http://www.slate.com/id/2223833/ (orig. 7/30/09) <---Original Prudie Questions Can Be Found There
Good Morning Shippers! What a fine, fine Prudie Day it is. Were it not for the FBI agents who came to speak to me yesterday, this would be the most wonderful week in recent memory (more on that after the letters), but, it seems that some of you have been being cheeky monkeys and gambling on the results of these letters! Listen shippers, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times; Prudie Day is for entertainment purposes only. Gambling on the results of these letters is strictly forbidden! It’s punishable by up to 3 lashes, or, in extreme cases (like Pete Rose), a keelhauling. And none of us wants that. So, that little bit of business out of the way, on to the letters!
LW#1: I’m black. My kids are tweens. Either these two factors have everything to do with my letter, or they have nothing to do with it. I can’t decide which. Anyway, I went to a BBQ at a friend’s house. She’s white. Her kids are tweens. Her husband, though, is a big ol’ Bubba Cop with a bunch of Bubba Cop friends and he greeted my request of where to place the beer I’d brought with a response of “up your big black ass, monkey boy!” Okay, it wasn’t that bad. He did say “Up your ass!”, though. My question is, I feel his remark was racist and bad for my kids, who didn’t actually hear it, but whom I wanted to mention because it makes his words seem worse. What should I do? Okay, I was a little glib with the summary of this letter because, 1) I’m a bastard, but, 2) because you seem to be combining a lot of issues that aren’t pertinent. If you feel his motivation in saying “up your ass” was racist, I can understand that. Only you can decide how you took the comment and I will never challenge your take on it because your reaction is yours and, as such, legitimate within the situation. Hell, there you were, the lone black guy in a sea of white cops. I’d have felt intimidated, even if they were nice to me! And I’m white! That said, the real shame here is that this guy might very well have been trying to bend over backwards to include you in the same banter he engages in with all of his friends? Who knows? And with racial tensions lurking under the surface a lot of times, it’s hard to know who’s a friend and who’s a foe--on both sides of this divide. I agree with Prudie, though. If you must bring it up to your coworker (and you do have that right), bring it up to her in a way that doesn’t include race, or even your kids, because, by your account, they didn’t hear it. Rather, just report the facts. And, too, I suggest that you consider that your considerable (and understandable) discomfort at being surrounded by a bunch of white cops may have skewed your take. He was nice the rest of the day, yes?
LW#2: My fiancé’s mom has lied to my fiancé for years about who his biological dad is. She’s given him so many excuses over the years, it sounds like she used to treat her private parts like a clown car. This is a tough subject for my fiancé because he wants to know who his biological dad really is. Recently, the mom, who I work with, has told me (in girly-girl double-super-secret confidence) how much her son, my betrothed, looks like his bio dad and all of the details about his dad. Should I break this trusted girl code and tell my love, or keep quiet and risk his distrust for having not told him? I’m so confused! Wowsers! This is exactly like what I figure plots for daytime soap operas are like (are they?). Look, I don’t know this crazy future mother-in-law of yours, but I’m telling you right now that you need to drop her like a hot potato. And then use a fire extinguisher on her. First of all, she may have been lying to your fiancé, sure. That’s entirely possible. But it sounds equally possible that she’s lying to you, just to test you. To see if you’ll tell him! Then, she’ll stand on her previous story to him and call you a liar! Either way, she’s a crazy head case and you need to protect yourself from her. Tell your fiancé, and then, back away from the crazy woman. As Prudie suggests, don’t engage in her gossipy talk anymore. Trust me, in the long run, this is only going to get uglier if you don’t disengage from this nut job and fast.
LW#3: My sister confided in me that her boyfriend got jealous and looked in her phone records and then got into a screaming match with her in a public place. I was justifiably upset and offered support and love and all sorts of other sisterly concern. But then my sister got back with this guy because “if he’s jealous, he surely must love me”. WTF?! And my family is okay with her decision! I can’t believe they’ve done this to me! What have I done to deserve this? Why have I been so forsaken? Oh. Kay. Sweetie, you need a perspective adjustment. And in a hurry. Sure, this guy did your sister wrong. And sure, she’ll end up dropping him and calling him names and going around telling anyone who’ll listen what a bastard he is. And sure, you’ll have been right all along. There. Happy now? But, your sister and your parents have done nothing to you. This is called young adult romance and it plays out this way until the saner person in the relationship (in this case, your sister), ends up having had enough and dumping the guy. It’s part of growing up. Your job, as big sister, is to offer support and love and be there for her and even point out to her that she’s making a mistake--when asked. But it’s not your place to be personally insulted and feel as if your family has chosen the boyfriend over you should your sister choose to not heed your well-intentioned warnings. Let me guess, this isn’t the first time your family has done you wrong is it? Those bastards! They probably love her better. And, let me guess, other people are often doing you wrong, too, aren’t they? The librarian? The clerk at the 7-11? That cop who stopped you for barely speeding? Notice the commonality in there? It’s you. That’s what you really need to work on.
LW#4: I’m married to the world’s most amazing man. He’s practically perfect in every way. As a matter of fact, I can’t get over how perfect he is. My problem? He’s not perfect enough. While he is a great dad and husband and person, he doesn’t write me love letters or send me flowers anymore (wasn’t that a sappy 70s song?). I want that romance back. What should I do? Okay, first I’m going to rip into you because, holy shit, welcome to the adult world, chicky doodle. But then, I’ll admit that I understand that it sucks when things dull over time and it is a bummer. And finally, I’ll point out that it’s a two way street while ripping into you again. Ready? Okay.
First up, grow up! If you want something and aren’t getting it, ask for it! Jesus! How hard is that? Why is it that society makes us think that if we have to ask a spouse for something that it is somehow less valuable because we asked? Our spouses can’t read our minds, regardless of what the romance novels tell us. Grow up! Jeez. Second, yes, it sucks that this has happened. Now, refer back to my first point and ask you husband for the things you’re missing. Recognize that he’s way busier now than he was and allow him slack. Third, do you do the things you used to do for your hubby when you two were newlyweds? Do you spontaneously go down in the car on the way home like you used to? Do you initiate sex as much as he does, wanting it in every room of the house, even upside down and sideways? Or, are you one of those, if-he’s-my-soul-mate-then-he’ll-magically-know-and-anticipate-my-every-romantic-need-regardless-of-how-I-treat-him kind of chicks? Remember when I said ‘grow up’ earlier? Grow up!
****
Okay shippers, that’s another week down. I mentioned last week that I’d seen a sunrise more beautiful than any I’d ever seen? As I’ve continued work in the lagoon this week, I’ve watched the sun rise completely over the blue water. It was more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen. It has affected my very soul. This place, this lagoon, is so beautiful and so perfect that I don’t ever want to leave it. Sometimes, even wandering submariners want to dock the boat. Until next week shippers, fair winds and following seas...
