with each other here. A Pennsylvanian's relationship with one's sister is a... special thing. It may well be that Kyle is especially possessive of his younger sister because he may have, you know, intentions for her. Trust me: you don't want to get into an incest turf-war, love triangle, cumming match with your best bud.

If, however, you are absolutely insistent on pursuing this chick, you might want to ease your way into this episode of "Family Ties" by offering Kyle a three-way. To make it less awkward, if you decide to go that route and end up moaning out his name as he massages your balls while your dick is undulating inside his sister's mouth, you might want to call him "Paul".

DEAR APRON:

I am a 48-year-old single male. I teach an adult Sunday school class. Two women who have joined our group have made it plain they would like to have a romantic relationship with me.

I'm not sure how to handle this. I'd like to meet someone special, too, but I'm not certain this is the right way. Please advise. -- TROUBLED TEACHER IN THE SOUTH

DEAR TROUBLED TEACHER IN THE SOUTH:

Let me get this straight: two women made it plain that they want to have a romantic relationship with you? Do they want to do it at the same time? Are we talking about a southern-fried two-fer? Jesus Christ-- that's better than fucking some Pennsylvanian's sister!

If you don't do this: you are totally gay. Don't ever write to me again. Unless it is to say, "Pistols at dawn."

DEAR APRON:

I need your help with a problem I'm having with my husband, "Fred." He is very territorial over his laptop and other personal items such as his phone. It is so bad that I'm not even allowed to hold his phone -- even if he is trying to show me a video on it. His laptop is password-protected.

I have asked Fred numerous times why so much privacy, and he says, "Because these things are mine." I feel as if he is hiding something. I know I shouldn't be paranoid, but since he was unfaithful in the past, I have my suspicions. Please let me know what I can do to solve this. -- LEFT OUT IN LITTLE ROCK

DEAR LEFT OUT:

You're right, you shouldn't be paranoid. People who have paranoid ideations are evil and bad and wrong, and everybody is out to kill them. Their apple-sauce is poisoned, their cars are rigged with C-4 explosives, and there are water-resistant videocameras hidden inside their toilet bowls. I am coming to Little Rock to put a fucking bullet through your eye, just like Moe Green at the Tropicana.

Pistols. At. Dawn.

Well, Toot My Horn and Shuck Some Corn, It's... DEAR APRON!

I'll keep it short and sweet:

You know you're basically a useless asshole when you're writing to...

DEAR APRON:

I'm a woman in my mid-40s. Over the years I have diligently exercised, eaten right and taken good care of my skin. I keep my hairstyle and clothing up-to-date.

I am constantly taken to be much younger than I am. While some of my peers may be jealous of this "problem," I find it extremely annoying. It's especially bothersome in a business situation when someone my age or slightly older treats me as though he/she could be my parent.

I am not inclined to broadcast my age. Is there a professional way to deal with their condescending attitude? -- LOOKS YOUNGER, BUT ISN'T

DEAR LOOKS 47, BUT IS 74:

Finally!

Somebody writes in to me with a real problem!

After hours and hours spent sifting through seemingly endless piles of "My mother has developed bone cancer..." and "I've been addicted to snorting Adderall for seven years and I'm only twelve..." and "I was just laid off from work. My wife and I have eight beautiful children (three of whom are conjoined) and she just passed away in a mini-golf windmill accident..." I get this gem of a letter from somebody who actually has a legitimate gripe.

Thank. Gawd.

Sweets, you don't have to convince me that you're going through hell here-- believe me, not only are you preachin' to the choir, you're practically speaking in tongues. All my life I've had my age misconstrued because of things like my taut skin, my pert buttocks and my impossible legs. It is no joke, and I have a message to people out there who think that it's a blessing to be thought younger than you are:

Well, it isn't.

Imagine the shame one experiences when asked to show I. D. in order to get $2.00 off ski lift tickets. Can you just picture what that feels like, you selfish bastards and bitches? Can you? No. You can't. Because you have no feelings. This culture of snark and bitchtitude has just rubbed your cock far too vigorously for far too long without any kind of lubricant whatsoever and it's just jammed it straight into the red, pulsating asshole of cynicism! HASN'T IT?!

