If all of the raindrops were lemon drops and gum drops, these people would still be idiots.

Sometimes you just get a present and it's perfect.

My wife, for instance, got me that vintage turntable for Christmas, and it was (and still is) perfect. Got a bike for my birthday once, when I was eleven or so. Big wow factor on that one, too.

And a certain someone (who shall remain nameless) sent me a bottle of bourbon, just 'cause she's the fucking awesomest awesome person ever. Really, really good bourbon, too. Called Noah's Mill, made (as it must be) in Bourbon County, hill country, in Kentucky. It's even better than Old Pogue, my previous favorite. I am sipping my way through it slowly, not overindulging. The day I got it in the mail I put on a John Coltrane record to listen to while I sipped, and the result was heavenly. The next night it was Pink Floyd, which worked just as well for me.

Tonight I think we'll go with Stravinsky, something a little bombastic. Rite of Spring. Yeah.

Meanwhile, after reading the crap over on Slate's Dear Prudence I think I'll need it. I would suspect the neurology unit at Johns Hopkins and all of NASA are understaffed right now, because all the rocket scientists and brain surgeons appear to be busy writing letters to Prudence. I haven't seen a foursome of letters so insidiously vapid since I first saw DP.

These incredibly stupid letters can be found here.


In the Window – Holy crap, man, what the fuck is wrong with you? Recap: you get a free hot chick twofer peepshow right out your goddamn apartment window, but now you're starting to watch “Twilight” a lot and you get all syrupy-sad about “cheating on the wife” and shit. Just because naked chicks parade around outside your window and you look. Oh, you're in your twenties, too.

Do you really believe Prudie needs to tell you what to do? Really? Bloody fucking hell, just move out, asswipe. What's the rent? I might need a new place soon, and you are too stupid to deserve the bonus you get for living there. It's obvious you don't have a brain. Do you have a vagina? Shit.


Troubled – what an asshole you are. Recap: your wife's sister, your coworker, told her something in secrecy, which your wife told you, and you repeated it to the sister, who got pissed off. Then you bought her some fucking flowers and proceeded to blame them both for being as stupid as you are.

And now you are asking Prudie how to make it better? Is that right? You want them to get along like they used to? You have any fucking brains at all, twatwad?

Listen up, you witless fucking dribbling dickburger: this is your fault, entirely your fault, and completely your fault, and nobody else's fault. If being at fault can be rated as epic, then you are the epically epic of anyone who's ever been epically at fault ever.

Suck it up, cheese brain. Your wife shouldn't trust your stupid worthless ass any more than her sister should trust her, all thanks to you. If I were her I'd start shopping for a real man with a real brain as soon as you fall asleep every night, then leave your worthless mouthy fucking carcass at the first opportunity. The word “astrotarded” was coined just for you, you idiot.


Arachnophobic – I just...oh, hell, I don't know what to say. Recap: You, an arachnophobe, as well as a total fucking idiot, bought your husband a tarantula. You regret it. Yup.


Glenn Beck, to Sarah Palin: “Who is your favorite founding father?”
Sarah Palin, our winner, at her very best: “All of them!”
All people with IQ's higher than 50 or so: “Please God, take her soon.”


You, the arachnophobe: “Here honey! I got you a hairy fist-sized fucking tarantula!”

You are in exalted company, you brain dead idiotic waste of skin and bones.


Not Interested – Jesus. And I was so totally certain anencephaly left people unable to operate whatever mechanical devices one might use to send letters to Prudie, like a computer, or maybe a pencil. Until today.

Recap: You (a law student) went out to do a temp gig and the guy who hired you got drool on your panties, and he's still trying to get you in his office to go through his briefs. Reminder: you are (a law student).

You will never, ever, pass a bar exam. It's not possible. You are entirely too stupid. I mean, If the bar exam was just the question “how many toes do you have?” you'd still fail, unless you took a lucky goddamn guess, and even if you counted on your fingers, which is actually kind of funny when I think about it.


I have invented a NEW GAME!!! It's called Throw the Dart, You Fucking Moron!

Here's how we play TTDYFM: I give you three things to write on a piece of paper. Fold thm in half, then tape them to the wall. Throw a dart at them. Whichever one you hit will be the answer to your questions! You cannot lose!!! Unless you miss, then you have to throw again, but that's obvious. Well, maybe not to you.

Let's start:

On the first piece of paper, write: Send him a fucking email saying “stop it, you're fucking gross.”

On the second piece of paper, write: Go back to work, and do it with him: in the conference room, in his office, and in the break room – fuck the living hell out of him until he begs you to stop. Make certain you video tape the entire series, and then blackmail the shit out of him. Then go on Dr. Phil and tell the whole story.

And on the third piece of paper, write: Join a goddamn nunnery (or move to Wasilla, Alaska), because I am totally unequipped to be allowed to run free in society with normal people.

Now get your dart. Ready? Aim...


Goddammit – this has been quite a day.

I am late this week with my Prudieness, and for that I apologize. I will try harder next week.

And so tonight it's a few more fingers of yummy Noah's Mill over ice, and some quality time with Igor, and all will be right with the world for just a little while.

Cheers, Flysters!
STC =^0o^=