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Advice from Strangers

This Week's Guest:

Ann Landers and Dear Abby's Evil Triplet

Dear Ann Landers and Dear Abby's Evil Triplet,

I'm a pathetic loser who believes that some pablum-spouting old ladies can help salvage the overworked latrine I've made of my life with three sentences of advice delivered with the morning paper right next to "Hagar the Horrible." Yet somehow, I can operate a keyboard! Also, between visits from Child Protective Services, my four children seem sullen and remote, their boredom relieved only by acts of arson and random vandalism. So, my question, of course, is: How does an old bat like you manage to look like a young Betty Crocker? Lord knows I could use some help there.

Crow's Feet in Creighton

Dear Crow,

I'd tell you my secret, but you couldn't begin to afford it. I'd recommend keeping a few heavily retouched photos of yourself from back when you weren't yet a shrieking harpy, and otherwise do us all a favor and refrain entirely from all human contact. As for the kids, I know you didn't ask, but they need a hobby. Get them each a nice handgun. Don't forget the ammo.


Dear Ann Landers and Dear Abby's Evil Triplet,

I'm sitting here with a huge vat of nitro-based fertilizer and 100 gallons of ammonia. I think it's the fumes, because I can't seem to recall the exact recipe. The vat's started to bubble a little, so if you please respond promptly, I'd appreciate it.

Baffled in City Withheld

Dear Baff,

BOOOOM! Haha! Sorry, just a little joke there. Try chanting revolutionary slogans real loud -- that should return your mind to whatever feeble level of clarity you previously possessed. Do you have a ball peen hammer handy? Ah, fuck it - just dump all the ammonia in at once - what's the worst thing that could happen?


Confidential to Desperately Seeking Old Lady Thighs:

Yes, yes I do like it just like that. Rrrrrow! Let's get together real soon, you bad, bad little boy. You bring the llama, I've got the black ostrich leather.

(Transcribed by Ishmael Alighieri)

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