HASN'T IT?!!!!!

You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Uh-shamed.

DEAR APRON:

My husband of almost a year and I have discovered a great technique to avoid screaming at each other in an argument. When we get aggravated with each other, one of us goes to the refrigerator, takes out one of our favorite candy bars (we keep a supply in there) and we split it. By the time we're done eating the candy, we can calmly discuss our disagreement.

This helps because we literally take a break from the situation and share a mutual joy. It works because we both love chocolate so much. We wanted to share this solution with your readers. -- SWEET TOOTH IN ANGLETON, TEXAS

DEAR SWEET TOOTH:

This is brilliant! And coincidental. See, my wife and I have been doing this for years-- but with heroin. It works because we both love heroin so much.

DEAR APRON:

My husband is gentle, romantic, strong, kind and considerate. He's the "perfect 10." The problem is, I think he has an "afternoon delight."

He's home every night and tells me every day that he loves me. We have been married many years. We're young at heart, but not so young in years. I'm not asking for advice, because leaving him is not an option. The signs have been there, and I have proof. Our home life is good.

I just want to understand why this has been going on. Do some men need more than just marriage? -- FOR BETTER OR WORSE, TRENTON, N.J.

DEAR FOR BETTER OR FOR CHLAMYDIA:

Do some men need more than just marriage? Yes. Some men need to insert their penises into the mouths, vaginas, eye-sockets, and/or anuses of other women. Sometimes, even that may not suffice, and they turn to men or expertly-crafted stuffed animals sold at high end toy stores. Be careful around the platypus!

Marriage is a complicated thing, dearie. It takes a lot to keep that train a'chugging along, as Thomas the Tank Engine would tell you, in that creepy, vaguely sadistic voice of his. It's hurtful, though, to think that, while you're at home doing laundry, that your husband is at some cheesy-assed motel, doing his secretary. It doesn't have to be that way, I don't think. Have you and your husband tried sharing heroin?

DEAR APRON:

It has been a long time since I've told a man I'm interested in him or that I really like him. What advice could you give me to keep me from feeling like an idiot and saying the wrong thing? He's a special guy and I don't want to screw this up. -- NERVOUS IN READING, PA.

DEAR NERVOUS:

As a man, I can tell you that being told I have a big dick is a disarming and easy way to gain a smile from me, even though it isn't true. Especially because it isn't true! All guys like to be complimented on the length, width, girth, height, and volume of their genitals, even if you've never seen them-- it doesn't matter. Play it casual, though, or he'll think it's a come-on. (Sorry.) Just sidle on up to him at a diner booth and say something like, "Hey, Sumo Cock, let's order some cheese fries" and he'll pretty much be your special guy forever.

Well, Excise My Bunion and Save Me a Funion, It's... DEAR APRON!

You ever think Dear Abby will get around to suing my balls off for ass-spraying all over her advice column the way I do each and every week? God, I hope not. I was only ever in court once, and it was to watch the proceedings, because my friend and I thought it would be fun. It wasn't. I don't think I'd be very much good at being sued. I'd probably cry, and nobody really needs to see that. But, you know what we do need to see? A whole hot k'noodling mess of...

DEAR APRON:

My boyfriend and I will be attending a milestone birthday party for a friend of his. The fiancee of the birthday guy stated on the invitation, "There will be a surprise during the evening." It has been suggested that a stripper "may" be the surprise.

Apron, I realize this might be OK for some people and it's just for fun, but I'd be uncomfortable if this happens. My boyfriend knows my feelings, but I don't know if we would risk being ridiculed if we left the party. What should I do if I find myself in this situation? -- HATE TO BE A PARTY-POOPER

DEAR PARTY-POOPER:

Oh my God-- they still haven't told you that you're the stripper yet? Wow. That's just all kinds of awkward, isn't it? I mean... I knew.