Thursday, October 15, 2009
...on Gay Health Club Hubby
http://www.slate.com/id/2223374/ (orig. 7/23/09) <---Original Prudie Questions Can Be Found There
Greetings shippers, and good day to you! I hope the week’s treated you well and that you’re all feeling shipshape on this fine, fine Prudie morning (which, as you know, is Friday Eve, and reason enough right there to celebrate). On first read, the letters this week are a bit too serious and real for my taste, which means I can’t be quite as submariner-y as I’d like, but, we’ll see how it goes. However, before getting to the letters, I’d like to send a special thanks to MLibbyDP for reasons that don’t need to be discussed here, but that are quite deserving of my personal, sincere gratitude. There’s a tour of the boat, three-hour Tiger cruise and an “Honorary Submariner” certificate with a picture of the boat signed by the captain waiting for you, MLibbyDP, should you desire any/all of them. ;-) That said, without further ado, the letters:
LW#1: Prudie, I’ve been married for 30 years and I thought it was a “happy”, “truly loving” relationship. However, it turns out that my husband is a gay, lying masturbator who is clearly incapable of love or happiness or any feeling deeper than what today’s gay lies will allow him to do tonight with some gay man at the gay health club he goes to, where he meets other gay men for what must clearly be gay sexual encounters. Our marriage and all of that love that I say I experienced was all a big gay lie, Prudie! All of the wonderfulness that I felt was imagined, obviously, seeing as he’s gay, and we all know that those people are only about gay sex up the butt with other gays as they can’t think of or do anything else, and now I’m at a loss for what to do? And Prudie, I’m not a man and don’t really like it in the caboose anyway and since gay sex is clearly the only way to make him happy (because that’s all the gays think about, Prudie--you know, gay sex), I’m at my wit’s end. Wow, okay, so, either you really were in a loving relationship with a man who might have been getting some ass on the side (gender of said ass should be entirely irrelevant), or, you are absolutely clueless about how things have been for the last 30 years. I’m not sure which it is, and, frankly, I don’t much care (I’ve been accused of being a misanthrope, though, so, don’t mind my apathy regarding this subject), but, you shouldn’t change your perspective on the last 30 years and how you’ve experienced them (in other words, your happiness) just because you suspect your husband prefers sausage for breakfast. Your husband’s gayness (or gay curiousness, or bisexuality) is irrelevant to what you should do. And that is, simply, what anyone should do if they think their spouse is cheating and/or lying to them. Talk it out and determine if you can trust them again and if you can and want to move forward. If so, try. If you can’t, leave.
LW#2: Prudie, I am a dipshit who doesn’t know how to address adult situations. My wife and our friends appear to be right on par with my level of dumb-assed fucktardedness, because, when faced with a friend who clearly didn’t know she was experiencing bleeding/spotting, we decided among ourselves that her “behavior [was] not acceptable.” I mean, who bleeds all over the house and doesn’t even offer to clean it up? Certainly not me! So, question is, to pay her back for her inconsiderate nature, may I go to her house and put poop in a bag, light said bag on fire by her front door, ring the doorbell, and then leave? Listen here you fucking social misfit, ballcheese-smelling-like, socially inept, dumbassed, snobby, effete, mental giant. I can’t even imagine how horrified this woman was when she discovered she’d been bleeding all over your house. But that’s nothing compared with how she must have felt seeing you and your friends look down your noses at her the rest of the weekend, you shit-stained judgmental mother fucker! Jesus Christ, I do hope you never invite her back. You don’t deserve to have people over. Or even to have friends. And that dumbass subtle thing Prudie suggested?! What?! Just very quietly say to her, without making a federal case out of it, “Jill, you’re bleeding.” Wow, tough, eh? Holy shit! Ever imagine that there are just all sorts of reasons she might not have noticed?! The list is too long to even address here. And you’re a dumbass.
LW#3: I cut and burned myself a lot when I was younger, mainly on my arms and thighs. It left scars. Now, when people see the scars they ask about them. I can’t seem to get them to just leave well enough alone when I answer that I’d rather not talk about it. Many people then “give me weird looks and avoid me.” What should I do? There’s a trend arising here around each week’s LW#3. I may have to just stop answering the third letter, because, here’s another very real problem and one that I don’t envy you for, LW#3. Ultimately, I hope that you can get to a place where you realize that anyone who gives you weird looks and avoids you isn’t worth your time, anyway. Seriously. They’re not! Just see that social retard, LW#2. Believe me, after I kicked that idiot squarely in the nuts, I wouldn’t think twice about him ever again. At all. I hope you get to that point, sans the nut kicking (because, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t actually kick him, either. I just say I would so that I can look all big and tough.). Prudie’s advice is right on target and her suggested responses are perfect. My apologies for not being more snarky to you. You deserve better. :-)
LW#4: My 18-year-old son had a smoking hot, freaking awesome girlfriend! I say “18-year-old son” because, even though I very purposefully didn’t mention the girl’s age, I don’t want you to suspect that I’m a pervert, you know, or to suspect that I might be checking out a minor girl’s smoking hot, tight, firm, agile, nimble, alert, limber, responsive, supple body... I wouldn’t do that! Honest! And I never masturbate, Prudie, ever! But, my problem is that, even now, after my idiot son allowed this relationship to go sour, thereby depriving me of the opportunity to live vicariously through him in between his girlfriend’s legs, I’ve been following her on Twitter. Is that wrong of me to do? Dude, I know that you’re kicking yourself for not installing video monitoring equipment in your son’s bedroom for use when the former girlfriend was around, particularly when changing to go swimming. I realize this letter could have been written from prison had that been the case, so, I give you points for that amount of control. Look, if she’s tweeting, you can read her tweets. But, you’d better be damned sure you recognize why your reading them. And trust me, it ain’t out of fatherly concern about how this girl is doing. Once you figure out the why (and you already know the why), you’ve got to figure out what to do about it. Are you willing to end your marriage to go find some new young hotty to replace your wife with? You willing to throw away the whole thing over lost youth? Really? Or, is it deeper than lost youth, and this girl is just a proxy for all that you feel you’ve lost because you’re actually in a bad relationship, and pretty much always have been? Or something in between? Only you can figure out what’s really going on and where to go next. However, before you make that decision, check out “American Beauty” and see if you can’t relate to Kevin Spacey. It may help.
