Monday, February 20, 2006


...and I ain't kiddin'!

by yours truly
The crabby critic

Invariably, with this type of website one gets asked all sorts of benign and silly questions about situations and people that I couldn’t possibly comment on intelligently without knowing more about either the person or the circumstance.

While I do screen all comments made in the comments section of this blog and those sent directly to my email – and try to touch base on every one that isn’t an ad, masquerading as a comment, for Quicken Loans or Price Line – occasionally I get stumped by the complete audacity or nuttiness of what some people perceive as acceptable behavior and/or comments/questions deemed acceptable to make in print.

Really, you have to be functioning with a few burned out pistons and severe iron deficiency to write in some of what I get to read.

So here they are – at long last; the most incredibly ridiculous inquiries I’ve had on this site thus far. I won’t say “Don’t keep them coming” because frankly, they make for a good laugh and saucy reply some snowy night in front of the fire. But if I had my way, there’d be an intellectual firing squad for some of these people.

And now…dumb, dumber and most dumb of all…the bad, the bad and the frustratingly bad…from yours truly,

Dear Crabby:

Last week my brother punched me in the head. Then I hit him back. He gave me a black eye and threw me through our open patio door. Then I kicked him a bit. He bit me. I stepped on his face and he left a bruise on my back. Now what?

Brody in Kentucky

Dear Brody:

Drive yourselves to the hospital.

It’s a wonder you’ve enough teeth and fingers left to type out this question? In practical terms (as in, what should your next course of action be after beating the living snot out of one another), I don’t know…neither of you have the good sense God gave a lemon.

I suppose I’m old fashion and idyllic. I’d like to see a mutual apology on the horizon, along with a guarantee that neither one of you will act so utterly idiotic in the future. You’re not the Hatfields and the McCoys you know!

Your truly,
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

My girlfriend sez she’s spank-a-licious. What do you think?

Joey in New York City

Dear Joey:

WOOOOAAAWWW! That's a real high brow chick you've got there!

Sounds like your girlfriend’s innate stock value in her own ego just skyrocketed on the NASDAQ of tradable cookies and cans. She’s either way too into herself or hoping to convince you of something you’re not entirely convinced of already. Bottom line: HIGH MAINTENANCE AND LOVIN’ IT!

Here’s the wrinkle – if you don’t think she’s “spank-a-licious” then she’s probably not. There’s a very good line from The Wizard of Oz that might suffice herein:

“Remember my friend –a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

Clearly, your Babe is more ‘pig in the city’ than Playboy material – at least by your own assessment otherwise you wouldn’t be polling total strangers for a blind taste test.

Here’s a clue, Poindexter; it takes more than a big booty to liberally apply the very liberal superlative “spank-a-licious.” Without accompanying eight by tens I have no way of guessing how far on the ‘hot meter’ your little pork chop sizzles. My guess though, is that she hasn’t been pre-heated enough.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

Whatever happened to William Hung?

Tracy in Seattle

Dear Tracy:

Not that I care, but my guess is that he’s off somewhere spending the millions he accumulated from the sale of that ultra-crappy album somebody paid good money to put out and that millions more tone deaf mutes ran out and bought after his pathetically miserable bastardization of Ricky Martin’s She Bangs on American Idol.

It sickens me to think of these sheep following around any No-Talent (Hung, not Martin – although the latter doesn’t rate terribly high on my list of 20th century recording artists either).

Old Chinese proverb say – “Flip burgers, not records.” …well, okay, not really!

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

Like duh! I just can’t believe you! Well, like, you know. Ahhhhh! Hmph! Yeah, well, whatever!

Sydney from Maryland

Dear Inarticulate Mess:

Well, duh! You know. Ahhhh! Hmph! Yeah, well, whatever! My thoughts exactly.

Yours truly (I think, Hmph! Maybe!)
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

I hate my sister. What should I do?

Kendell from Thortonville

Dear Kendell:

Stop hating her. Or go on hating her until the pitchfork falls out of your butt. Without details, your guess is as good as mine. But life’s too short to invest that much energy in someone who probably doesn’t give a damn about you. My advice, plant some azaleas. Then plant yourself next to them.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

My wife came home from work the other day and told me she had sex with a co-worker in the Xerox room. She said it was meaningless but she felt guilty about it. What should I do?