Well, it's a little late, but I think you could still have enough time to adequately prepare yourself for the gig. Remember, D.I.Y. tassels can easily be constructed out of two Band-Aids and some paper-clips hooked together. You're going to want to do a Brazillian, too-- trust me on that, so make your appointment now. As this is a "milestone birthday," requests for lapdances would not be unreasonable and ought to be adhered to promptly. You will also be expected to tongue the birthday boy's asshole, while your boyfriend holds your hair back and the members of the live band take turns jacking off onto your back.

DEAR APRON:

When someone has a serious illness or major surgery, everyone thinks to bring food, which is lovely. But I have a better idea.

When my friend, who has a young family, was diagnosed with breast cancer, I offered to do her laundry. Her recovery was slow, and the chemo and radiation therapies endless. Three years later, we're nearing the end of a short and brave life, and I still do their laundry every week. It has been a help to her, and I have grown closer to her and her family. When she's gone, I will never again do a load of wash without thinking of her.

Perhaps your readers can help another family this way. -- THE LAUNDRY FAIRY, ROCHESTER, MINN.

DEAR LAUNDRY FAIRY:

That's a truly excellent suggestion. Who cares if you're lying on your couch, your chest burned from radiation, your energy completely sapped so that you can't even think straight enough to boil a pot of water for macaroni and cheese? At least you'll have clean undershirts for the week-- not that you can move over to your dresser to access them. You may not have meals prepared for you for the daunting weeks ahead, but at least you'll be able to eat your clean socks. Thanks, Laundry Fairy! You're the best!

DEAR APRON:

I'm a senior in high school and about to graduate. The week after graduation, one of my close friends is getting married. I have no qualms about the marriage, but I'm confused about the pre-wedding parties.

The bride and groom are registered at three stores and have had a Tupperware party already. However, I have received an invitation to a lingerie party to which guests have been instructed to bring the bride lingerie with gift receipts attached.

Am I wrong in thinking that buying intimate apparel is the responsibility of the couple? I plan to buy them a wedding gift from the registry, but I feel odd being asked to essentially contribute to their sex life. Apron, if I decline the invitation, what would be the proper way to do it? -- BRINGING A BLENDER IN MONTANA

DEAR BRINGING A BLENDER:

Okay, stop the show.

What the fuck is going on here? This letter wasn't written by a senior in high school, it reads like it was written by a goddamned senior citizen.

*** "I have no qualms about the marriage." High school seniors (in Montana, no less) do not use the word "qualms". Sorry.

*** "The bride and groom... have had a Tupperware party already." WHAT?! What high school senior who isn't Napolean Dynamite has friends that have Tupperware parties in the year 2011?

*** "Am I wrong in thinking that buying intimate apparel is the responsibility of the couple?"

INTIMATE APPAREL???!!!!!! WHAT?!!!!

Maybe I'm just a sugar-sack full of paranoia, but this letter stinks to high heaven to me. It's fucking putrid, in fact. Either some high school chick's grandma wrote this thing or someone is totally having me on. And, in either case, I'm not dignifying this crazy shit with a response beyond this.

Intimate apparel. Jesus!

Well, Grip my Dick and Make it Thick; It's... DEAR APRON!

My eldest sister pronounces "espresso" "ex-presso," and, while I try not to let things like that bother me too much, I'll admit that it makes me sad. But not half as sad as the sad-sack, pony-asses whose lives are far too meandering and complex to navigate without the sticky, prickly, pot-bellied, obtusely-angled, Jew-infused advice of a hard-lucka mothafucka we've all come to accept and tolerate known as...

DEAR APRON:

My wealthy brother-in-law and his entire family didn't give my daughter a graduation gift. And even though they attended my son's wedding, none of them gave him a wedding gift, either.

We have attended the graduations and weddings of all their children and have been generous. We know the right thing is to say nothing, but it's hard to understand and remain quiet. What do you think? -- GIFTLESS FAMILY IN GRAND RAPIDS

DEAR GIFTLESS FAMILY:

One thing is for certain-- you are absolutely, unquestionably correct that "the right thing is to say nothing." I don't know where you picked up that particular nugget of etiquette, but this prescribed silence will serve you exquisitely well when you mete out your revenge.