****
Okay, shippers, that’s it for me. The boat’s been moored in a gorgeous lagoon this week, working on all manner of issues and greatly enjoying the view. Oh, wow, the view has actually been breathtaking. I’ve looked up at sunset and each night seen silky smooth, absolutely perfect wonder above the hem of the ocean and sky this week...(sigh)
Greetings shippers, and good day to you! I hope the week’s treated you well and that you’re all feeling shipshape on this fine, fine Prudie morning (which, as you know, is Friday Eve, and reason enough right there to celebrate). On first read, the letters this week are a bit too serious and real for my taste, which means I can’t be quite as submariner-y as I’d like, but, we’ll see how it goes. However, before getting to the letters, I’d like to send a special thanks to MLibbyDP for reasons that don’t need to be discussed here, but that are quite deserving of my personal, sincere gratitude. There’s a tour of the boat, three-hour Tiger cruise and an “Honorary Submariner” certificate with a picture of the boat signed by the captain waiting for you, MLibbyDP, should you desire any/all of them. ;-) That said, without further ado, the letters:
LW#1: Prudie, I’ve been married for 30 years and I thought it was a “happy”, “truly loving” relationship. However, it turns out that my husband is a gay, lying masturbator who is clearly incapable of love or happiness or any feeling deeper than what today’s gay lies will allow him to do tonight with some gay man at the gay health club he goes to, where he meets other gay men for what must clearly be gay sexual encounters. Our marriage and all of that love that I say I experienced was all a big gay lie, Prudie! All of the wonderfulness that I felt was imagined, obviously, seeing as he’s gay, and we all know that those people are only about gay sex up the butt with other gays as they can’t think of or do anything else, and now I’m at a loss for what to do? And Prudie, I’m not a man and don’t really like it in the caboose anyway and since gay sex is clearly the only way to make him happy (because that’s all the gays think about, Prudie--you know, gay sex), I’m at my wit’s end. Wow, okay, so, either you really were in a loving relationship with a man who might have been getting some ass on the side (gender of said ass should be entirely irrelevant), or, you are absolutely clueless about how things have been for the last 30 years. I’m not sure which it is, and, frankly, I don’t much care (I’ve been accused of being a misanthrope, though, so, don’t mind my apathy regarding this subject), but, you shouldn’t change your perspective on the last 30 years and how you’ve experienced them (in other words, your happiness) just because you suspect your husband prefers sausage for breakfast. Your husband’s gayness (or gay curiousness, or bisexuality) is irrelevant to what you should do. And that is, simply, what anyone should do if they think their spouse is cheating and/or lying to them. Talk it out and determine if you can trust them again and if you can and want to move forward. If so, try. If you can’t, leave.
LW#2: Prudie, I am a dipshit who doesn’t know how to address adult situations. My wife and our friends appear to be right on par with my level of dumb-assed fucktardedness, because, when faced with a friend who clearly didn’t know she was experiencing bleeding/spotting, we decided among ourselves that her “behavior [was] not acceptable.” I mean, who bleeds all over the house and doesn’t even offer to clean it up? Certainly not me! So, question is, to pay her back for her inconsiderate nature, may I go to her house and put poop in a bag, light said bag on fire by her front door, ring the doorbell, and then leave? Listen here you fucking social misfit, ballcheese-smelling-like, socially inept, dumbassed, snobby, effete, mental giant. I can’t even imagine how horrified this woman was when she discovered she’d been bleeding all over your house. But that’s nothing compared with how she must have felt seeing you and your friends look down your noses at her the rest of the weekend, you shit-stained judgmental mother fucker! Jesus Christ, I do hope you never invite her back. You don’t deserve to have people over. Or even to have friends. And that dumbass subtle thing Prudie suggested?! What?! Just very quietly say to her, without making a federal case out of it, “Jill, you’re bleeding.” Wow, tough, eh? Holy shit! Ever imagine that there are just all sorts of reasons she might not have noticed?! The list is too long to even address here. And you’re a dumbass.
LW#3: I cut and burned myself a lot when I was younger, mainly on my arms and thighs. It left scars. Now, when people see the scars they ask about them. I can’t seem to get them to just leave well enough alone when I answer that I’d rather not talk about it. Many people then “give me weird looks and avoid me.” What should I do? There’s a trend arising here around each week’s LW#3. I may have to just stop answering the third letter, because, here’s another very real problem and one that I don’t envy you for, LW#3. Ultimately, I hope that you can get to a place where you realize that anyone who gives you weird looks and avoids you isn’t worth your time, anyway. Seriously. They’re not! Just see that social retard, LW#2. Believe me, after I kicked that idiot squarely in the nuts, I wouldn’t think twice about him ever again. At all. I hope you get to that point, sans the nut kicking (because, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t actually kick him, either. I just say I would so that I can look all big and tough.). Prudie’s advice is right on target and her suggested responses are perfect. My apologies for not being more snarky to you. You deserve better. :-)
LW#4: My 18-year-old son had a smoking hot, freaking awesome girlfriend! I say “18-year-old son” because, even though I very purposefully didn’t mention the girl’s age, I don’t want you to suspect that I’m a pervert, you know, or to suspect that I might be checking out a minor girl’s smoking hot, tight, firm, agile, nimble, alert, limber, responsive, supple body... I wouldn’t do that! Honest! And I never masturbate, Prudie, ever! But, my problem is that, even now, after my idiot son allowed this relationship to go sour, thereby depriving me of the opportunity to live vicariously through him in between his girlfriend’s legs, I’ve been following her on Twitter. Is that wrong of me to do? Dude, I know that you’re kicking yourself for not installing video monitoring equipment in your son’s bedroom for use when the former girlfriend was around, particularly when changing to go swimming. I realize this letter could have been written from prison had that been the case, so, I give you points for that amount of control. Look, if she’s tweeting, you can read her tweets. But, you’d better be damned sure you recognize why your reading them. And trust me, it ain’t out of fatherly concern about how this girl is doing. Once you figure out the why (and you already know the why), you’ve got to figure out what to do about it. Are you willing to end your marriage to go find some new young hotty to replace your wife with? You willing to throw away the whole thing over lost youth? Really? Or, is it deeper than lost youth, and this girl is just a proxy for all that you feel you’ve lost because you’re actually in a bad relationship, and pretty much always have been? Or something in between? Only you can figure out what’s really going on and where to go next. However, before you make that decision, check out “American Beauty” and see if you can’t relate to Kevin Spacey. It may help.
****
Okay, shippers, that’s it for me. The boat’s been moored in a gorgeous lagoon this week, working on all manner of issues and greatly enjoying the view. Oh, wow, the view has actually been breathtaking. I’ve looked up at sunset and each night seen silky smooth, absolutely perfect wonder above the hem of the ocean and sky this week...(sigh)
...on SILs Miscarriage v. My Pregnancy
http://www.slate.com/id/2222828/ (orig. 7/16/09) <---Original Prudie Questions Can Be Found There
Mornin’ shippers. Is it a good mornin’? No. It may have been, but then these letters... Holy shit, this is so not a day to be shooting water slugs. No, I’m not talking about friendly, slow-moving underwater snails. Let me briefly explain. On submarines, as practice, we fill an empty torpedo tube with water, go through all of the motions necessary to fire a torpedo (station tracking, open outer doors, pressurize, yaddah-yaddah), and then “fire” the water slug. It’s harmless, but keeps us well-practiced and sharp should we ever need to target the real deal. Well shippers, today’s letters deserve a full complement of MK48, wire-guided, blow your shit completely out of the water real-deal torpedoes. And I’m just the happy bastard to let ‘em rip...
