The Proodie Stoopid Brood Tsoonami arrives...

All intelligent thoughts have already been thought; what is necessary is only to try to think them again.

     - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

You know what baffles me? Kids, a lot of them in their twenties, Facebooking their hate all over Japan after that earthquake and tsunami. Seriously, what the fuck is up with that, other than pimple-faced ignorance and race hatred?

I’ll tell you I spent a full day staring blankly at my computer, watching the endless YouTubes of swaying buildings, cracks opening in the ground, and that ghastly, unholy, seemingly endless footage of gray, debris-laden water gobbling up everything in its path. The airport footage and helicopter footage was completely terrifying, and mesmerizing. A gawker at a train wreck on a national scale, me.

Then a friend’s son posts “maybe payback for Pearl Harbor, huh?” on Facebook. To which I responded “the payback was a little present called Little Boy, followed by another called Fat Man a few days later. Look it up, genius. BTW – your parents weren’t even born yet, what’s your beef?” No answer, yet.

A guy I friended who I went to high school with posted an article about the tsunami damage to Crescent City, California and wrote ”We should bill those fuckers for this.” I responded “you mean bill them for the earthquake they didn’t cause, the tsunami they didn’t cause, or just bill them because you hate Japanese people?” followed by an immediate un-friending. I really don’t need that kind of idiocy in my life.

Now I don’t get all weepy and googly-eyed at disasters in far away places, mostly. There’s enough disaster in a ten mile radius for most people, and shocking and touching as it is, I can’t help from here.

But this hate-fuelled spew I read on Facebook? I have a status for these folks: the average schmo, hoping for clean water and some rice somewhere in Nihonmatsu, is worth ten of your worthless ass.

On to Proodie’s Stoopid Brood. Apparent idiots one and all (again) and equally tiresome at that.

Originals here.


Dear Prudence,
I'm married to a gorgeous younger woman. I am having serious second thoughts. As it turns out (actually, I knew this from the beginning), she's not particularly interesting or, and I hate to say this, bright. I'm no Einstein, but I have a degree in computer science and am knowledgeable about economics and other intellectual pursuits. I don't want a divorce, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life watching The Bachelor. I forever condemned to being married to an incredibly hot woman for whom I have not an iota of intellectual respect?
—I Married for Lust

Dear “Gee, Turns Out I’m as Stupid as Her”,

I’m pleased you mentioned that you aren’t Einstein, because he’d have known what to do in his sleep: keep your horny little ditzy babe stowed away in a nice house, make her happy, enjoy the benefits of that situation often and well, then meet with people outside the house, say, after work or something, for intellectual stimulation. Not everyone is lucky enough to get a trophy wife you bloody asswipe, and it beats a girl you think is really smart and ugly and date with a Fleshlight when she’s not around. Enjoy it.

The rest of us – even those without a degree in Computer Science (about $200, three weeks, Phoenix University) – who are married were at least bright enough to have a complete conversation with our spouses, and knew many, if not most, of the risks of matrimony. Idiot.


Dear Prudie,
I was laid off recently, and to make ends meet I've been tutoring some children from a wealthy family after school. I have qualms about what I'm doing. It boils down to helping them complete their homework every night, when they really should be doing it by themselves. Having seen how intensely the mother reacts to her kids' grades, I'm hesitant to express my feeling that I should give the kids supplemental exercises, rather than helping them with their homework. Also, the parents are very generous to me, and I don't want to lose the job. What's an honest tutor to do?
—Confused Employee of the Tiger Mother

Dear “Obviously Doing It For The Money”,

An honest tutor wouldn’t be writing this sanctimonious drivel to Dear Prudence. An honest tutor would have an honest conversation with the parents and be done with it.

You don’t lack honesty, I guess, but I might assert you seem to be lacking testicles.

Grow a pair.

The rest of us would have figured this out a long time ago, and moved on to bigger, more important issues, like who is getting voted off American Idol tonight. Idiot.


Dear Prudie,
I work for a nice lady who is about to have a hip replaced. She has a husband and a lot of family nearby, including a son who's a chef and a sister who lives next door. When I arrived at work a few days ago, I was told about a sign-up sheet for bringing meals to my boss' house after her surgery. The sheet said that the boss's sister had requested that employees get on the schedule to deliver food. It might be horrible of me to feel this way, but it offends me. We employees have all had our hours cut, gas is high, and my boss lives on the outskirts of town. Like several other employees, I don't even enjoy cooking and do so as little as possible. What should I do?
—Fuming but Not Cooking

Dear “Everything But The Emeril”,

Let me quote you: “What should I do?”