Do you lift your eyebrows in surprise? Oh, come now-- don't be coy. We all know that silence is the perfect decoy-- without it, with an audible, vocal complaint or gripe, your smoking jacket-wearing brother-in-law will undoubtedly suspect that something's up and he will be awaiting your counterstrike. But, if you play it cool and just keep on keepin' on, being careful to make no waves, air no grievance, when the time is ripe for your tactical maneuver, he will have no idea what hit him. It is absolutely critical that you remain mum about these continued slights and nurse your wounds quietly, and in the height of privacy.

The poisoning of his terriers (strychnine secreted in their water bowls is one way to go) and the eventual firebombing of his McMansion will never be able to be traced back to you, because you will have left no paper-trail, no complaining voicemail messages, no passive-aggressive Post-It notes complaining about gifts unreceived and financial inequities or petty jealousies inherent in your relationship. The police will suspect some crazy ex-lover of his, or a random act of sociopathic violence.

And that's good. Oh.... it's so good....

So, shhhhh.... Shhh..... There's a good boy. Shh... Stay very... very..... quiet.

DEAR APRON:

My 17-year-old daughter, "Kelly," tried to commit suicide. She was admitted to a hospital and started on an antidepressant. Last night, when I was walking across the parking lot to the ward, I met her psychiatrist. When I asked how Kelly was doing, he said she's agitated, not sleeping and he was starting her on medication that night.

When he mentioned the dose, I told him my daughter had been given half that amount previously and didn't wake up for 24 hours. I said I thought he should give her less or change the medication. He said he'd change it, went back inside and I followed.

I'm glad I ran into him, but now I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't. What are the rules about medication being given to adolescents? Aren't the parents supposed to give consent? What can I do to prevent this from happening again? -- VIGILANT MOM IN COLORADO

DEAR MEDDLESOME MOM:

How dare you?

How DARE you?!

Do you not understand what you have done? You have crossed a medical professional-- someone who has been granted the privilege of walking around wearing a white lab coat. Someone with M.D. after his fucking name. I just... I can't believe you. You have the unmitigated temerity, the gall, really, to tell a doctor what he should be doing with your own daughter?

I. am. outraged.

I'm just out of rage. Actually, not quite. There's still some rage left in there. And I'm glad, because you're going to get the remainder, sista.

Clearly, you were not raised in a Jewish home because, if you were, you would have been taught from a very early, pre-literate age that doctors are essentially the Messiah and are to be treated with respect. They are the supreme authority figure on this earth, and if you're saying to yourself, "Well, wait, what about rabbis?" I'm going to tell you that, compared to doctors, rabbis ain't shit. Okay? Nothing. Oh, look, they can open and close the ark and take the torah out.

Big fucking deal, man. Big fucking deal. A doctor can cut your goddamned head open, dig around in there, and then close it up AND he can open the ark and take the fucking torah out as long as he's had his fucking bar mitzvah.

And here you are, some mom jeans-wearing peroxide case just strolling up to a doctor in a parking lot (where his Mercedes is resting, protected in an invincibility shield manufactured by God himself) and you start mouthing off like you're Andrew Dice Clay?

No wonder your daughter hates her life.

DEAR APRON:

My mother-in-law, "Kay" -- who is in her 50s -- dresses like she's in her teens or 20s. Don't get me wrong, she looks great. She exercises several hours a day to keep in shape and follows a strict diet.

Kay wears spaghetti-strap shirts and short skirts in the summer, and bikinis to sunbathe. I understand that she wants to show off her body, but is there a way to direct her to more age-appropriate clothing? Or am I in the wrong here? -- PRIM AND PROPER IN OKLAHOMA

DEAR PRIM AND PROPER:

First of all-- is Kay a doctor? Because, if she is, she can dress however the fuck she wants, and you'd better not say anything to her about it, especially in a parking lot.

In the case that Kay isn't a doctor, the next time she shows up for an outing with you wearing a tank top and short shorts, just throw up on her dimpled, leathery-assed tits. That should get the message across.