LW#1: Me and my husband are completely fucking batshit crazy. Honestly (just ask SmagBoy1, he’ll tell you). Yet, we want to procreate, even though that means we will likely produce batshit crazy offspring. But that’s not even why I’m writing! My sister-in-law (that sorry bitch) recently had the gall to, a) get pregnant before me and my husband, and then, b) miscarry her baby, thereby preventing us from pursuing starting our own brood. I’m beside myself with the crazies. What should I do, Prudie? Okay, so, let me get this straight, you completely batshit crazy wench (and I call you that, knowing full well that I’m going to have to top it for LW#4, so don’t feel like you’re craziest person there is, but, you are pretty damned nuts), “...we were a little dismayed when my sister-in-law announced her pregnancy. I think we always assumed we'd have the first baby. We quickly got used to the idea, though, and were heartbroken for them when we learned about the miscarriage.” You were dismayed? You assumed you’d be the first?! You do know this works, right? The man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina and moves it fore and aft... Listen, it ain’t rocket science, sister! Then, you “quickly got used to the idea”? So, what, for awhile there you were plotting how you might cause her to miscarry (or just murder her altogether)?! But then got used to the fact that you won’t be first? Seriously?
Listen, here’s my advice. Get sterilized. Seriously. I mean it. You really are a completely batshit crazy wench and there are people out there who really shouldn’t be having kids. You and hubby are two of them. Consider it a favor to the rest of us. If you think I’m lying, simply ask yourself what in the entire fucking world the timing of your getting/being pregnant has to do with your sister’s miscarriage, in any way, shape or form. If you spend more than two seconds on mulling that over, or if your answer involves the words “baby showers” or “attention”, just make the hysterectomy appointment. Today. And a vasectomy appointment for hubby, too. We don’t want to take any chances.
LW#2: My buddy is getting married soon. He lives far away and it was a struggle for me to buy a plane ticket, but, considering what incredibly good friends we are, once he told me the date of the wedding, I did just that, pretty much breaking my wallet in the process. Now he tells me that I’m not invited because the bride wouldn’t budge on her guest list and apparently me and my plane ticket aren’t welcome at their soirée. What should I do? Last week, I spent too much effort trying to tie into my answers the phrase “grow a set of balls” or something similar. For you, I resurrect that mantra. Grow a set and tell your friend to piss off. Don’t be all namby pamby, just say, “Dude, you invited me, I bought tickets, now you uninvited me? Fuck off and die!” If you can’t get a refund for the tickets, fly out there anyway, rent a room you can afford, and enjoy the vacation. Take lots of photos. Who knows, you might get lucky and join the mile-high club or meet someone there. Don’t go near the wedding or the reception, etc., though. No need in engaging in that drama. Don’t even tell them you’re going.
And dude, this “really good friend” of yours? You might want to analyze that relationship. He doesn’t feel the same about it as you do. Clearly. Although, it’s interesting to me that you even expected a formal invitation? Was there something in the back of your mind, wondering if you’d really, truly been invited? If so, and I’m guessing it is so, since you even asked your buddy where your formal invitation was, you probably shouldn’t have bought those tickets in the first place. Just sayin’.
LW#3: My best friend is the most wonderful person in the world. I love her so much. Yaddah-yaddah. Yet, amazingly, after those first two sentences, I must share with you that she’s a controlling crazy woman to her sweet child and it’s bordering on abuse. What should I do? Okay, here’s another actual real concern in a letter. And you guys know that I hate to answer these. Why even send them in? Oh well. Listen, friends sometimes have to make tough choices. Here’s where you have to. You’ve got to tell your friend what you’re seeing. But, before you do, write down her behaviors that concern you, and the behaviors/reactions of her son that concern you. Make sure that you’re not exaggerating or projecting by looking at the list after you’ve not seen her for a few hours or days to ensure what you’ve written seems legitimate in the cold, analytical light of a few day’s distance. Can you enlist anyone else (your husband, boyfriend, other trusted friend) who knows her to review the list with you? That’s touchy, and I trust you won’t show it to anyone you can’t implicitly trust. Once verified, speak with her as Prudie says, using the list to keep you on track. Do not back down. If she leaves, send her the list. You may lose a friend (and be prepared to), but, you may help her child. And, too, know that kids can survive all sorts of horrors, so, even if you fail in rehabilitating your friend, her kiddo may still be fine. Let’s all hope so. All you can do is what you can do. Good luck.
LW#4: I’m a nitwit, bird-brained, sheepish lemming among sheepish lemmings, going along with the punishing of my grandfather for an indiscretion that had absolutely nothing to do with me whatsoever (or anyone in my family, actually, except my deceased grandmother who stayed with my grandfather, even though we idiot fucktard sheep-lemmings can’t seem to muster the same level of forgiveness, as if we somehow have a right to even judge). Wait, what was my dumbassed, stupid, arrogant, shitty, idiotic question again? Okay you fucking shit stain, get this straight. You have absolutely no right, whatsoever, to judge your grandfather. For anything. What happened between him and your grandma was their issue. Between them. It’s over. They moved on. Before you were born, even, you ass munch. After your grandmother’s death, your grand pop waited four years and then married someone. You say that if it wasn’t this woman you’d “possibly understand”? What?! You’d possibly understand what?! That your grandfather, a widower, got remarried?! You insolent little prick! How dare you! Holy shit, I can’t go on. Seriously, this guy/gal (and his entire family) takes the cake. Please, as I implored of LW#1, get sterilized. Please. I beg it of you. These kind of idiot genes need to be eliminated from the gene pool and contribution to that effort will be appreciated by all who will continue the species. Seriously. If not for us, for the children.
****
Okay shippers, that’s it for another week. Here’s hoping fair winds and following seas for ya! And, just know this, in the end, if you’ve ever been in the conning tower of a nearly 600 foot submarine, running on the surface in the South Pacific, with porpoises darting around in your forward wake, the sun setting to starboard and sweet breeze whipping up off the ocean and filling you full of life and mystery and thoughts of mermaids and white whales, this stuff won’t really bother you. Not really, because you’ll know it’ll be okay. I promise. :-)
Mornin’ shippers. Is it a good mornin’? No. It may have been, but then these letters... Holy shit, this is so not a day to be shooting water slugs. No, I’m not talking about friendly, slow-moving underwater snails. Let me briefly explain. On submarines, as practice, we fill an empty torpedo tube with water, go through all of the motions necessary to fire a torpedo (station tracking, open outer doors, pressurize, yaddah-yaddah), and then “fire” the water slug. It’s harmless, but keeps us well-practiced and sharp should we ever need to target the real deal. Well shippers, today’s letters deserve a full complement of MK48, wire-guided, blow your shit completely out of the water real-deal torpedoes. And I’m just the happy bastard to let ‘em rip...
LW#1: Me and my husband are completely fucking batshit crazy. Honestly (just ask SmagBoy1, he’ll tell you). Yet, we want to procreate, even though that means we will likely produce batshit crazy offspring. But that’s not even why I’m writing! My sister-in-law (that sorry bitch) recently had the gall to, a) get pregnant before me and my husband, and then, b) miscarry her baby, thereby preventing us from pursuing starting our own brood. I’m beside myself with the crazies. What should I do, Prudie? Okay, so, let me get this straight, you completely batshit crazy wench (and I call you that, knowing full well that I’m going to have to top it for LW#4, so don’t feel like you’re craziest person there is, but, you are pretty damned nuts), “...we were a little dismayed when my sister-in-law announced her pregnancy. I think we always assumed we'd have the first baby. We quickly got used to the idea, though, and were heartbroken for them when we learned about the miscarriage.” You were dismayed? You assumed you’d be the first?! You do know this works, right? The man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina and moves it fore and aft... Listen, it ain’t rocket science, sister! Then, you “quickly got used to the idea”? So, what, for awhile there you were plotting how you might cause her to miscarry (or just murder her altogether)?! But then got used to the fact that you won’t be first? Seriously?
