I have no pithy way to say this guy is an unfeeling dumb fuck…

This comes to us from a freakishly assholish letter writer over at Dear Prudie…

Q. Intelligence and Relationship Future: I’m in a very happy relationship with my girlfriend of about six months. I’m studying in law school right now. I come from a very well-educated family and consider myself to be pretty bright. I’ve had a really tough time admitting this to myself, but my girlfriend—whom I love very much—is honestly just really simple-minded. On pretty much every other front, she seems perfect to me: We get along really well, we have a great time together almost always, and she has a really laid-back, happy-go-lucky, stable personality. In this sense, she’s almost a perfect counterweight to my own neurotic, introspective, and quasi-OCD tendencies.

Friends and family members have expressed their surprise that I’m with someone who seems so different from me in intelligence. My question is, will this difference eventually cause serious problems in our relationship? Am I setting myself (and her) up for some problems later on just by continuing to ignore this intellectual mismatch that exists between us?

My Answer: I guess I iz two stoopid too even try to answer you.   What a maroon!  Hilariously, his question boils down to this:  “Will my total and utter lack of social skills, combined with my total overestimation of my own intelligence, in association with my stuck-up, apparently fucked-up family, cause me any problems down the road?” Is this guy lawyer material or what? And he is quasi-ocd?  How about quasi-fucking asshole?  Ever notice that people who brag about their intelligence usually aren’t exactly as intelligent as they think they are?  They are the kind that format sentences so that they can correctly use the word “whom” even though it sounds stilted and forced.  I’ll bet anything he says “irregardless”   all the time.   Anyway, letter writer had better hold tight to this girlfriend, because I don’t believe he’ll be getting another.


Put a sock on it…

From Carolyn Hax’s column, we have this gem….

Hi, Carolyn:

Every year a female friend has a Christmas get-together. On the invitation she requests that, if we are so moved,

we bring a baby item to donate to a charity she supports that is an anti-abortion group.

A number of us have a different viewpoint and do not wish to support her charity. Is declining the invitation the only way to handle this? Or should we just tell her how we feel? Or risk being embarrassed by showing up with no item to donate? I know it says “if you are so moved” but I still feel pressured. In past years, I grudgingly donated, and didn’t like it.

— T.

My Answer: Donate a box of condoms every year.  Case closed.


Sex and the reluctant asshole: I’m a back door man. The men don’t know, But the little girl understand…

Today’s question is from Dear Sugar

Dear Sugar,

I’m so glad to have found your column. I’m in my early 30s, and have been with my husband for 10 years. Our sex life has been mostly great.

…blah, blah, blah…let’s get to the point lady…

So, for the last year my husband has been VERY interested in anal sex. I was hesitant at first, but eventually we tried it. I didn’t like it. But it wasn’t horrible to the point that I’d rule it out forever, knowing he really enjoyed it. (Though he did say it was a lot of work.) I told him it was something we could do very occasionally (like, a few times a year), but we’d have to talk about it in advance. Sugar, since then, virtually EVERY time we’ve had sex, he tries to sneak in the back door in some way. Often it is just as I’m climaxing from manual or vibrator play, which completely ruins my moment. I can count on one hand the number of times in the last year that he has not attempted some kind of anal penetration.

I did my best to initiate other new things, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than anal. I’ve talked to him over and over and over again—nicely, clearly, not right in the moment or in times of other distraction. He always agrees to respect my boundaries. But when the time comes, he never does. If I physically shift away or ask him to stop touching me there, he slumps and sulks from being “scolded” and the moment’s done. He thinks he can “surprise” me into enjoying it, or maybe hopes that I won’t notice. Um, there’s no way I won’t notice. And sometimes he says he just forgets that I don’t want it, or just gets carried away in the moment, and I’m not sure I buy that.

I am so, so angry over this. It’s true I don’t like the physical sensation. But the more painful thing is that he is deliberately disregarding me. Or he’s just paying me lip service (and not the good kind) to shut me up and ignoring my feelings. It’s so hard to relax and be open and allow myself to reach an orgasm when EVERY time it’s ruined by his violation. I try to talk to him, and he just sulks and shuts down. He doesn’t want to put effort into enjoying other sexual things. He doesn’t understand how I don’t trust him now.