DEAR APRON:

I have several old Bibles that are literally falling apart. What's the proper way of disposing of Bibles? It seems wrong to just throw them in the trash or burn them. -- ROBERT IN COLUMBUS, OHIO

DEAR ROBERT:

Robert, Robert, Robert. Are you new to the game, man? Are you some kind of rookie, is that it? You're supposed to come up with a clever pseudonym when writing lame-ass advice letters-- it's one of the few things most of these readers have to look forward to in their dusty, meaningless lives. Something like "Bible Bound in Columbus, Ohio" or "Good Book Gone in Columbus, Ohio" or something gay like that. But you didn't put any effort into your pen name, or your letter for that matter, at all, did you?

Did you?

Anyway, Robert, I'm sorry to have to inform you that the proper way to respectfully dispose of several old bibles is to eat them. Then, after digestion, which may take a while, you are to excrete the biblical leavings into as many glass bottles as it takes, toss them in the Atlantic Ocean and hope they make it to some far-flung African nation where the religious fecal matter will be examined by Christian missionaries and spread on the faces of sleeping African children while they sleep so that they may be converted more efficiently.

I hope you're glad you asked. I certainly am.

Well, Give Me a Pill and Climb Up Solsbury Hill, It's... DEAR APRON!

Whoa. It came to me in a dream. Or a flash. Or a dreamy flasher told it to me. I don't remember. I don't do drugs, but I behave like someone who does way more than his fair share.

Anyway-- I've been doing this Dear Apron shit all wrong this whole time. I've been posting them on Fridays, typically, or on weekend days. When, really, if we're honest with each other (and I know we are, because it's love) nobody reads this mouthfuck on Fridays or the weekends. And nobody really needs their spirits/skirts lifted by some sardonic, mock advice column on such days either, because it's Friday or it's the weekend.

You need this shit on Mondays. Because, anything to keep us from inserting broken glass into our uvulas on a Monday can only be a positive.

Right?

Right.

So, with that, I give you my soul. I give you my virginity. I give you a butter-dish made of green-tinted, Depression-era glassware. I give you...

DEAR APRON:

I am a 25-year-old man. I have been in a two-year relationship with the most beautiful woman I have ever met. "Amanda" is 23, and she has just told me she plans on joining the Navy.

I respect her decision and courage to better her life and future career. However, my feelings are deeply hurt. I don't understand how, after all this time, she could change course and put our relationship on the back burner.

Amanda says she wants us to stay together and promises that everything will be all right. I love her with all my heart. Do you think after four years in the Navy our love will be as strong? At our age, is it worth keeping ourselves exclusive to each other? -- IN SHOCK IN CALIFORNIA

DEAR IN SHOCK:

I noticed, because I am nothing if not clever and a noticer of things that perhaps other people neglect to notice, that you described your girlfriend as "the most beautiful woman I have ever met." You said not one thing about her personality, the way she treats you, her way with animals and the poor and such, which leads me to believe that this two-year relationship of yours is mostly, if not completely, physical.

If that is indeed the case: be thankful that it has lasted even this long. Most relationships that are purely physical tend to peter out a damn sight quicker than that. Like my relationship with Jessica Alba, for instance. Didn't last anywhere near two years. And I've got the date on the restraining order to prove it.

Now, as for "Amanda's" decision to join the Navy. I can understand your reluctance to accept this little career switch of hers. You have some fears and reservations, and they are well-founded. Because I'll tell you, if she's even half as hot as you say she is, the Lance Corporals are totes going to be gang-banging her in the shower, and they aren't going to waste a whole lot of time doing it, either. That chick is going to be giving vacuum service to everyone with a pair of silver oak leaves on their epaulettes under the table in the officers' mess hall, I can tell you that right now.

Oh, and remember that whole scandal with Captain Owen Honors? "Chicks in the Shower"? Yeah. Join the Navy, Amanda. Have we got a career for you.

DEAR APRON:

I'm a 15-year-old girl who has never been popular with boys. It has always been something that has bothered me. The hardest part is watching my friends date while I have to stay home.