Listen, here’s my advice. Get sterilized. Seriously. I mean it. You really are a completely batshit crazy wench and there are people out there who really shouldn’t be having kids. You and hubby are two of them. Consider it a favor to the rest of us. If you think I’m lying, simply ask yourself what in the entire fucking world the timing of your getting/being pregnant has to do with your sister’s miscarriage, in any way, shape or form. If you spend more than two seconds on mulling that over, or if your answer involves the words “baby showers” or “attention”, just make the hysterectomy appointment. Today. And a vasectomy appointment for hubby, too. We don’t want to take any chances.
LW#2: My buddy is getting married soon. He lives far away and it was a struggle for me to buy a plane ticket, but, considering what incredibly good friends we are, once he told me the date of the wedding, I did just that, pretty much breaking my wallet in the process. Now he tells me that I’m not invited because the bride wouldn’t budge on her guest list and apparently me and my plane ticket aren’t welcome at their soirée. What should I do? Last week, I spent too much effort trying to tie into my answers the phrase “grow a set of balls” or something similar. For you, I resurrect that mantra. Grow a set and tell your friend to piss off. Don’t be all namby pamby, just say, “Dude, you invited me, I bought tickets, now you uninvited me? Fuck off and die!” If you can’t get a refund for the tickets, fly out there anyway, rent a room you can afford, and enjoy the vacation. Take lots of photos. Who knows, you might get lucky and join the mile-high club or meet someone there. Don’t go near the wedding or the reception, etc., though. No need in engaging in that drama. Don’t even tell them you’re going.
And dude, this “really good friend” of yours? You might want to analyze that relationship. He doesn’t feel the same about it as you do. Clearly. Although, it’s interesting to me that you even expected a formal invitation? Was there something in the back of your mind, wondering if you’d really, truly been invited? If so, and I’m guessing it is so, since you even asked your buddy where your formal invitation was, you probably shouldn’t have bought those tickets in the first place. Just sayin’.
LW#3: My best friend is the most wonderful person in the world. I love her so much. Yaddah-yaddah. Yet, amazingly, after those first two sentences, I must share with you that she’s a controlling crazy woman to her sweet child and it’s bordering on abuse. What should I do? Okay, here’s another actual real concern in a letter. And you guys know that I hate to answer these. Why even send them in? Oh well. Listen, friends sometimes have to make tough choices. Here’s where you have to. You’ve got to tell your friend what you’re seeing. But, before you do, write down her behaviors that concern you, and the behaviors/reactions of her son that concern you. Make sure that you’re not exaggerating or projecting by looking at the list after you’ve not seen her for a few hours or days to ensure what you’ve written seems legitimate in the cold, analytical light of a few day’s distance. Can you enlist anyone else (your husband, boyfriend, other trusted friend) who knows her to review the list with you? That’s touchy, and I trust you won’t show it to anyone you can’t implicitly trust. Once verified, speak with her as Prudie says, using the list to keep you on track. Do not back down. If she leaves, send her the list. You may lose a friend (and be prepared to), but, you may help her child. And, too, know that kids can survive all sorts of horrors, so, even if you fail in rehabilitating your friend, her kiddo may still be fine. Let’s all hope so. All you can do is what you can do. Good luck.
LW#4: I’m a nitwit, bird-brained, sheepish lemming among sheepish lemmings, going along with the punishing of my grandfather for an indiscretion that had absolutely nothing to do with me whatsoever (or anyone in my family, actually, except my deceased grandmother who stayed with my grandfather, even though we idiot fucktard sheep-lemmings can’t seem to muster the same level of forgiveness, as if we somehow have a right to even judge). Wait, what was my dumbassed, stupid, arrogant, shitty, idiotic question again? Okay you fucking shit stain, get this straight. You have absolutely no right, whatsoever, to judge your grandfather. For anything. What happened between him and your grandma was their issue. Between them. It’s over. They moved on. Before you were born, even, you ass munch. After your grandmother’s death, your grand pop waited four years and then married someone. You say that if it wasn’t this woman you’d “possibly understand”? What?! You’d possibly understand what?! That your grandfather, a widower, got remarried?! You insolent little prick! How dare you! Holy shit, I can’t go on. Seriously, this guy/gal (and his entire family) takes the cake. Please, as I implored of LW#1, get sterilized. Please. I beg it of you. These kind of idiot genes need to be eliminated from the gene pool and contribution to that effort will be appreciated by all who will continue the species. Seriously. If not for us, for the children.
****
Okay shippers, that’s it for another week. Here’s hoping fair winds and following seas for ya! And, just know this, in the end, if you’ve ever been in the conning tower of a nearly 600 foot submarine, running on the surface in the South Pacific, with porpoises darting around in your forward wake, the sun setting to starboard and sweet breeze whipping up off the ocean and filling you full of life and mystery and thoughts of mermaids and white whales, this stuff won’t really bother you. Not really, because you’ll know it’ll be okay. I promise. :-)
...on Lying About College
http://www.slate.com/id/2222399/ (orig. 7/9/09) <---Original Prudie Questions Can Be Foud There
Ahoy! And happy Prudie Day to you, shippers! What a fine, fine Prudie Day it is, too! I can always tell when we’re getting into summer because seawater injection temperature (at least on the surface, where one must go to answer Prudie letters) gets a bit warmer, the holidays get farther apart, and the letters start to rile me more and more. Today was a pleasant exception to all, though, as it’s been unseasonably cool in these waters, we just passed the July 4th holiday, and the letters this week were actually pretty okay... So, without further ado...
LW#1: I lied to my girlfriend four years ago about my education, claiming I’d graduated from a prestigious engineering school. Worse still, that lie, as lies are prone to do, has snowballed to where now I’ve told her friends the same untruth. We’re talking marriage (me and my girlfriend, not me and her friends), and I’m feeling guiltier than ever about this fib. What should I do? Okay, first off, Prudie’s advice is fine. You do have to tell your girlfriend, and you need to do it now. Don’t hem and haw, just grow a set of balls and tell her. Explain why you did it, how horrible it’s made you feel, and tell her that you hope she understands. She might. Hopefully she will. She might not, and that’s just life. Regardless, it’ll be off your chest. Too, while you’re doing that, you need to get over your fascination with education and status. Yes, a degree(s) is a great thing to have, and I’m not knocking it. But it ain’t the end all, beat all of existence. You seem to hold education as significantly more important than actual knowledge and even seem to give it some sort of mystical status (I understand snotty hiring officials act this way, but you don’t have to). Get over that sort of elitist thinking. And go back to school, too, and actually graduate this time. Why not? You can go part time, yes? And don’t hold out for a “prestigious” school. Just go to an accredited school with good instructors and actually learn something.
