...on Penthouse Forum Letters and Other Silliness

http://www.slate.com/id/2246592/  (03/04/2010) <---Original Prudie Letters Can Be Found There



Hey there, Shippers! How in the hell are ya today? It’s a fine, fine Prudie Day, to be sure, but I find myself in a most foul mood. Why? I’m not sure. Could be work and school combining to frazzle my brain and piss me off. Could just be the weather. Who knows? But, regardless, it’s okay because, right here before us, laid out like a buffet of melty Velveeta cheese on a mermaid’s titties (with nice crispy dippin’ chips and Cheetos on the side), are some Letter Writers so inane, so clueless, so in need of a beat down that I’m pretty sure it’s all going to be okay once we’re done. With that in mind, and because I can’t wait to get to the Velveeta, let’s get to these letters!

LW#1: Dear Prudie, I’m 38 and a widower of three years. Since my wife died, I’ve been all about my son and my job. Before that, I was all about my wife. See, I get really fixated on stuff and then focus my entire life on it, Prudie. So, after my wife (the focus of my life and apple of my eye at the time) died, I turned that life focus and ocular fruit analogies toward my son. And that’s been fine for three years, but, I’ve recently hired a 24 year old baby sitter and, like a scene straight out of Penthouse Forums, she wants me! She’s wants all of my 38-year-old manhood, Prudie! Hot damn! Jackpot! So now, naturally, I’m all fixated on her and she’s become the all-encompassing focus of my life (did I mention that I’ve been completely sexless for the last three years while focusing everything on my son and on my job?). However, she’s got a boyfriend and I don’t want to get in the way of that. Plus, if we hit it off, great, we can get married, but, if we don’t, and we break up, my son would lose a great babysitter! What should I do? Holy shit, I can’t even count the ways in which you’re fucking up because you’re doing it in so many directions and with such aplomb that it’s like you’re striving for a Ph.D. in Fuckedupedness here! First off, you need to slow the fuck down. You haven’t even had a date with this lady and you’re planning for either, a) marriage, or, b) an ugly breakup in which your son is going to suffer. How about, say, if you really like her and think she’s just amazing, that you tell her that you aren’t going to even think about dating anyone who’s with someone else, but, too, in the same breath, warn that even if she does break up with her boyfriend, the two of you might have a single date and decide things aren’t meant to be. My guess is that will happen right about the moment you want to discuss Lynyrd Skynyrd or Pink Floyd and she says, “Whoa! Your friends have such weird names!” Sure, you’ll still have sex that night, but will it be worth it? And even if it is worth it, you’ll still be out a baby sitter because you know you won’t be able to have a second date after that shit (okay, maybe you will, it has been a long time, but surely not a third). Truth is, Prudie’s right. Relax, slow down, put out the word amongst your friends that you’re now ready to start looking. Hell, you’ve already got a great baby sitter (whom you really should keep at arm’s length, by the way)! That’s Step One already solved. Then, go slow and actually date. And, don’t go proposing marriage to the first date you have after just one date, okay? I swear to God, if we get a letter that starts, “Dear Prudie, I’ve just come home from a fantastic first date and I was wondering what type of engagement ring to buy for when I pop the question on our next date...”, I’m going to kick you in the jimmy. Hard. Got it? Good.

LW#2: (Smag Note: normally I rewrite the letters for the LWs in order to demonstrate what I believe to be their true inner voice. For this letter, no such rewriting is necessary. At all. So, I’m simply going to attempt to peel away any tiny social grace the LW might have included, since the original letter is already very clear about the LW’s motivations and personality--a sterling example of someone who knows themselves and isn’t afraid to let their freak flag fly!) Dear Prudie, I’m a fucking ratty-assed, skanky, shitty, selfish, lowlife, conceited Bitch. I’m pregnant, and, as such, I don’t believe that anyone else should be allowed to be pregnant as that would steal the spotlight from me (this goes double for any marriages occurring within three months of any of my many eventual marriages, too, by the way). Since the world revolves around my vagina and me, anyone else daring to get pregnant when I am, even if I haven’t told anyone that I’m pregnant, is an affront to me, and I believe that those persons should be killed. Not tortured, killed. The worst offender of all would be if my MIL who, as you well know, Prudie, being over 25, has a dried up cooter box and is now only good for being a grandmother to my beautiful babies. Well, you guessed it, she has the gall to get knocked up, Prudie! At the same time as me! What do I say when my MIL steals my baby announcement spotlight by announcing that she, too, is pregnant? Well, since I’m pretty sure that she was thinking of you as she had sex and got pregnant, seeing as we all think of you, all the time, every moment of every day, you needn’t say a thing. She already knows how wonderful and incredible you are and upon hearing your good news she will likely spontaneously abort her fetus and not say a word, thus allowing you full spotlight time, or perhaps, if she’s extra strong and can prevent the abortion, she’ll later (after your time in the sun, and in front of no one else, lest it take attention away from you) suggest having her fetus transplanted into your superior womb to be raised as your child because she knows full well that she’s a dried up prune whose only worth in life is to serve you. So don’t worry. You’re fine, and your husband is the luckiest bastard in the entire world! No, really.