It’s been a year. At various times when we’ve talked, he’s said that anal is completely off the table. But that never lasts. He says it won’t be any good unless I enjoy it too—I think that explains his attempts to penetrate when I’m climaxing. But I just don’t like it. This is affecting my feelings for him. I don’t know what else to do.

Angry

MY ANSWER:  Wow, just wow.  Trying to “sneak” it in while you are in the throws of the mini-death???  Ok, unless you’ve spent the last ten hours impaled on a baseball bat, there ain’t no sneakin’ goin’ on back there (trust me, but don’t ask how I know).  I can imagine the following scenario: Her: “Oh yeah, almost there…hey what the fuck are you doing?  Didn’t I say before I hate being anally raped while orgasming???”  Which rivals only this scenario: Her: “Hey, cut it out.  No dicks in the ass.” Him: “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed! In the heat of the moment I forgot you don’t like my dick snaking its way  unannounced and unwanted into your ass.  My bad.  No hard feelings?”

Maybe this guy should just fuck himself since he’s the true asshole.

p.s. You should have been happy with the “special occasion anal” you idiot!


Older woman=sex and babies

This questions comes from Since You Asked, an advice column written by Cary Tennis…

Dear Cary,

I’m a woman nearing 30, and I’m in love with a younger man. Not much younger, just 25. In most ways, I don’t notice any age difference. We have a lot in common, are both very attracted to each other, and have a loving relationship of six months.

On top of that, we have compatible…blah, blah, blah…But sometimes I feel like the relationship is doomed. The problem is that I want “the future” sooner than he does. (For the record, he started this conversation!) He can’t see himself being married for many years. I feel like I am psychologically ready for marriage, though not until I know I have the right guy. He is afraid of feeling trapped. I am afraid of a lifetime full of three-year relationships.

But do we really disagree about anything? After all, we have the same long-term goals, and we’re also happy together in the present. He’s not going to propose to me anytime soon, but I’m not asking for that level of commitment yet.

I have broken up with two former boyfriends because they didn’t want children and were therefore not potential life partners. But this is different. Is there even a problem here? Do I need to consider breaking up with him? Or am I just inventing things to worry about in an otherwise great relationship? I’d welcome your thoughts!

Sincerely,

Ready for the Future

MY ANSWER: After six months you want to have babies with this guy?  Seriously?  You should see my previous post regarding bunny boilers.  To the Dude she is speaking of, I say —  run away.  Fast.  I have the idea his whole reason for bringing up the conversation was to elicit just such information…sneaky bastard.  Still though, run fucking fast.


Sex, breasts, and Facebook

This question comes directly to The Thinker from an intrepid reader who calls himself Possible Creeper.
Editors note: I will edit letters for understanding and perhaps brevity but will never alter the content.  Scout’s honor.

Question:  I have been a with the same girl for a few months and are at the stage where we spend a lot of time together just hanging out.  I haven’t cheated on her but I have made her suspicious because she looked through my webhistory one day.  She says she looked because I always seemed to be flipping to a different screen if she walked by while I was using my computer.  I was doing this.  It wasn’t for any real bad reason – I like to browse facebook photos of friends of friends who have it so you can see their pics even if you aren’t friends.  I spend time looking at the pics of girls.  I don’t know why – I’m not masturbating to them or anything.  My girl doesn’t like this and thinks I’m a creeper.  When I say it out loud it does seem creepy.  What do you think?

Possible Creeper

Answer:  Ok, whether we guys want to admit it or not, we’ve all done this – pissed off our girlfriends by doing nothing at all whatsoever that could be thought of as wrong.  That, and we’ve  all surfed around Facebook looking for pictures of hotties (it’s a fact, trust me).  We are hunters by evolution trapped in a gatherer world.  Without semi-creepy Facebook surfing, we might have never seen the pictures of Congressional candidate Krystal Ball (whose parents must have been hoping for a stripper and/or porn star.  Seriously, “Krystal Ball”).