Finally, when you admit your wild history of lies, your girlfriend may want to tell you a thing or two that she’s been keeping hidden (maybe). If she does, you’d better as hell be just as understanding and gracious and supportive as you hope she’ll be with you. However, if she mentions some wild, sweaty, hot and heavy flings with a submariner during times when you were out of town, I advise you to take that story with a grain of salt. She’s likely claiming that just to hurt you...
LW#2: My husband works in an office with a bunch of ex-military guys. I’ll call them “alpha males” in order to show off my pop psychology knowledge and my ex-military guy ignorance. They pick on him mercilessly about his very nice, pretty clothes (which are designer, by the way, and which take me quite awhile to pick out and match for him daily!) and my husband’s boss won’t do anything about this mean-boy behavior. What should I, er, I meant, he do about it? Okay, here’s something that I have a little bit of knowledge about. Trust me. ;-) First off, the military has a looooong tradition of highly valuing quick, zingy repartee as a badge of honor. The quickest and the best at it are admired. The worst are not shunned, necessarily, but they sometimes feel as if they are. In a military environment, how well one performs their job is far more valuable than anything else. How one dresses? Not so much. How one handles verbal jabs, though? Well, that says something about a person’s character (in this environment, anyway), whether fair or not. Prudie’s suggested homoerotic comeback was okay for a newbie, but it sets one up for a nasty comeback from these guys. Instead, your husband needs to grow a set of balls and start with something just as elementary as Prudie’s, but much more personal and less vulnerable, like, “Well, Greg, your wife seems to really like my clothes. As much as she rubs herself on them (and me) as we’re getting undressed, I’d say she actually loves them. So, hate on ‘em all you want, bro, I don’t give a shit.” And then he should walk away. But until you relinquish his balls, he’ll never be able to do that, so...
And, in the end, you should know that these guys are just having fun. Your husband works with them. He can join in on the fun or not. But, and I know this might sound like a crazed, nutty idea from some idiot who has no clue about this culture, you could go buy him some nice business clothes that actually fit in at a military/government work environment (remember the blue, gray, and brown colors you mentioned)?! I know, freaking radical idea, eh? Holy shit! Do you think pink is not going to be picked on in that type of environment? He works for the freakin’ military industrial complex, lady! Even, “subtle stripes” in pink are still pink, right? Are you really that fashion-conscious and yet that working environment stupid?
LW#3: I have two daughters and the younger of them has been diagnosed as autistic. My mother-in-law has since shunned her and only wants to spend time with the older one. I’m beside myself with anger at this boorish attitude. What should I do? As you may or may not know, I don’t like to answer real problems because I can’t be a smart ass. This letter deserves a real answer, so I’ll stick with Prudie on it. I think her advice is sound. Especially the part about having a private, come to Jesus, talk with MIL--one that that neither of your daughters should be privy to, but that should involve a healthy dose of your husband chastising his mom. If I say any more, I’ll be calling the MIL really nasty names, and I promised last week not to do that again, so...
LW#4: I’m in a great relationship with a woman I’ve known for years. It’s a respectful, kind and emotionally-fulfilling relationship. She has children from a previous marriage and they’re wonderful, too! The problem? I don’t love her. She loves me, god does she love me, because, I am, after all, the bee’s knees, but I don’t love her. I’m afraid her kids love me, too, and, while they’re okay, I don’t want to hurt them and I don’t really love them, either, because, well, there’s not nearly enough drama going on. What should I do? Okay, I’m going to have to take a wild guess here about what’s up because your head is so far up your ass that you can’t see the forest for the shit. Every major check mark for “love” is present here save one. She’s ugly, isn’t she? I’m talking blind date “oh she has a great personality” ugly. You find this woman to be a dog. A true dog. You’re repulsed by her, right? Embarrassed to be seen in public with her? Every time you’re out (if you even go out of the house with her), you’re afraid your friends will see the two of you and you’ll have to claim later that she suffered a terrible, disfiguring accident and that you were only out with her to help her reacclimate to society?
Here’s my advice. Run. Fast. Get far, far away from these excellent people. You don’t deserve them. Whatever your issues are, don’t inflict them on these people. I’m glad that you at least know enough to ask if you should stick around. Now, take heed of that little voice in your head and hit the road. Don’t damage this family any more. And dude, this next part is vitally important: after you break up with her and then find out that she’s seeing someone else and you amazingly realize how attractive she actually is, just walk away. Just because you’re a mess and don’t realize something wonderful when it’s put in your lap doesn’t mean that you have to subject others to your unfortunate affliction. Seriously.
****
And that, shippers, is that. I wish for you all smooth sailing and calm seas...
Ahoy! And happy Prudie Day to you, shippers! What a fine, fine Prudie Day it is, too! I can always tell when we’re getting into summer because seawater injection temperature (at least on the surface, where one must go to answer Prudie letters) gets a bit warmer, the holidays get farther apart, and the letters start to rile me more and more. Today was a pleasant exception to all, though, as it’s been unseasonably cool in these waters, we just passed the July 4th holiday, and the letters this week were actually pretty okay... So, without further ado...
LW#1: I lied to my girlfriend four years ago about my education, claiming I’d graduated from a prestigious engineering school. Worse still, that lie, as lies are prone to do, has snowballed to where now I’ve told her friends the same untruth. We’re talking marriage (me and my girlfriend, not me and her friends), and I’m feeling guiltier than ever about this fib. What should I do? Okay, first off, Prudie’s advice is fine. You do have to tell your girlfriend, and you need to do it now. Don’t hem and haw, just grow a set of balls and tell her. Explain why you did it, how horrible it’s made you feel, and tell her that you hope she understands. She might. Hopefully she will. She might not, and that’s just life. Regardless, it’ll be off your chest. Too, while you’re doing that, you need to get over your fascination with education and status. Yes, a degree(s) is a great thing to have, and I’m not knocking it. But it ain’t the end all, beat all of existence. You seem to hold education as significantly more important than actual knowledge and even seem to give it some sort of mystical status (I understand snotty hiring officials act this way, but you don’t have to). Get over that sort of elitist thinking. And go back to school, too, and actually graduate this time. Why not? You can go part time, yes? And don’t hold out for a “prestigious” school. Just go to an accredited school with good instructors and actually learn something.
Finally, when you admit your wild history of lies, your girlfriend may want to tell you a thing or two that she’s been keeping hidden (maybe). If she does, you’d better as hell be just as understanding and gracious and supportive as you hope she’ll be with you. However, if she mentions some wild, sweaty, hot and heavy flings with a submariner during times when you were out of town, I advise you to take that story with a grain of salt. She’s likely claiming that just to hurt you...