One way I was able to make myself feel better was by telling myself everything would change when high school started. By the end of our first week as freshmen, my friend "Lily" had a new boyfriend and I'm still alone. Her boyfriend actually joked that I should "play for the other team" because I have no chance of getting a guy. Needless to say, my friendship with Lily is over, but her boyfriend's comment is still sticking with me.

Apron, do I really have no chance with guys? Am I overreacting about not having a boyfriend? I feel I should have dated plenty by now. -- WAITING FOR THE FIRST KISS IN JERSEY

DEAR WAITING:

Aw, that was so sweet of your mom to write that letter for you. We all know that 15-year-old girls, however homely and sad-sack they are, do not really write letters to advice columnists. They write shitty poetry in Marble composition books, they snort their crazy brothers' Adderall, and they cut.

I don't think you need to start playing "for the other team," dear, because, if you're too ugly for a guy to tongue your asshole, what makes you think any self-respecting lesbian would want to do that to you either? That just doesn't make any sense. You can tell Lily's boyfriend I said that. He's basically a retard.

Have you ever given any consideration to joining the Navy?

DEAR APRON:

My friend says if it weren't for sex, you wouldn't have enough material to write your column. I disagree, and have told him that you could still do your columns.

What say you? -- TOM AND JERRY IN CINCINNATI

DEAR TOM & JERRY:

What do I say? God. A lot, I guess. I don't even know where to begin.

I guess I'll start by saying that I've never been written to by anyone as famous as Tom & Jerry, and I am sufficiently humbled. Which one of you is the dog again?

You write that your "friend" says that, if it weren't for sex, I wouldn't have enough material to write my column. Who is your "friend"? It's funny, but, when I think of Tom & Jerry, I don't think of them as having friends. You know? It's like, you're contained in your own little world, with really just the two of you. It's like-- do Bert and Ernie have "friends"? What about Moe, Larry, and Curly? They can't possibly have "friends", as in people they go antiquing or to Starbucks with, right? They are their own little friend compendium. No outsiders. You're never going to walk past an outdoor café and see John, Garfield, Odie, and... Mark. Right? Like, who the fuck is Mark? It just doesn't make any sense.

And, whoever this friend is who said that about my column, well, s/he's right. It's all about sex. Especially reverse-cowgirl style. God, that's so fucking hot.

Well, Pull Out the Couch and Let Me Grouch; It's... DEAR APRON!

To be honest with you, I'm really not in the mood to write a Dear Apron column today. It's rainy out-- I'm in a dark, brooding, pensive mood, and I was just informed that the repairs to my smashed-into car are going to cost $1,782.90, and I have a $1,000 deductible. I'd much rather sit here and write a venting, smokestack of a post where I pop my top and then descend into some self-indulgent mastur-piece where I lick my own wounds and you playing the part of the befuddled disaffected voyeur.

But, since my therapist helped me realize this morning that I don't blog for my own pleasure anyway, I thought-- well, fuck, why not just keep 'em smiling with another titty-twisting edition of...

DEAR APRON:

My elderly father has been a widower for many years. His neighbor, also his age, recently lost her husband, and they have been spending a lot of time together. He takes her shopping, she cooks for him, etc. My concern is twofold: One, this woman is not in good health, and I can't bear to see Dad heartbroken again when she dies. My second concern is the woman and her husband never even invited Dad over for a cup of coffee after Mom died, but now that she's a widow, she all of a sudden wants to be "neighborly." I'd like to ask her why. Would I be out of line? -- LOOKING OUT FOR MY DAD

DEAR LOOKING OUT:

No, you're not out-of-line. Dredging up old pain and hurt for no reason other than to stick an intrusive finger inside a rotten, stinking, putrid wound that has just begun to heal is, and always has been, the cornerstone of appropriate, adult behavior.

I find it humorous that you automatically assume that this crinkly old biddie is going to die before your father is. "I can't bear to see Dad heartbroken again when she dies."

When? What have you got up your sleeve there, Nurse Ratched? A nice, tidy, chemically-undetectable present for your leathery little Oedipal challenger? A little potassium chloride mayhaps?

