Dear Abby, 4 December 2013:
DEAR ABBY: What do you say to your only son who can’t even call to tell you he is getting married? He posted it on Facebook, and I was notified via a text from my sister. Our relationship isn’t the issue. He just doesn’t seem to be able to use his phone for talking. Your thoughts? — OUTSIDE THE LOOP IN OREGON
Dear Outside The Loop,
One wonders where kids these days learn such abominable communication skills! We can only pray that your son reads Dear Abby and discovers just what his parents think about the stupid ways he chooses to express his rude, thoughtless ass.
John Gray, Mars And Venus, 25 November 2013:
Dear John: Does what goes around really come around? I’ve been dumped hard several times! I’m beginning to believe that there is no justice in the dating game. Do women who dump nice guys really get their due later on? — Kicked to the Curb, in Cleveland, Ohio
Dear Kicked to the Curb,
What goes around really does come around, Kicked! While you live your super nice life being a super nice person, every woman who didn’t immediately give you the relationship you deserve by virtue of your niceness will crumble into her empty, worthless emotional bitch shell and cry for fucking ever, like really hard crying and a whole lot of it.
Go forth into the world and be a beacon of niceness, knowing that people who don’t pay you the emotional and physical affection you’re owed by the universe will suffer endlessly after they foolishly reject your niceness, the best niceness of all time and which entitles you to the attention of literally anyone and everyone. Women who were too fucking stupid to see how nice you are will get exactly what they deserve for dumping a big-hearted guy like you, who recognizes women for the ungrateful, ignorant pieces of shit they are.
Dear Abby, 22 November 2013:
DEAR ABBY: I read the obituaries in our local newspaper every day to see if someone I know has died. But when I don’t see any familiar name, I feel let down and disappointed. Is that weird? — STILL ALIVE IN SAN DIEGO
Dear Still Alive in San Diego,
Weird? The least that your acquaintances, friends and loved ones can do for you when you dedicate your incredibly valuable time to skimming the newspaper to find out whether any of them have kicked the bucket, is to actually die so you don’t feel like you’ve wasted your time. The worst is when people you know aren’t dead.
Dear Abby, 15 November 2013:
DEAR ABBY: This is my wife’s second marriage. When we were dating, she led me to believe that I was the second sexual partner she had ever had. Shortly after our wedding, I found out through some mutual acquaintances she had attended college with that she had been very promiscuous during her college years and that the number of men she has been with is far greater than two. I feel lied to and trapped in my marriage. (If I had known this, I would not have married her.) She knows I know. She dismissed it by saying the past doesn’t matter, but what she fails to recognize is that it matters to me. I can’t help but wonder if she has lied to me about something this important, what else will she lie to me about? I love her and want to stay with her, but I feel betrayed and, frankly, embarrassed by her now. What do I do? — CONFOUNDED IN THE SOUTH
Dear Confounded in the South,
Oh, honey. You loved this fetid skank enough to marry her even though she had besmirched her virginal completeness, only to find out that your wife spent her college years without a thought to preserving her womanly virtue in anticipation of one day meeting a man who measures the value of a human being according to their number of sex partners!
How can she expect you to go on living as her husband in this world, which anxiously turns on its eternal axis around you, knowing that other people think constantly about the number of sex partners your wife has had? When the sun rises, and says to itself, “Confounded in the South’s wife has had multiple sex partners!?” are you supposed to ignore it? When the moon waxes and wanes with the unbearable thought of your wife’s sexual history, what position does that put you in?
Trusting that one’s wife is not a slutty slutpant is the foundation of literally all successful marriages; would that your wife could understand that nothing could be more important in a relationship than establishing a detailed sexual history that meets husbandly standards. No doubt her stinky vagina lies were a guise for deeper moral inferiority, and not a recognition that her future husband is a desperately judgmental fluffbutt.
Set yourself free, and leave this woman to find some wayward ignoramus with looser morals, and allow yourself to fish in the sea of veritable hordes of adult women in the 21st century who have absolutely nothing to which they can or ever would even for a minute compare your glorious penis and balls.
Annie’s Mailbox, 11 November 2013:
Dear Annie: Please permit me to use your column to address my grown children.
Dear Kids: Father’s Day and my birthday have come and gone, and I didn’t hear a word from any of you. Christmas is coming, and I expect more of the same.
You are not orphans. You didn’t rear yourselves. You didn’t come out of an abusive home. I worked hard to give you the best of everything, from designer clothes to Ivy League educations. I was involved in all of your activities when you were growing up, and I was at the head of your dinner table every evening.
All you ever got from me was kindness and concern. And I fully respected your mother, regardless of what you may think. It’s hard to be old and alone, which is why my lady friend has assumed such a prominent role in my life. You may not like her, despite her many kindnesses to you, but she is here for me, and you are not. When I have been sick or injured, she alone has cared for me. The only times I hear from you are when you want something, usually money, which brings me to another topic: my will. While you may regard my lady friend as a “gold-digger,” whatever gold there is belongs to me. It is not your money. I am free to do whatever I want with it. Of course, I would love to hear from you, which is why I am constantly reaching out, only to be met with silence. My heart will always be open to you. — Love, Dad
Your ungrateful, pissant kids are the fucking worst, and if they can’t see what a shining rock of love their perfect father is and has been for the entirety of their Dad-given lives, it’s their stupid-ass loss. It’s too bad they can’t appreciate the gracious opportunity you have given them to apologize to you, the best and most blameless father of all time, for what crap people they turned out to be.
Miss Manners, 28 October 2013:
DEAR MISS MANNERS: My daughter-in-law uses her name when making hotel reservations for the entire family. Should not she have used her husband’s name? She also has her voice on the answering machine. Should not the husband be the one with a message on the answering machine?
Like so many women who mistakenly believe they are autonomous human people, your daughter-in-law has wrongfully appropriated her husband’s God-given right to be the sole defining member of his family in her presumptuous bid to be considered by others as something other than a helpmeet who serves at the pleasure of her husband.
What must hotel workers, those bellwethers of polite society, think of her gumption? Think of the tens, even twenties, of them who, over the years, will by shamelessly mislead by your daughter-in-law into believing that women are capable of making hotel reservations for others—others who, horrifyingly, are related to them?
But the shame your family will feel at the hands of the Motel Sixes, the Courtyard Marriotts, the Wyndhams, will be nothing compared to the aggregate and abject dismantling of world social order that is likely to result from the sound of a woman’s voice on her own answering machine. Callers, expecting to hear the dulcet and reassuring vocal tones of a patriarch, will recoil in confusion, perhaps even terror, at the prospect of leaving a message in a household where women are permitted, perhaps even encouraged, to operate telephonic apparatus.
If your daughter-in-law wants to do what is right, and afford her husband the respect he deserves as the only real person in her family, she will cease these uppity shenanigans and be content, as all good women are, with the feel of cool, comforting linoleum on the soles of her feet.
Emily Yoffe, aka “Dear Prudence,” in Slate, 16 October, 1950.
In this Very Special Episode of bad advice, the Bad Advisor is having no fucking part of this ignorant, misogynist, issue-conflating, victim-blaming bullshit, and will simply encourage Emily Yoffe, and anyone who thinks she has a point, to get the fuck out all the way out of here.
Alternative reading: Ann Friedman, Feministing, Jaclyn Friedman.