LW#2: My husband works in an office with a bunch of ex-military guys. I’ll call them “alpha males” in order to show off my pop psychology knowledge and my ex-military guy ignorance. They pick on him mercilessly about his very nice, pretty clothes (which are designer, by the way, and which take me quite awhile to pick out and match for him daily!) and my husband’s boss won’t do anything about this mean-boy behavior. What should I, er, I meant, he do about it? Okay, here’s something that I have a little bit of knowledge about. Trust me. ;-) First off, the military has a looooong tradition of highly valuing quick, zingy repartee as a badge of honor. The quickest and the best at it are admired. The worst are not shunned, necessarily, but they sometimes feel as if they are. In a military environment, how well one performs their job is far more valuable than anything else. How one dresses? Not so much. How one handles verbal jabs, though? Well, that says something about a person’s character (in this environment, anyway), whether fair or not. Prudie’s suggested homoerotic comeback was okay for a newbie, but it sets one up for a nasty comeback from these guys. Instead, your husband needs to grow a set of balls and start with something just as elementary as Prudie’s, but much more personal and less vulnerable, like, “Well, Greg, your wife seems to really like my clothes. As much as she rubs herself on them (and me) as we’re getting undressed, I’d say she actually loves them. So, hate on ‘em all you want, bro, I don’t give a shit.” And then he should walk away. But until you relinquish his balls, he’ll never be able to do that, so...
And, in the end, you should know that these guys are just having fun. Your husband works with them. He can join in on the fun or not. But, and I know this might sound like a crazed, nutty idea from some idiot who has no clue about this culture, you could go buy him some nice business clothes that actually fit in at a military/government work environment (remember the blue, gray, and brown colors you mentioned)?! I know, freaking radical idea, eh? Holy shit! Do you think pink is not going to be picked on in that type of environment? He works for the freakin’ military industrial complex, lady! Even, “subtle stripes” in pink are still pink, right? Are you really that fashion-conscious and yet that working environment stupid?
LW#3: I have two daughters and the younger of them has been diagnosed as autistic. My mother-in-law has since shunned her and only wants to spend time with the older one. I’m beside myself with anger at this boorish attitude. What should I do? As you may or may not know, I don’t like to answer real problems because I can’t be a smart ass. This letter deserves a real answer, so I’ll stick with Prudie on it. I think her advice is sound. Especially the part about having a private, come to Jesus, talk with MIL--one that that neither of your daughters should be privy to, but that should involve a healthy dose of your husband chastising his mom. If I say any more, I’ll be calling the MIL really nasty names, and I promised last week not to do that again, so...
LW#4: I’m in a great relationship with a woman I’ve known for years. It’s a respectful, kind and emotionally-fulfilling relationship. She has children from a previous marriage and they’re wonderful, too! The problem? I don’t love her. She loves me, god does she love me, because, I am, after all, the bee’s knees, but I don’t love her. I’m afraid her kids love me, too, and, while they’re okay, I don’t want to hurt them and I don’t really love them, either, because, well, there’s not nearly enough drama going on. What should I do? Okay, I’m going to have to take a wild guess here about what’s up because your head is so far up your ass that you can’t see the forest for the shit. Every major check mark for “love” is present here save one. She’s ugly, isn’t she? I’m talking blind date “oh she has a great personality” ugly. You find this woman to be a dog. A true dog. You’re repulsed by her, right? Embarrassed to be seen in public with her? Every time you’re out (if you even go out of the house with her), you’re afraid your friends will see the two of you and you’ll have to claim later that she suffered a terrible, disfiguring accident and that you were only out with her to help her reacclimate to society?
Here’s my advice. Run. Fast. Get far, far away from these excellent people. You don’t deserve them. Whatever your issues are, don’t inflict them on these people. I’m glad that you at least know enough to ask if you should stick around. Now, take heed of that little voice in your head and hit the road. Don’t damage this family any more. And dude, this next part is vitally important: after you break up with her and then find out that she’s seeing someone else and you amazingly realize how attractive she actually is, just walk away. Just because you’re a mess and don’t realize something wonderful when it’s put in your lap doesn’t mean that you have to subject others to your unfortunate affliction. Seriously.
****
And that, shippers, is that. I wish for you all smooth sailing and calm seas...
...on Dinners w/ Former Lovers
http://www.slate.com/id/2222012/ (orig. 7/2/09) <---Original Prudie Questions Can Be Found There
Good morning Shippers! How the heck are you this fine, fine Prudie Day?! I was doing just peachy today until I read one of these letters, almost causing my head to explode right here in front of my computer (more on that particular letter in a minute). Don’t worry, though, I’ll get over it. To be honest, I sort of expected 4th of July-themed letters today--you know, ones with concerned parents talking about drunken adults playing with fireworks around their kids, etc. You know, normal 4th of July stuff. :-) Regardless, these letters will do, so, here we go…
LW#1: A friend of mine from another country is coming to the US to work for a few months. When I was in his country, where we first met, he helped me immeasurably to navigate the culture and even some of the ins and outs of his country. I would like to return the favor (sans the ins and outs), but my fiancée is being a flaming, fucktard, shithead asshole douche bag about it, and has actually threatened to contact his old girlfriends if I even see my friend!?! Yes, very adult of him. For some totally fucking unknown reason, I’m completely confused as to what to do. Can you help? (Interestingly, this isn’t even the letter that got me pissed off).
Okay, chicky-doodle, here’s what you do. Stand facing your fiancée. Got that? Okay, hold up your hand, fingers extended, palm facing you. Now, this next part is tricky, so be careful not to hurt yourself. Fold in all of your fingers toward your palm, save the middle one. Leave it extended high and proud for several seconds. Then, remove your engagement ring, spit on it, or, if you’re willing, rub some shit on it, and then drop it on the floor. Think I’m kidding? Okay, fine, have a shitty marriage, but, don’t say that I didn’t warn you. However, to make things 100% clear as you do seem to be a bit slow, your fiancée is a controlling asshole of the Hallmark Movie of the Week caliber, wherein an abused woman finally snaps and kills the bastard or dies due a beating she took from him while he was in a jealous rage. Don’t be that woman.
LW#2: My 13-year-old daughter and her friends recently had a party that excluded a girl who’d, up until recently, been part of their group. They didn’t invite the now-ostracized girl, and even went so far as to make sure she was humiliated about it. I’m heartbroken that my daughter is participating in this ‘mean girl’ mob mentality and I want to nip it in the bud right now. Further, the ostracized girl’s mom is a friend. What should I do?
First up, I’m thrilled that you are actually offended by your daughter’s behavior. You’d be surprised by how many parents are not. Seriously. :-( At any rate, you’ve got to tell her what you think she and her friends did wrong (try not to use the phrase “you’re all being little fucking, bratty-assed bitches”--you may want to take a qualude first to keep your cool because that kind of talk will only cause a sanctimonious crying jag and put you on the defensive--trust me on that, I have a teenage daughter myself). Then, ask her how she’d feel if the girls ostracized her (and don’t worry, they will at some point in the coming years). Anything else that you do is just going to fall on deaf ears, but, having a mother who actually points out these issues is hugely important and it will make an impression, even if it doesn’t show. Also, give her a copy of “The Hundred Dresses.” Ask her to read it. It’s short. Don’t worry if she doesn’t seem affected. She will be. And in the end, with a mother that actually gives two shits about how her daughter acts, she’s going to be fine.