Mm-HMM!

Fess up: you're totally going to ice this moth-ball bitch, aren't you? You're a terrible person-- though I would have had appreciably more respect for you had you just admitted it in your letter, rather than have me exhaust my energy exposing you as the thoroughly jealous and twisted psychotic that you clearly are.

Let that be a lesson to the rest of you fuckers: out with it. I only have very limited emotional resources for dealing with you Tootsie Rolls.

DEAR APRON:

A member of my gym brings her newborn in with her every morning. She sets the carrier down next to her treadmill, puts in her earplugs and runs. The baby usually cries on and off, but today he cried nonstop during my entire 20-minute workout. It drove me crazy.

I'm a mom, too. A crying baby, especially a newborn, is heartbreaking. This woman never stops to see why her little one is crying or to console him. This situation doesn't seem to bother the other gym members. Should I talk to her and risk a hostile response, or speak to the gym manager? -- HEAVY-HEARTED GYM BUNNY IN RIVERVIEW, FLA.

DEAR HEAVY-HEARTED GYM BUNNY:

I'm sorry-- what the fuck is a "gym bunny"?

I've heard of a "gym buddy" (i.e., someone with whom you go to the gym with frequently, and sporadically have sex with in the bathroom afterwards) but I have yet to hear of a "gym bunny."

Allow me, please, a moment to consult the Googs.

Hmm. Interesting. Thank you, Urban Dictionary.

GYM BUNNY

1.) A gay man who spends an obsessive amount of time in the gym working on sculpting his body -- not for health reasons -- only to show it off in a club or on the beach.

Now, you say that you're "a mom, too" so that one probably doesn't apply to you. Let's see... how about this one:

2.) A female with more tits than knowledge about exercise, who wears the most expensive gear out there, and only goes to the gym to "do abs" and cardio.

Is that you, G.B.? Do you have "more tits than knowledge about exercise"? If so, then what's your problem? You're only at the gym to show off your $48.00 "I LOVE PINK" ass-pants anyway. If the goddamn noise of some other teat-suckler crying bothers you so much, tell your cheating husband to buy you a goddamn treadmill and stay the hell home with your own whiny baby.

DEAR APRON:

My husband and I were taught differently regarding how to serve ourselves a meal. Typically, we each "plate up" a desired amount of food in the kitchen, where it is prepared, rather than bring serving dishes to the table. Then we carry our plates to the table to eat.

Should my husband serve himself first (as I was taught the cook/hostess is served last), or should I go first (as he was taught women precede men)? -- DINERS' DILEMMA

DEAR DINERS' DILEMMA:

Frankly, I'm thinking murder-suicide here. But who will shoot whom first? Maybe you should let him kill you, as your husband was taught that women precede men.

Well, Cum in a Cup and Don't Give Up, It's... DEAR APRON!

After all this infertility and familial distress and best friend longing crap, you might be beginning to think that this blog is being written by a tortured English undergrad with a mousy brown ponytail.

Just to make sure that you are keenly aware that this is emphatically not the case, I thought we'd pull down the trousers around here, lift up our aprons, and drill the world in its bum with a little, healthy, sardonic dose of...

DEAR APRON:

I'm a 21-year-old male who feels lost and unfulfilled, and it's because I don't know what I want or deserve. I am one of three adopted children. I was the child who always needed the family support system the most. I come from a not-so-happy family, one with all its priorities centered around money. (Or, more accurately, lack of money.) I never felt the love a child should feel from his family.
My problem these days is my alcohol intake. I can't stay away from beer. I drink to forget my family problems and the fact that I can't seem to get anything right.

I dropped out of college because I don't have a passion for anything or anyone. I used to have hobbies -- like writing, photography, etc. -- but the beer has taken away my motivation and creativity.

I feel I'm losing my will to keep trying. I want so badly to keep trying, but my emotions are keeping me down. I just want something new, something I can give my all to, something that won't hurt me in the future. -- WHAT CAN I DO?

