'Tis the season to be stooopid...fa la la la la...

This Christmas, I will celebrate the birth of Jesus by ignoring the fact he would celebrate Hannukah.
- Unknown

Well well. Seems I, in my greatness and splendor, have decided to grace this place with the utter awesomeness of my fantasticfulness once again.

I missed writing these things, actually, and just found the time. Nothing awesome, though I may think it.

And the holidays do approach, steadily, borne on freezing rain and the hiss of a gas fireplace in the den of the house we're renting on the south end of town, all the better to escape that other place, the big pretty one the bank seems to want more than I do.

And with an attitude adjustment in hand too – Schuyler The Cat, yours truly, got hisself a new job which he will be starting on December 27th. Merry Christmas to me, it seems. I have a happy. I have a nervous too, but mostly I have a happy.

Just peed in a cup for drug testing yesterday, and since I can't think of anything I have taken that might skew that test I will state for the record am ready for work: a full time employee for the first time in eleven years.

Get this: twenty days of paid time off right out of the gate, along with seven paid holidays. Who knew the other side lived like this?


And so, I now dive into my primal scream session with renewed vigor and vim, and dispel years of demons, chasing me about with days off in their clawed hands...

Originals here.

Note: Prudie's letters are just as stupid as always, huh? It's like a factory. A scary factory. A dumbass factory. Hot and cold running dumbass everywhere, just pick some up out back, off the loading dock, by the ton. Just sayin'.


Dear Prudence,
My boyfriend of two years says that he will not ask me to marry him unless I take a lie detector test to pinpoint the truth about certain things that have gone on in our relationship. His request is completely unreasonable, isn't it? Is it a sign of overall problems? What should I do?
—Am I Crazy?

Yes. You are crazy, you lying little whore. Men have the right to ask – I should say demand – you to take lie detector tests, given all women are pathologically unable to tell the truth. Me, I waterboarded the woman I married, just to make certain she wasn't carrying any undisclosed credit card debt or hiding pictures of her old boyfriends. You goddamn women need to understand you place in things, or so help me.

Meanwhile, the rest of the planet (a few billion of us, all of whom possess more basic intelligence in our fecal leavings than you will ever possess anywhere in your pathetically atrophied brain) is perfectly aware that this guy is a scary fucking cheese-dick and you should move on. Idiot.


Dear Prudie,
My father had a heart attack two years ago caused by untreated type 2 diabetes. He luckily made a great recovery and began eating right. He has gained back a lot of weight. He rewards himself for eating well by bingeing on junk. I am very worried about my dad's condition. But the subject is basically off-limits, especially since he's a doctor! How can I bring this up with him in a way that doesn't cause World War III?
—Dad's in Denial

This long-winded story – repeated a million times a day here in the Great American South where I live, is a deep-fried testament to 2 things: first, people need to eat. Second, all that body fat is GOOD for you. I cannot for the life of me understand you “free thinker” types who believe the industry which feeds us – Monsanto, ADM, Kraft and the like – would ever give us something that could be bad for our bodies. Kraft, for instance: they make “cheese.” When you look at the package, though, it's actually called “cheese food.” See, Kraft's brilliant scientists invented a food-like cheesy substance that is BETTER for you than real cheese, and then there's motherfuckers like you getting in the way of their success. Damn you.

Note: World War Three, a theoretical possibility I grew up with, denoted the likely end of civilization according to pundits. Your little missive is a goddamn pimple on the ass of the universe, and all you need a pair of fully formed testicles: tell him or don't, chicken shit. Just remember: when he dies, it ain't your fault.

The rest of us will simply shake our heads and wonder that something as strikingly stupid as you can actually function and survive with the rest of us. Moron.


Dear Prudence,
I've been working for a small, privately owned company for 10 years. I haven't gotten a raise in the entire time. We recently had a company meeting at which we were told we will be picking up a lot more of the costs for our medical plan and that we are all expected to increase our donations to the company's annual charity drive. Can I say no?
—It's My Money

Here in America, there are laws regulating employment and denoting what companies can and cannot do to protect themselves from whining little ungrateful fuckers like you. Anyone who knows that Trickle Down Economics was the harbinger of a greater society and the reason we are all rich and healthy today can tell you that you should consider your generous and kindhearted company's needs first, else how can all that money trickle down to you? And all those years your company carried you on it's back, enriching you and filling your pockets while you, you sniveling evil little fuckhead, took advantage of them. Amazing.

