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Hey, Aunt Becky,

I have a problem. All of my life I’ve thought of myself as straight, but now I’m starting to doubt myself. I still want a husband and to have babies, but I’m also thinking about girls too. I don’t want to say anything to my Mom because even though I know she wouldn’t care, I’m so unsure I don’t want to upset her if it’s not really necessary. I just don’t know what to do or who to talk to to find out what I’m really feeling.


Here’s the thing, Prankster – sexuality exits on a spectrum and we may feel anywhere from completely straight to completely gay. Sexuality is also something that doesn’t have to be labeled – you might be bisexual, homosexual or straight, but you can also fall somewhere in the middle. You like who you like.

So my advice is this: explore your feelings (SAFELY) and see where it takes you. Maybe you’ll end up married with a wife and babies. Maybe you’ll end up with a husband and babies. Maybe you won’t. You don’t have to decide right now.

I wish you luck, mah Prankster. It’s going to be an awesome journey for you!

Hi Aunt Becky,

I don’t really have a question I just need to get this out. My five year old  told me tonight that a classmate has been grabbing my child’s butt while they wait in line at school. My child hasn’t told anyone but me because they aren’t allowed to speak while they are in line.  

I feel sick for my child but also for the other child involved.  What the hell is this poor kid exposed to that grabbing ass at school becomes okay?  I need a drink but at this point I’ll settle for a (nice, clean) hug.  :(        



Dear Heartsick, first things first: HUGGGGGGGS!

Now, onto the depressing bit. You need to report what happened to the teacher and/or principal. Like you said, you don’t know what’s going on at home – maybe it’s nothing or maybe it’s something. Either way, this should be reported.

Here is the Band Back Together resource page for child abuse and the page for child sexual abuse.

Child abuse is rarely faked, so it’s important to take any allegations of abuse seriously. If a child comes to you with claims of abuse, call 1-800-4AChild to report abuse or get help.

I wish you the best, Prankster. I’m so sorry.


Pranksters, it’s time for YOU to help! What advice do you want to leave for these posters?

Also: feel free to submit any questions so I can poorly answer them. The link is at the top of the screen!

I’m kind of a Mac whore (I suppose you could just say I’m kind of a whore, but that’s not a warm fuzzy, now is it?).

I own Big Mac, my desktop, the new iPad, an iPod, a MacBook Pro, and, of course, my i(CAN’T FUCKING)Phone. With the exception of my i(DON’T KNOW HOW TO)Phone, I love them all.

Hell, I even love my i(YOU’RE A SUCKER)Phone, although I have my days where I want to downgrade to a Not-Smart phone, just to be different than the rest of the world.

That, however, is neither here nor there.

When people started jabbering on about “Siri,” I honestly thought they were talking about Siri Cruise. I really did. I didn’t ask because

a) I don’t really care about Siri Cruise


2) I figured it would make me look like MORE of an idiot than I am. Which takes a LOT of work.

Anyway, I didn’t buy the new i(AM AN ASSHOLE)Phone when it came out. I have an i(fuck you)Phone 4, and really, there was no need for a new one. I mean, I’m always buying new technology (oh, how Old Aunt Becky would laugh at herself now), but that just seemed excessive.

Now that I learned what Siri is, I’m pretty sure I’m reversing my decision.

Siri can be my nanny!

Or my personal blogging assistant!

I just can’t wait to ask that bitch where my pants are.

What would you ask that bitch Siri, Pranksters?

P.S. Can you ask her where my pants are for me? I seem to have *ahem* misplaced them.

Photos by the illustrious iHubby.

My neighbor growing up was my best friend. We’d play American Gladiators together after we watched women’s wrestling for hours. She also had everything I ever wanted.

Like a Nintendo.

My parents were, as I’ve previously mentioned ad nauseum, teak and fine china people. They were the original wooden toys people (after, of course, the pioneers and the Amish) and would’ve been pretty happy if I played that weird hoop game or made things out of piles of sticks. I’m pretty sure they, at one point, bought me a wooden doll. Yeah, you read that right: I owned a wooden doll. Is it any wonder that I’m as maternal as a sack of rocks?

(answer: no)

When I begged them, year after ever-loving year, for a Nintendo, they scoffed at me: Video games? I should be reading a book by candlelight or sewing my own clothes or churning butter. Not rotting my mind on video games!

It bears mentioning that my older brother spent his days and nights playing Zork on the computer.

So Nintendo? I had no stinkin’ Nintendo.

Which meant I spent an inordinate amount of time at my best friend’s house, begging her to let me play one level – just one level. She, delighted at the sudden shift in power, would tell me, hail noes until I got up to leave, and when I did, she’d suddenly develop an interest in playing.

Eventually, my parents bought me a Sega Genesis, so while my friends were teaching Mario to fly with those stupid fucking raccoon wings, I was playing Echo the (Asshole) Dolphin. There went any interest I had in becoming a dolphin lover.

Today, I don’t like games. Can I blame my parents for that? Probably not. But while Daver and Ben sit on the couch at night playing games on their (not so) Smart Phones, I sit and actually watch television. My parents probably DID have a good hand in making sure my attention span was greater than that of a gnat. Thanks, Mom! Thanks, Dad!

But my children, God love them, they love their games. Video games, to be specific. And I’ll begrudgingly admit that video games have come a long way in the past (mumbles) years.

What kills me, though, is this: with all of the awesome games out there these days, my kids still want to play fucking Mario games. Or Sonic games. The shit that was around (mumbles) years ago when I was a wee crotch parasite.

Not only that, the kids love to WATCH those old television shows. The ones my parents forbid me to watch because, like video games, television rots your brain. I was allowed to watch an hour of public television. A day.

But my kids? They’re in love with some creepers “Super Mario Super Show” from the 80’s. And the Sonic the Hedgehog cartoon. Stuff I never saw. And thank GOD for that, because holy creepers, Batman.

You’d think that with all of the newer television shows with LESS creepy characters, they’d opt to watch them. But no. They’re watching stuff that both Daver and (older) Ben watched. I’d have probably watched them too, had I not lived with hippies.

Now, I’m thinking that the kids need some wooden dolls or that hoop game or some sticks for Christmas.

Seems only fair.

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