(Believe it or not, that letter wasn’t the one that got me going, either…)
LW#3: My in-laws are rich. Way richer than me and my husband. I’m a money-grubbing, entitled, selfish, bitchy, fucking stain on the asshole of humanity who thinks that my in-laws ought to get off of some of that money, if, for nothing else, the act of spoiling my brat kids into little money-grubbing, entitled, selfish, bitchy stains on humanity. I mean, after all, they can afford it, right?
Listen here you horrible fucking bitch. That money they have? It’s theirs. Not yours. You don’t get to spend it for them or even suggest how they should spend it, you gaping, sucking chest wound. Ever wonder how they got that much money (and have managed to keep it in this economy)? Here’s a hint: it ain’t by spending it on a fucking bitch or her little shitty demon spawn. How in the hell your husband managed to keep it up long enough to make kids with you is amazing. Or was it him? Likely not. Probably some poor bastards that you paid to give you tennis lessons, or a manicure, or to clean your pool, you fucking succubus. (Woman, I don’t use the “c” word, but, if I did, you’d be a prime target--oh my god...).
LW#4: I’m a young public defender, so most of my cases are representing the indigent. Rude ass bastards (like that fucking bitch LW#3, and, LW#1’s husband) ask me all the time how I can represent these people, as if, somehow, the people I represent are less human or less worthy of defense than, say, the questioners themselves. This line of questioning is extremely offensive to me, and rude. What should I do?
With all of the resources available to us nowadays to help us learn and understand how and why our legal system is so skewed against the poor, if a person can’t have some compassion or at least understanding of the situation for those you represent, they are not worth your time. At all. I’d skip directly to Step 4 of Prudie’s advice. Walk away. Spend your time with good people. Real people. They are out there. Yes, admittedly, they may use the word “fuck” a lot, but they’re far better company than the assholes you seem to be hanging around in your off hours.
Well shippers, that’s it for another week. Smooth sailing to you all, and Happy 4th of July! Don’t get drunk and shoot fireworks at your neighbors' kids as we don’t want to be answering questions about you next time around. ;-)
Good morning Shippers! How the heck are you this fine, fine Prudie Day?! I was doing just peachy today until I read one of these letters, almost causing my head to explode right here in front of my computer (more on that particular letter in a minute). Don’t worry, though, I’ll get over it. To be honest, I sort of expected 4th of July-themed letters today--you know, ones with concerned parents talking about drunken adults playing with fireworks around their kids, etc. You know, normal 4th of July stuff. :-) Regardless, these letters will do, so, here we go…
LW#1: A friend of mine from another country is coming to the US to work for a few months. When I was in his country, where we first met, he helped me immeasurably to navigate the culture and even some of the ins and outs of his country. I would like to return the favor (sans the ins and outs), but my fiancée is being a flaming, fucktard, shithead asshole douche bag about it, and has actually threatened to contact his old girlfriends if I even see my friend!?! Yes, very adult of him. For some totally fucking unknown reason, I’m completely confused as to what to do. Can you help? (Interestingly, this isn’t even the letter that got me pissed off).
Okay, chicky-doodle, here’s what you do. Stand facing your fiancée. Got that? Okay, hold up your hand, fingers extended, palm facing you. Now, this next part is tricky, so be careful not to hurt yourself. Fold in all of your fingers toward your palm, save the middle one. Leave it extended high and proud for several seconds. Then, remove your engagement ring, spit on it, or, if you’re willing, rub some shit on it, and then drop it on the floor. Think I’m kidding? Okay, fine, have a shitty marriage, but, don’t say that I didn’t warn you. However, to make things 100% clear as you do seem to be a bit slow, your fiancée is a controlling asshole of the Hallmark Movie of the Week caliber, wherein an abused woman finally snaps and kills the bastard or dies due a beating she took from him while he was in a jealous rage. Don’t be that woman.
LW#2: My 13-year-old daughter and her friends recently had a party that excluded a girl who’d, up until recently, been part of their group. They didn’t invite the now-ostracized girl, and even went so far as to make sure she was humiliated about it. I’m heartbroken that my daughter is participating in this ‘mean girl’ mob mentality and I want to nip it in the bud right now. Further, the ostracized girl’s mom is a friend. What should I do?
First up, I’m thrilled that you are actually offended by your daughter’s behavior. You’d be surprised by how many parents are not. Seriously. :-( At any rate, you’ve got to tell her what you think she and her friends did wrong (try not to use the phrase “you’re all being little fucking, bratty-assed bitches”--you may want to take a qualude first to keep your cool because that kind of talk will only cause a sanctimonious crying jag and put you on the defensive--trust me on that, I have a teenage daughter myself). Then, ask her how she’d feel if the girls ostracized her (and don’t worry, they will at some point in the coming years). Anything else that you do is just going to fall on deaf ears, but, having a mother who actually points out these issues is hugely important and it will make an impression, even if it doesn’t show. Also, give her a copy of “The Hundred Dresses.” Ask her to read it. It’s short. Don’t worry if she doesn’t seem affected. She will be. And in the end, with a mother that actually gives two shits about how her daughter acts, she’s going to be fine.
(Believe it or not, that letter wasn’t the one that got me going, either…)
LW#3: My in-laws are rich. Way richer than me and my husband. I’m a money-grubbing, entitled, selfish, bitchy, fucking stain on the asshole of humanity who thinks that my in-laws ought to get off of some of that money, if, for nothing else, the act of spoiling my brat kids into little money-grubbing, entitled, selfish, bitchy stains on humanity. I mean, after all, they can afford it, right?
Listen here you horrible fucking bitch. That money they have? It’s theirs. Not yours. You don’t get to spend it for them or even suggest how they should spend it, you gaping, sucking chest wound. Ever wonder how they got that much money (and have managed to keep it in this economy)? Here’s a hint: it ain’t by spending it on a fucking bitch or her little shitty demon spawn. How in the hell your husband managed to keep it up long enough to make kids with you is amazing. Or was it him? Likely not. Probably some poor bastards that you paid to give you tennis lessons, or a manicure, or to clean your pool, you fucking succubus. (Woman, I don’t use the “c” word, but, if I did, you’d be a prime target--oh my god...).
LW#4: I’m a young public defender, so most of my cases are representing the indigent. Rude ass bastards (like that fucking bitch LW#3, and, LW#1’s husband) ask me all the time how I can represent these people, as if, somehow, the people I represent are less human or less worthy of defense than, say, the questioners themselves. This line of questioning is extremely offensive to me, and rude. What should I do?
With all of the resources available to us nowadays to help us learn and understand how and why our legal system is so skewed against the poor, if a person can’t have some compassion or at least understanding of the situation for those you represent, they are not worth your time. At all. I’d skip directly to Step 4 of Prudie’s advice. Walk away. Spend your time with good people. Real people. They are out there. Yes, admittedly, they may use the word “fuck” a lot, but they’re far better company than the assholes you seem to be hanging around in your off hours.
Well shippers, that’s it for another week. Smooth sailing to you all, and Happy 4th of July! Don’t get drunk and shoot fireworks at your neighbors' kids as we don’t want to be answering questions about you next time around. ;-)
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