The thing is, if you are doing it so much your girlfriend who doesn’t live with you notices, and you flip to another screen to avoid detection, then maybe your girl has a point.  Are you a creeper?  Well who is to say?  If your keyboard and/or underwear isn’t all sticky, then you’re probably ok…for now.

PS. I know there is no mention really of sex and/or breasts, but it is implied.


Vegan’s suck

Here’s a question from that classic answer lady’s column, Dear Abby….

FAMILY DREADS REPEATING LAST YEAR’S VEGAN THANKSGIVING

DEAR ABBY: Last year for Thanksgiving, I made a special effort to get the entire family together for the traditional meal. All 13 of us met at my mother’s home and everyone was to bring a dish or two to share.

One of my brothers has two college-age daughters. Both are vegan, and he insisted that all the dishes we brought be vegan! I did it, but I resented it because I felt that two out of 13 people should not decide the menu. If they wanted vegan dishes, they should bring something for themselves, while the rest of us brought what we wanted.

My brother and nieces are now asking what we’re doing this year for Thanksgiving. Frankly, I don’t want to go through that again. Am I wrong in thinking everyone should not bend over backward for the vegan meal? I don’t mind some of the menu accommodating them, but I don’t think the whole dinner should be altered. — TURKEY EATER IN TEXAS

MY ANSWER: What about Thanksgiving makes people such fucking douches?  Like a 100% more douche than they would be normally. (On a tangenturkey-attacktial note, I know douche bag seems like a played-out word/phrase.  But does anything perfectly encapsulate  that area between wanton asshole and clueless ingénue?  It is so succinct a phrase that even the sounds of the words seem to play perfectly into their cultural meanings…).  The thing is, 99.9% of all Vegans are humorless assholes anyway (it’s a documented fact, trust me). So add Thanksgiving to the equation and you have a fucktard who wants to ruin it for everyone.  Why oh why do these super-saints think they can do this to us?  Why can’t they leave me and you alone?  I don’t want to force them to eat real food – in fact, I don’t care if they eat at all.  So if they want to force their food choices on me, then here’s my solution:  orally sodomize them with a drumstick.  A turkey drumstick, that is.