LW#3: Dear Prudie, one of my friends recently got a great job with a multinational company. The problem is that the company is located in an authoritarian country where the ruling family welcomes out-of-country talent because that arrangement creates wealth for the family (somehow) while preventing the empowerment of locals who would, once empowered, rise up and overthrow the ruling family and then install a beautiful democracy that would cause flowers to bloom and angels to sing in three part harmony. As such, I see my friend having taken this job as an impediment to democracy for millions of people and I now think of her as essentially in league with despots the world over. I'm thinking of dropping my friend because of her incredible evilness. Am I being too judgmental? To answer your question, no, you’re not. Actually, you’re being a fucking asshole prick of the 99th order (you would have made the 100th order, but, sadly for you, you seem to have a jealously thing for your friend, so I’m going to allow that that ugly emotion might be ever so slightly affecting your judgyness of your friend). But, as to what to do, you can drop her over this, which is fine, or don’t drop her. Simple. But if you pick the latter, then shut the fuck up over her job choice. Times are tough. She’s not doing shit to the people of that country. Further, living there and spending her money there might actually help the locals in some small way--at least there’s a chance. You, though? What are you doing for them? I can tell you this much, bitching and whining and moaning and groaning to your friend isn’t doing anything to help those people. Put that in your smug little asspipe and smoke on it for a while, you fucker. God damn, I hate judgmental pricks like you, sitting there on the same stool that you sit on every day, likely drinking high dollar coffee from a non-fair trade seller, judging your friend who’s actually out in the world doing something, because you read an article on-line about some company in some country and now think that you know all about the plight of the poor locals there. Why don’t you get off your ass and try to do some real good somewhere in the world, eh?

LW#4: Dear Prudie, I was born with six toes and six fingers on each foot and hand. Surgery at age one removed the extra appendages and other than fucking up my ability to reproduce without emotional heartache and spontaneously producing inane letters to the Internet Lady, I’m now fine. Before I get ready to settle down and have a family, though, I’m wondering when I should talk to my girlfriend about the fact that our future kids will likely be gigantic-headed mutant babies with fingers and toes sticking out all over the place, causing the medical staff and any other adults in the area to run in fear? Well, first off, did you read my advice to LW#1? Why don’t you slow the fuck down and find someone who’s actually ready to have kids with you. That’s always a good first step. Why don’t you then go on ahead and plan for children (I’m not saying you have to get married, but actually prepare yourselves financially and emotionally for parenthood). As you’re doing this, you know, figuring out all of that adult stuff that wise and prepared people do in order to become parents (some of us prior to actual pregnancy, some of us, much, much later, but it usually does work out, trust me), talk with your girlfriend about the fact that your kids will most likely require minor surgery after birth, and figure out what you’ll need to do financially and emotionally to deal with that fact. Holy fuck, man. I mean, if that’s the kind of shit bothering you about having kids, you either have no problems in your life--at all--or you haven’t thought very hard about this, because there’s just sooooooo much more to worry about than a minor physical anomaly. Slow down, Speed Racer, slow down.

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Well Shippers, that’s about it, I guess. Do you feel any better? I’m not sure if I do or not? I mean I vented some. And it was fun and all, but I wonder if I was heard? Should I write to Prudie to find out how I should feel about this? ;-) Nah! I’ll admit it, it was fun. :-) I hope you guys are having a great day and a great week and that all is going wonderfully well with you in your own Lagoon, and, too, when you’re here in Ours! Fair winds and following seas to you all, Shippers!