Good God above and furry puppies. You stand as proof that a life form can exist as a live being in the utter and complete absence of functioning cerebral material. I have fingernail clippings smarter than you. Hell, my fingernail clippings have dirt particles on them that are smarter than you.

Listen up. I’ll go real slow-like:


Whew! That was a tough one! Not!

The rest of us would send a goddamn card. Idiot.


Dear Prudence,
Recently, I was invited to brunch with my brother's family at their home. My sister-in-law's mother, "Jane," suffers from Alzheimer's disease. My sister-in-law made a huge bowl of fruit salad and, because I am a fan, put it at my end of the table. I noticed that Jane was taking strawberries from the bowl, licking them, and putting them back. I don't think anyone else saw. I didn't know what to do, so I admit I didn't do anything. I now feel guilty since several people ate strawberries after Jane had "sampled" them. Should I have at least made an effort to quietly inform my sister-in-law of the situation?
—Please, Don't Pass the Fruit Bowl

Dear OH MY GOD THAT’S SO FUCKING GROSS! You said NOTHING? Please, PLEASE never invite me or anyone I care about over for Thanksgiving. You suck ass.

The rest of us might have made quiet mention of the generous portions of goopy goddamn slobber added to the fruit salad. Idiot.


I have admitted in the past that I am one of “those people” who watches American Idol. Dunno if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I have never seen a full episode of any other reality show, a fact I am quite proud of actually, but Idol has me by the balls and has since the very first season. And I have observations:

Observation 1: Jennifer Lopez is a lot more pleasant that I expected. And she has a really, remarkably huge ass (not fond of this, me). And she’s devastatingly pretty. I think I like her.

Observation 2: Steven Tyler is a really nice guy, it seems. And he still dresses in girl’s clothes even though he’s in his sixties. I’ve always liked him.

Observation 3: Randy Jackson has made a few efforts to make serious remarks about what is happening, and falls short. As usual. Dawg.

Observation 4: I really don’t miss Simon. Or Paula. Or Kara. Maybe Ellen.

So, in short: everyone is so goddamn busy being too nice they must not be hearing what I am hearing. Maybe I do miss Simon. I almost always agreed with his assessments.

And finally: Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, everyone. Not my favorite holiday, really, but I love me some corned beef and cabbage, I tell you what, and any reason to drink beer is a good reason to drink beer, for me.

STC =^oo^=

We never talk any more. Well, I do, but these guys? Fuuuuuuu...

Action is the real measure of intelligence.

   - Napoleon Hill

Unknown to my favorite Flysters, I have created a Room to Swing a Cat for the last 4 weeks! Right here at my desk, yes indeed.

Haven’t had the time to publish a single one.

And yes, I wrote this last week, too. And the week before.

Let’s see if it makes it into the book this week...

Meantime, Spring done spranged: did too, little crocuses and lilies and bulby things are sprouting in places we didn’t know they were planted here at our rented house, and it’s a lovely surprise.

On other fronts, the bank will sell my house on March 28 to the highest bidder. Foreclosure, here we come. I await it eagerly, not too eagerly, but in the same way one awaits a dental visit to fix a broken tooth: please, for God’s sake, can we get this shit over with?

On yet other fronts, my new job remains lovely, to the degree that a very commonplace event took me by surprise last week: my team went out for drinks after work. It was heavenly, mostly because the event reaffirmed a suspicion I’ve had that I don’t work with a bunch of assholes. No, these guys are good folk, and I enjoy their company. Bonus!

Helped that a vendor showed up and paid the bill. Vendors are nice that way.

On other-other fronts, my wife, little over-achiever she is, is headed into her last two months of school, then she’ll graduated with an Associates Degree in Cardiovascular Technology. Her GPA is an inhuman 3.98, and she’ll probably be able to use the term summa cum laude on her resume, which I discovered means “with highest honor” and has nothing whatsoever to do with the porn industry, although skill-wise, I might add...

There are plenty of other fronts to report on, but I usually end up digressing to the point of numbness, and I have to get into the afternoon flurry of meetings now.

Originals here.


Dear Prudie,
My sister and I found out a few years ago that we have a half-sister from an affair my father had. The half-sister is eager to have a relationship with me and my sister. If I decide I want a relationship with my half-sister, how can I go about it in a way that doesn't hurt my family?
—In the Middle

Dear Completely Clueless,

Here are a few things normal people can do which I’d like to share with you:

1. Speak (in their native tongue) to other human beings about stuff
2. Use discretion and care when communicating difficult or confusing ideas
3. Be heard clearly and fully by others, as their heads are no as far up their asses as yours is so their mouth is in the clear

So this little soap opera is baffling you? This pissy little drama – about as compelling and fearsome as, say, a comic book – has you at a loss?