Sugar ain’t so sweet

As I’ve confessed on my “About” page, I am strangely fond of reading advice columns.  Of course there are times when I want to scream “what in the fucking hell are you smoking” at one of the columnists.  This is one of those times…
Below is a question and answer posted at Dear Sugar from The Rumpus website.
My comments are in red.
Dear Sugar,
I’m kind of new in school and I want to make friends. All I ever hear is “just be yourself” and “just be friendly” and it’s not that easy on your second day of 8th grade. Everyone already has their own cliques and groups and they exclude me from everything. Everyone already knows who they’re going to pair up with in science class, while I’m stuck with an anti-social kid who picks his nose. I really want to make friends and I don’t know what to do. Can you please help me, Sugar?
Thanks.
Wilda
Dear Wilda,
I peed my pants in 8th grade. I really did. It was in gym class and we were square dancing. (OK, odd but interesting start.  A moment an 8th grader can relate to…or not depending upon bladder control issues.) Do you square dance at school or have we also left that behind with the No Child Left Behind Act? If we have, it’s a shame because square dancing is a serious hoot. (If by hoot you mean awkward and anachronistic, then yes it is a hoot.) Not only do you get to dance, you get to dance with someone else, which in my case, meant a boy. I was so overcome by the combination of romantic anxiety and delighted do-si-do-induced hysteria that I wet my drawers (Are you sure you aren’t channeling the thoughts of my new Jack Russell Terrier puppy.  Seems like all I have to do is put on country music and throw a humping pillow on the floor and he pees himself with glee…). As I bet you can imagine, it was a humiliation beyond measure. If someone had handed me a gun right then, I’d have shot myself in the head.
This came on top of another, less dramatic humiliation—also having to do with my pants. You see, I only owned three pairs in 8th grade and there are five days in the school week, which meant I had to rotate through them, and mix in the odd (loathsome) skirt… (The reply continues on but my attention wanders as Sugar describes her clothing woes.  Seriously, I get it.) …I hoped no one would notice. I hoped they’d only see how cool and fabulous I was. Those white jeans! They were Levi’s! (The poor thing — hope springs eternal from her as a youth.  But we’ve all been there, no?)
But of course I was wrong.
Is there any group of people on the planet more eagle-eyed than 8th graders? I think not. Eighth graders are the people we should’ve sent out to locate Osama Bin Laden. They see everything. They forgive nothing. I became The Girl Who Wears The Same Pants.
This was on top of my other nickname: Porky the Pig. I’d been dubbed that because:
a)     I was ever-so-infinitesimally fatter than the International Regulatory Commission on the Female Body had mandated, and
b)    the year before—when I was in seventh grade—a teacher had stood before my desk and announced to the entire class in an amused tone that I smelled strongly of bacon. In this observation, she was imprecise. I actually smelled like wood smoke because my family was so poor that our rented farmhouse didn’t have a working furnace, in spite of the fact that we lived in a legendarily cold climate…(I have to interrupt here because although interesting writing ensues, writing you should check out at The Rumpus website, Sugar does seem to love telling us of her troubles.  Which is fine and interesting, but by now hasn’t her 8th grade letter writer been overwhelmed by Sugar’s “you think you had it bad” schtick?  As an adult, I enjoyed the writing, empathized with the story, but as a way of addressing an 8th grader waiting for an answer, well…probably not the best tack.)… Eighth grade is a universally difficult year. You don’t yet know how perfect you are and also how imperfect. (Here we go, finally the advice we are waiting for!) You’re trying to survive in a social order that’s predicated on conformity and scarcity when the life you’re leading is original and abundant (Just like yours was Sugar, we know, we know, so could you stop wallowing in your own nostalgia and answer this poor girl?!). How can you be yourself when you don’t yet entirely know who it is you are? I don’t exactly know. (What?  Wait.  This is what I read all the other crap for?  I can get I don’t know from anyone…) Or rather, I know, but there isn’t anything I can say that will make the bright anxiety and dark confusion of this time disappear. (Aw, come on.  Say it!  Say it!!  That’s why she fucking wrote you!) There are important things you’re learning right now that you can only learn by living them. But I can tell you that the thing that speaks most profoundly to me in your letter is not your own angst about being included, but rather your offhand exclusion of the “anti-social kid who picks his nose.”  (Uhm, what?  So to paraphrase Sugar — “what speaks to me most is not that you are in a painful place in life, but that you defensively insulted the one kid who might have been your friend.  The one kid who you could have connected to.  So what if that kid peed her pants and wore the same pair of jeans all the time…no wait, that’s me who did that.  And you would have been there taunting me, you new girl.  They like you and not me and you’re the new girl.  I hate you.  Anyway, don’t insult others.  What are you twelve or something?”  After wading through all the “here’s how bad I had it” and “you have to live it I have no answers “  non answers, the best this girl gets is, don’t pick on the booger eater?  Couldn’t you have led with that Sugar, and then, I don’t know, given the poor girl some kind of tip for making friends?  Like join extra-curricular activities, go to community teen events, or any of the hundreds of pieces of advice clearly dispensed by Ned in Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide?)
It may seem that those two things are unrelated, but they’re not. It’s a closed circuit system, sweet pea. You are not one iota more worthy of love or inclusion than that boy. (Wow Sugar, one mention of not wanting to be stuck with an outcast and you go all flashback to pee pants.  I mean this kid wasn’t one of those who made your life a pee pants hell, geez.)
No matter what happens, no matter how old you are, I know for certain that so long as you believe yourself to be superior to him you will never feel okay with yourself. Until you are incapable of writing the sentence “while I’m stuck with an anti-social kid who picks his nose,” you will never truly believe yourself to be welcome among others. You must love in order to be loved. You must be inclusive in order to feel yourself among the included. You must give in order to receive. (Ok, the girl made one slightly mean remark.  It’s not like she is every mean girl wrapped into one Sugar.  Wow.)
It’s the simplest equation in the world and yet so complex. A lot of people live their whole lives and never work it out. Don’t let yourself be one of them.  (Thanks, Sugar, I’m sure this helped her immensely.  So let me boil down this answer to what seem to be your main points:
1)      You think you’ve got it bad?  Well listen to my pee-pants-bacon-smell-one-pair-of-jeans story and then you’ll see how bad it can be little girl.  Hah, I win.
2)      By the way you are a snobby mean girl.  Be Mother Teresa instead.

