Dear Aunt Becky,
Is Dr. William Sears evil?
“The Baby Book” Makes Me Cry
Dear He Who Makes Me Giggle,
Now, dear reader, “evil” is a word that Aunt Becky uses sparingly and in reference to things like “butter,” and “dressing room lighting,” and even occasionally “Cosmo Magazine.” So I’m not certain if “evil” belongs in the same sentence as “Dr. Sears.”
That is, of course, unless you don’t co-sleep, don’t breastfeed your child until they’re 15, and consider using a pacifier on your beloved child. After all, YOUR nipple should be the pacifier. Then you might call him evil.
Because he is hyper-critical of mothers who don’t sleep in a family bed. Those who might use formula (his own wife breastfed their adopted kids! Get off YOUR ass and nurse yours!). Those who do not wear their babies. The un-crunchy (plastic?) set.
New parents, Fair Reader, need to be judged like they need another sleepless night.
Dear Aunt Becky,
I am considering constructing a room to hang sausage. As the Patron Saint of Sausages, what advice to you have for me?
Dear Encased Meat Lover,
First off, let me tell you how amazing it is to hear from a fellow lover of tube-shaped meat. There is nothing on the planet that makes me happier than a plate of grilled up hot-dogs or sausages, except, perhaps, a new Chanel Bag. But that’s neither here nor there.
I’m afraid, however, that I don’t have a whole lot of advice to give you.
You see, while I am an avid Queen of The Sausages, and my home may be known as The Sausage Factory, I don’t actually hang my encased meats in a room. I prefer, in fact, to allow the men-folk of my house use their beds rather than the rafters. I know, I know, Fellow Meat Lover, I am too kind.
My suggestion to you, my new friend, is that you go to Wisconsin. They’re known for their cheese and their weenies up yonder dere, and I’m imagining that they might actually know what a room full of sausages might look like. And not in the It’s Dinner Time At Aunt Becky’s House kind of way.
Why does my cat (sic: put her) butt (sic: in) face?
Dear Cat Fancy,
I can only presume that your cat, like my own, has a camera implanted firmly up his (or her, let’s not be sexist here) butt-hole. Maybe it’s connected to the CIA database, maybe it’s your in-laws spying on you, or maybe it’s for a sexy adult video site, I just don’t know.
But when your cat sticks his (or her) puckered poo-hole into your face, what he (or she) is doing is saying to you, “SPEAK INTO MY MICROPHONE.” Alternately, “SMILE FOR THE CAMERA.”
Please, avid reader, PLEASE be careful what you tell your cat’s ass. You never know who is watching.
Just Because You’re Paranoid Doesn’t Mean They’re Not Out To Get You