Fuck me. I had no idea people could be that goddamn frail and cloddish and still have enough brain functionality to operate their lungs and circulatory systems.

Tell you what: let your sister handle this. You are a fucking idiot.

Note: the rest of us would call her and have a conversation, because, you know, we can use our words like real good as you haven’t did.


Dear Prudence,
Last year I started working as a clerical assistant in a large law firm. Every St. Patrick's Day the office throws a big bash. Everyone in the office received an invitation. However, a week before the party, the clerical staff received an e-mail asking us to sign up to work during the event checking coats. I was shocked. I'm torn about what to do. Do you think it is appropriate for the company to hand out invitations and then tell us we can attend only if we work? Should I swallow my pride and go again this year and work, or should I make up some excuse to stay home?
—Got My Irish Up

Dear Blarney Stoner,

Do you have a sister and a half sister who’s pregnant? No? Sorry: different imbecile.

Lets get all kindsa theoretical here: Say I am a person who owns a company – a law firm, perhaps – and I decide that throwing a party is just the shizzle dizzle. Here’s how I shall word my invitation:


…Note: clerical staff are required to blow me, wash my car, walk my dog, and vacuum the parking lot in order to attend. Also, female clerical staff must wear sexy lingerie (or be completely naked), and men…well, you aren’t actually invited, because we want first dibs on the hot female clerical staff, and what the hell, why compete?


See what I did? Now: You know why I did that?

Because I can, you bloody dipshit. I'm the boss, even if I am an asshole.  Any more questions?

The rest of us would flip a coin – sometimes it pays to be a junior staff member who does the shit work, as they occasionally get to become senior staff members.


Dear Prudence,
My son's fiancee has become a true bridezilla. The bridesmaids are all in bright colors and the older women in dark shades she picked. I was told that an alternative color, which would have looked better on me, was not in her palette. I design textiles, so I know what works on my over-voluptuous body. Is it now common practice for brides to tell the parents what to wear for weddings? I hope it is just prenuptial madness and that she will return to the sweet young woman I knew before all this wedding planning began.
—Biting My Tongue

Dear Nuptial Noob,

If I have said this once I have said it a million times: weddings, for whatever reason, cause otherwise normal, sane, responsible, kind, gentle, generous people to become dreadfully horrifying creatures of unholy darkness who are best dealt with by shooting them right between their fucking eyes and walking away like a goddamn boss.

This includes mothers in law.

Wear the dress, don’t wear the dress…nobody gives a shit but you and her. Make a choice, mumsy, and get it over with. It matters not that you are a fat textile designer: this is a wedding, so everyone is fucked.

The rest of us….would be just as fucked, but likely better equipped to deal with it somehow, I suppose…but maybe not…weddings…scary…scaaaaary…


Dear Prudence,
I am single. A man who works in a different department and I have been making goo-goo eyes at each other in the hallways and cafeteria for several months. We have not spoken, and he does not know my name. Recently, he approached a co-worker in my department asking the name and status of the "woman with the long dark hair." That co-worker thought he was speaking of someone else in our department who recently moved in with her boyfriend and informed him of this. When my co-worker shared this information at the water cooler with practically everyone in our department, I didn't speak up. Now I'm concerned that my opportunity to potentially date this man is lost. Do you think I should do anything to correct the situation?
—Bad Intel

Dear Lack of Intel(ligence),

You, girl. Him, boy. Goo goo eyes? You mean in the hallways on the way to recess?

Why, I wonder, would you think little kiddy play time is at an end? Are your goo goo eyes broken?

And I need to ask: when your co-worker shared the mistaken information at the water cooler about the wrong goo goo eyed girl, and you “didn’t speak up” in front of “practically everyone”…what would you have said? “It was me! The whole time, Me, I say! He wants to finger bang ME, you sillyheads! And you RUINED IT!”

The rest of us are all growed up and able to, even if haltingly, talk to members of the opposite sex about stuff like finger banging, so we’d have it handled.


I have decided that wearing a tie to the office in a business casual world is not so bad – guy who sits next to me wears a bow tie every so often, and rocks it surprisingly well.

Today is my Bill Blass peacock pattern, deep green to go with my slacks, over plain white button down shirt and a pair of Aldo’s that are so comfortable I could sleep in them. Fashion statement, me. Who knew?

Cheers my Flysters.
STC =^oo^=