What a long and punishing letter for a young girl to bear the brunt of.)
Yours,
Sugar


Cheatin’ Hearts

Another question from Dear Prudence…

Dear Prudence,
Last year, my boss had an affair with another company manager, which led to his leaving the company to try to save his marriage. After we struggled to survive a disastrous few months with a new manager, he returned to our office, and we are all much happier. I am engaged, and my co-workers threw me a bridal shower last week. When my boss stood up to say something, I blurted out a comment about not wanting to hear his marriage advice, which led to a lot of catcalling and joking among the staff. He seemed to laugh it off, but I feel horrible. The whole office has gotten really close over the last few intensely stressful months, and I had a momentary lapse in judgment and forgot where I was. I would like to apologize to him, but I don’t want to make things more uncomfortable than they already are. Help!

—Distraught

Answer: The only possible reply I have is 


Friend or Foe

This question comes from the Friend or Foe advice section at DoubleX.com

Dear Friend or Foe,

My ex-boyfriend, who literally broke up with me the same week my father died(!), just friended me on Facebook. Should I “accept,” “ignore,” and/or “reply” with a scathing denunciation of both his moral bankruptcy and his disgusting table manners? For the record, I’m happily married nowto the boyfriend I met after him. So in a way, I suppose, I have my evil ex to thank for breaking up with me. On the other hand, I still hate the guy’s guts. In short, I’m torn between wanting to tell him what I really think and wanting to look like I couldn’t care less (and haven’t thought about him once since we broke up). If I accept him as a friend, won’t I be accomplishing the latter? Also, that way, he’ll have access to all the extremely flattering profile pictures of me! Please advise. I feel compelled to mention that my evil ex is a Zen Buddhist, so I was surprised to see him on Facebook at all; I’d somehow thought social networking and meditating didn’t mix.

Sincerely, Am I Right in Thinking That This Man is Not My Friend?

ANSWER: This is so a no-brainer.  You absolutely friend him.  Then perhaps post some updates about doing all the things with your hubby that you never did with him.  Naughty little hints and what not.  Also, if he loved to entertain and you didn’t, all of a sudden you should…hey, what the hell, is this the same girl mentioned by the writer in  the Seattle Post-Intelligencer?


OQ – an original question

This question was sent directly to The Thinker, and is not shamelessly lifted from another site….

Question: How in the name of all that is holy can Bristol Palin still be on Dancing with the Stars, and how can her psycho mom still get paid to squeak and shriek incoherent word salad?

Sincerely,

Stranger in a Strange Land

Answer: I can answer both questions with one answer: A lot of people in this country are crazy. Not the fun crazy like a girlfriend who wants to have sex in the bathroom at her parents house on your first Thanksgiving there while about a million relatives mill about yards away, but scarey crazy, like the girlfriend who wants to kill you for talking to other women, even if you do happen to work with them and are talking to them at work. And stupid. A lot of people in this country are stupider than at any other time in our history. It’s a fact and is supported by evidence.  Trust me.  To paraphrase George Carlin, think about how smart the average American is, and the remember that half of all Americans are dumber than that.  It explains a lot, not just Dancing with the Stars results.

And just because I like to see trouble get stirred up, I am praying Bristol wins – the real dance fans who watch the show will run through the streets with pitchforks and torches!


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