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:

Don’t.
Do.
It.

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.

Cheers!
STC =^oo^=