DEAR WHAT CAN I DO?:

"Beer has taken away my motivation and creativity" you say? The hell I say. Beer doesn't do that. As far as I know, and I admit that I'm not an expert, all beer does is:

make dumb shit sound funny

make you really have to pee

make passable-looking girls appear hot

make you drunk

Remember: only you can take away your own motivation and creativity. Jesus-- just think of all the writers, musicians, poets, CBS Evening News journalists, wits, and Eastern European monarchs who did some of their best and brightest work while intoxicated.

Now, about this problem you're currently having, or whatever it is, I think the problem is obvious: you're gay. Try having sex with a guy-- that should take care of everything.

DEAR APRON:

When one person owes another person an apology, does it count as a legitimate apology if the word "but" is tacked on at the end? I think adding "but" takes away from the admission of fault and places the blame back on the person owed the apology. Am I right? -- WAITING FOR AN APOLOGY

DEAR WAITING FOR AN APOLOGY:

You sound like someone who's going to be waiting a very long time for that apology you're seeking. Just sayin'.

You're right, though, hon-- "I'm sorry, but..." is not a true apology. Neither is an apology said through clenched teeth, during an eye-roll, offered whilst riding nude on the back of a horse covered in Lite Kraft Ranch salad dressing, said on Skype, Facebook, or any message received on a handheld device, offered through an intermediary or an attorney, written in crayon on construction paper (I don't care if you're a fucking 2nd grader-- buy a goddamn fountain pen and some 20lb weight stationery and grow up already) or said whilst on a "death bed" and/or Craftmatic Adjustable Bed.

But...

DEAR APRON:

My sister and I want a dog, but our mother won't let us have one. When we asked her why not, she said, "Because dogs poop, pee, get things dirty and bark."

We told her, "We will train it, feed it, clean up after it. We'll even pay for it." We really would, but she still says, "NO!"

What should we do to convince our mom to let us get a dog? -- SON AND DAUGHTER IN ALBUQUERQUE

DEAR SON & DAUGHTER IN I CAN'T SPELL ALBAKERKEE BUT I THINK JESSICA ALBA IS HOT:

I love it when kids write in to adivce columns. Like, how do they ever even get the idea to do that? It would be like if a coworker in his late twenties one day randomly sent you a telegram or something.

Like-- what the fuck, right?

Anyway, kids, it sounds, from the dialogue that you have quoted, that your mother is a woman of relatively simple logic, and I'm not sure that a particularly complicated, well-thought-out, rational approach would work with a woman like this. What I would suggest doing is this:

One day, while mom is at work, you and your sister go into the living room and poop and pee and roll around on the carpet in muddy clothes. When mom gets home and starts flipping out at you two, you guys just sit in the middle of the poop and pee and dirt and start barking at her for ten minutes straight. Then, help her clean up the living room. Once the living room is all clean, she'll see that a little poop, pee, dirt, and barking isn't really such a big deal.

You'll have a little Bingo of your own in no time.

DEAR APRON:

I have 10-year-old twin boys. "Frank" is popular with the boys in his class, while "Jake" has only one close friend, "Tommy." When Frank is invited to parties, sleepovers, movies, swimming and play dates, Jake is left out and never invited. Tommy is a great kid, but comes from a family that isn't very social. We invite Tommy to our home, but Jake isn't invited back.

I feel terrible when I see how sad Jake is when his brother is constantly going off to do fun things and he's left at home. We try to keep Jake busy with enjoyable activities when this happens, but it's not the same.

While Frank has a right to have his own friends, sometimes I feel I should say something to the parents about how much their leaving Jake out is hurting his feelings and self-confidence. -- HEARTBROKEN MOM IN MISSOURI

DEAR HEARTBROKEN MOM:

God-- what is with all the simpleton mothers out there today? What-- did the mean ol' beer take away all your creativity, too?

When Frank is invited somewhere, every once in a while, just send Jake instead and tell him to pretend he's Frank. It's like sending in the pinch hitter or the 2nd string QB. Is it deceptive? Sure, but it's better than Jake spending his high school years hanging out by the Circle-K wearing black clothes, eyeliner and writing shitty poetry that nobody wants to hear.