Me, I would just say no. Asshole.


Dear Prudie,
I recently graduated from college, got a great job, and moved to a new city a few hours away from home. Around the same time, my parents downsized to a smaller house and bought a vacation home. Now when I go home for holidays, I don't have a room, and my parents seem annoyed by my mere presence. Their attitude makes me not want to go home for Christmas at all, but that would mean spending it alone, seeing as the rest of my friends have families who are excited to see them.
—Rejected for the Holidays

See? Sometimes Prudie gets a LW with a partial brain in attendance! You are finally getting it, huh? Your parents hate you, mostly because you were a burden and a massive pain in the ass. Your shitty fucking attitude made them stop loving you years ago, and it's likely they will never love you again, much less like you. I don't like you either, fucker.

Those of us over the age of thirty know there is a fine line between “empty nesters” who dodder about the house wondering what to do next and those who say “WOO HOO!!! FINALLY we can butt fuck in the kitchen without getting caught!” Most people over thirty, though, don't like you.



Ah, yes yes yes. Feels good to be back. My wife, recovered from her waterboarding experience, is baking and making candy and such, and the house smells like Christmas. My mother, to whom I was a terrible burden, is staying out here with us this year (she's from California, where I grew up) and she's spoiling the kids.

It's freaking cold out, but it feels good. I feel good. Better, now that I shared love and solace with the poor LW's of Prudie's.

Hopefully I can make this a habit.

And so, cheers and salutations and great tidings for the season and ho ho ho and all that shit, me wonderful Flysters!

STC =^oo^=


  1. Ah sigh! I've missed you Schuyler and we can celebrate together! Two days before Thanksgiving, my best friend, who was fired two years ago, lost her house in February and moved in with me, ALSO got a job! It pays more than she dared to hope, and she has leave and benefits and all that good stuff. It's not her house back, but it's hope and a start in the right direction!

    Oh, and I friggin' loved your post. Smaggy is all snarky and that and I love him but I have really missed your truly indulgent nastiness.

  2. Now, THIS is what I'm talkin' about! We need this kind of snarkiness, ALMOST as much as you needed a job which offers a decent income and decent benefits.

  3. Welcome back 'Cat! It all sounds wonderful - and you get to have Christmas with about a 20 bazillion weight off your shoulders. It should always be so.

    I always want to give people like LW1 a good shaking and a stiff drink, then send them home to DTMFA. Sadly, it usually takes far too long for them to get there.

    (I put up the tree today, it gets decorated tomorrow, since it's frozen solid. Charlie the kitten has decided that it's scary, proving my "he's a sissy" theory, much to The Boy's distress.)

  4. Ahoy, Schuyler! Wow, I have to second Robin's and CoolOne's assertions that your snark is sorely missed! Your ease and flow with the language, and your unique take on it, really is one of a kind. I didn't realize just how much I'd missed your entries until reading this week's and realizing that while Prudie's letters may be "like a factory. A scary factory. A dumbass factory. Hot and cold running dumbass everywhere...by the ton.", your responses, as a counter point, are like hand-crafted, custom-ordered, intricately-carved nuggets of lovely, delicious goodness. And we need that balance, damnit! Don't leave us here in the dumbass factory all alone, Schuyler!

    Excellent stuff as always, Mister! Much good cheer to you and yours. :-)

  5. Schuyler, how nice to read your comments again! I'm glad you're in full snarky, witty, poetic form --and you've found a new job, a new home with the good scent of Xmas cookies and candies baking and grandma spoiling the kids...

    Yeah, the bank just can go and fuck itself (no doubt an unpleasant experience in and for itself ...)

    Merry Winter Solstice celebration to you and all those lovely loved ones (particularly the one baking the cookies --I can smell them all the way to the rainy Pacific Northwest!)


  6. Good to see you display your writing skills again, Big Cat. There is a lot of dumbass around these days.

    I went to the Y today and some tall moron with a shaved head yelled at mne to drive slower through the parking lot so his toddlers could run all over the place attended. Toddlers running wild in a god damned parking lot. Oy!

    Where is the child abuse hotline phone number?

    Meanwhile, some inventive dumbass has recorded a rather crude version of "Barnacle Bill the Sailor" complete with extra verses and references to several the lyrics.