Just Send That Thing My Way

The gossip columnists are all over insinuating that my dear Dan Abrams is on the outs at MSNBC because he wouldn’t co-host a show with some FOXNews reject.

The proof of this was the removal of his portrait from the lobby of MSNBC.

If he leaves that network, so will I. It’s bad enough they insult me with Tucker Carlson, who last night was trying to claim that women didn’t want men to promise to help with the housework because it made them seem unmanly, but now they’re insulting Mr. Abrams.

That will not do.

Still, say that Dan went to FOX. Could my love of Dan trump my hatred of that pseudo-network?

Hmm.

Sadly, I don’t think so.

Advertisements

Advice?!

America, in a strange turn of events, someone has been harassing me for advice. This is funny in and of itself, seeing as how my life is always in something of a mess, but even funnier because this person wants interpersonal relationship advice.

From me!

Let that sink in.

Relationship advice from the girl whose idea of the best way to start a relationship is to get really drunk and flash her tits at her desired beloved? The girl for whom that has never worked, and yet, she still does it?

Oh, America, this is too strange and funny.

But here, approximately, is the question:

Dear Aunt B.,

I am single and not often lonely. But when I am, Jesus Christ, it comes on like a bad cold, lingering and making my eyes water and my nose run. I long for the healing power of the human touch. In those instances, masturbation is not enough.

What should I do?

Anonymous Questioner

Here’s my answer:

Dear Anonymous Questioner,

I am from the rural midwest. We do not touch, even to have sex, unless someone loses their balance and falls into the other person. These fleeting seconds are a mixture of both pleasure and terror. It feels great, but the invasion of our personal space is so alarming we almost immediately flee from each other. We have our friends deliver a note to their friends that says, simply, “Chop!”* and the relationship is over.

When we are feeling especially lonely, we either get drunk until the feeling goes away or we go shoot coydogs. Of course, it’s easier to shoot coydogs when you’re drunk, as well. Your conscience is much less likely to bother you. So, either way, you have a course of action.

Love,

Aunt B.

And, I kind of** received a response:

Dear Aunt B.

When I drink, I crave the desire for human contact even more. Perhaps my friend and I could come over and show you what I have in mind?

Love,

Anonymous Questioner

To which I say:

Dear Anonymous Questioner,

I take it from your reply and the sloppy hand in which it was written that you have taken me up on my advice. Good job.

As for your current question, you can see that I might be a tad suspicious that it was your goal all along to try to get me into bed. I am deeply flattered, but uncertain as to the taboos surrounding intimate contact with one’s literary relatives.

In response to your efforts to get closer to me, I am already drinking away my discomfort.

Love,

Aunt B.

America, you would be far better off asking for relationship advice from this guy than from me. Seriously. He’s eloquent and he’s in the midst of a letter-writing campaign.

——————–

* I don’t know why, but in grade school, in order to break up our playground marriages, we used to run over to the soon-to-be dumpee and thrust the side of one hand into the palm of the other and yell, “Chop!” in order to signal the end of the relationship.

** It should be apparent to anyone who reads me that no one I know is this straightforward. I’ve taken some liberties in order to condense the questions down to manageable portions.

United States of Animal House?

This morning, Solidad O’Brien on CNN reported, with a straight face, that Karl Rove had told Matt Cooper about Valerie Plame’s job–and I quote–“on double super secret background.”

Now, I’m no legal analyst–though I watch a lot of Dan Abrams–but it seems to me if your defense is that you didn’t really know that she was a covert agent when you outed her to reporters, you wouldn’t have told the reporters to keep her identity a secret. No one but Karl Rove could have it both ways. You can’t both say you didn’t know there was anything wrong with revealing her identity and attempt to reveal her identity in such a way that it’s kept completely under wraps.

Clearly, if you’re swearing reporter to “double super secret background,” you have an inkling that revealing her name is not cool.

But that’s beside the point.

KARL ROVE!!! You are supposed to be an evil genius. That is your reputation and you’ve done NOTHING to dissuade people from believing it.

But this, this “double super secret background.” What the fuck? Are you high?

No, really, are you sitting around watching old comedy classics and taking your political cues from them? Because, let me let you in on a little something.

No one in their right mind models themselves after Dean Wormer.