Rob in Taylor

Dear Rob:

Did she make any copies? Seriously…did she?

No, seriously – you’re wife’s a piggy-piggy.

Faxing some guy and sharpening his pencil on a coffee break when she’s got a loyal, decent fella waiting for her at home. How many different ways are there to say, Ugh!

I mean…UGH!

She’s not sorry she did this guy. She’s just worried she might get caught. So before everyone in the office starts giggling the next time you come in to pick her up, she just figured she’d tell you what was on her mind while the deed and underpants were still fresh.

How disgusting!

My advice – tell your wife you hope she enjoyed her little ‘working girl’ fantasy because from now on the only insanity getting stapled to her forehead is your divorce papers. I don’t know, I guess I’m a tad catty – I’d also send an inner office memo to everyone in her building – including her boss and the guy’s wife!

Your truly,
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

I want to kill my parents but I don’t want to get caught. Do you think shooting is the best way?


Dear Chicken-Livered Norman Bates:

I have your IP address and email, so if two people in their mid-fifties meet with an untimely end in your general vicinity, don’t think both your IP and Email won’t make it back to Cook County ‘tout suite’ along with your moronic inquiry, faster than you can say ‘The Menendez Brothers.’

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

Don’t the Olympics just make you sick?

Darryl in Washington

Dear Darryl:

…only when they camera pan excessively.

What do you mean ‘make me sick’? Okay, so they’ve managed to monopolize television broadcasting for two weeks. I suppose that’s an imposition if you’re more inclined toward crappy sitcoms and equally crappy reality TV. But hey, on that latter score – the Olympics are the ultimate in reality TV. Why not indulge your sports-minded tooty in a bit of vicarious excitement.

Personally, I think the Olympic committee made a minor error in judgment by shortening the time between games from four years down to two. In my opinion, this restructuring has reduced both the ‘event status’ of the games and the level of invested audience anticipation for them to just two points above blasé. However, nothing should diminish the accomplishments put forth by all of the athletes involved.

Okay, maybe figure skater Johnny Weir – that five foot nine, 139 lb. sack of pomposity whose pre-competition statement against any judge or member of the press that might find him…oh, shall we say…flamingly grating… was that they could “eat it.”

Personally and professionally, Mr. Weir– I don’t think you’ll find any takers on that offer.

Oh…and here’s a bit of free advice – you need to concentrate more on your esthetics than your attitude. Arguably, an Olympic-caliber skater is made on the ice. But it takes a real humble man to become an iconic hero.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Dear Crabby:

Are you a hater?

Melissa in Bridgeport

Dear Melissa:

I don’t hate anything or anyone. I dislike a great deal of people and tolerate less than half of the rest. You see, it takes a rare individual to look life plainly in the eye and realize that there are a lot of simpleton morons running around the planet – only half of which currently occupy a seat in Congress. The rest reside in plush and pampered estates littered across the Hollywood Hills.

Hey, Paris. What’s up?

To point to stupidity or vial and repugnant behaviors and call them by their rightful names is not the same as to hate the person involved in the activity. Everyone makes mistakes. But you can’t just bury your head in the sand like an ostrich and pretend that everything and everyone is beautiful in its and their own way.

Clearly, some people just aren’t living up to snuff – not only by my undeniably conservative standards - but life’s in general.

I rank terrorists, Nazis, serial killers, child abusers, rapists, white collar executives at Enron, Delphi and General Motors, Charles Manson and Michael Moore in this latter category.

The list could go on…but why?

Yours truly,
The crabby critic


Anonymous Debbie said...

dear crabby what do you think of american idol? Debbie

February 22, 2006  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dear Crabby: Is my classmate flirting with me? He is in two of my classes and he usually sits on the other side of the room, but today in both classes he sat right next to me. And than after class, he walked me to the cafeteria. And then we talked a little bit, Then all of sudden he reaches over and touches my hair and says "You should wear your hair down more often, I like it when it is down"......I am like Whaaaatttt, me, someone is actually flirting with me???!!!?? What should I do? From Melinda

February 22, 2006  

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