Sunday, December 11, 2005

Dear Kurtsy!

Advice columns are much too understanding and helpful. That's why I've started to answer people who write in to Dear Abby with the advice that I would like to see them given.

DEAR ABBY KURTSY: My father went to prison five years ago, and my mother has been taking care of my brother and sister. (I'm older and out of the house.)

What did your father go to prison for? Helping give birth to the biggest pussy on the planet? Pussy on pussy crime? (That means you and your mother's rotten vagina.)

I recently came across some shocking information. Mom has been going on dates with a clergy member who has been sending her text messages saying things like "I can't stop thinking about you," etc.

"Etc."? You can't lead off with some pansy-ass half-come on like "I can't stop thinking about you," and then say "etc." I mean, I've texted the same thing to my toilet when I'm at school and I really have to take a dump (because I can't take a dump at school because somebody I know will hear me pooping and that's weird). It's harmless. Wait! I figured it out. This clergy member likes to shit on your mother. Nothing wrong with a Saint Cleveland Steamer.

I also found out she has a profile on a couple of Internet dating sites and has been coming home later than usual after going out "for drinks with friends" after work. When I confronted her, she first denied it, then got caught in a lie. She refuses to accept responsibility, insisting "it wasn't a date," although this man expressed romantic feelings for her.

You "found out" she has a profile on a some dating sites? How did this happen? Did you do a search for "wanting to date girls like my mother"? You creepy, incestuous fuck. And, the reason she's coming home so late after going out for drinks is because it takes a long time to blow your way out of a DUI. Would you rather she lost her license and YOU had to drive your brother and sister to school in the morning? I thought not. She's blowing those police officers for YOUR benefit. You selfish dick.

My father knows nothing about this while he languishes in a cell for what could be another five or six years. Should I tell him? I also do not know if I should confront this clergyman because I find his actions despicable.

Despicable? I was right. You are a pussy. A black one who is constantly trying to eat a yellow bird named Tweety. By the way, your father isn't "languishing." He's living the good life. Every day he wakes up and thanks the same good Lord that talks to the guy fucking the shit out of your mother that he doesn't have to talk to his "gay, gay, gay son."

How can I explain to my mother that what she's doing is wrong? When I try to talk to her in a mature way, she says things like, "I can't hear you!" Any advice you can offer would be appreciated. -- DISILLUSIONED SON IN NEW JERSEY

DISILLUSIONED SON IN NEW JERSEY. So you're the reason people say New Jersey sucks.

How can you explain to your mother that what she's doing is wrong? How about a suicide note taped to your chest while you hang yourself in the bathroom. I'll wait. Go ahead. And, the reason she says "I can't hear you" when you try to talk to her is because, to normal human hearing, the sounds of a crying whiny bitch are sub-sonic--like the brown note.

Finally, I'll give you this advice: Tools needed: hammer and box of nails. Place self unclothed on a wooden bench. Stretch scrotum between fingers pressing firmly onto bench. Drive nail through left side of scrotum into bench (repeat with right). Repeat this process until you are out of nails. If you start to black out, call your younger brother or sister in to finish the job. If they hate you half as much as I do (and I've only read one of your letters), they'll gladly help you out. Conclude process as follows: Pull feet onto bench and stand up as quickly and with as much force as possible.

Interesting thought of the day:
It may come as a surprise to some of you (I know it surprised me), but rabies can be transmitted sexually. And so, it is here I will apologize to my neighbors, The Meyers's: I'm sorry for what I gave to Plinko.

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