I can’t believe that I am writing to you. But the problem I have is so difficult to deal with that I feel I have no other choice. The problem is my husband. He wears nothing but his bathrobe all day. This is sometimes embarrassing, especially when we go shopping or to the theater. He does, however, put slippers on when we go to our special restaurant. I am the one who makes the money so that I can feed him, the worthless slob. If I only had the guts, I would kill him in his sleep. What should I do?
- Weeping in Winnipeg
Your problem reminds me of a funny story. A couple once had the strangest feeling that the baby they brought home from the hospital wasn’t theirs. So just to be sure, they went back to the hospital and asked them to double check their records. And sure enough, it wasn’t their baby. In fact, the woman was never even pregnant, but had instead gone in for a hernia operation. They were both immediately arrested and are both doing time in adjoining maximum security facilities. The baby remains at large.
Dear Andy Griffith:
I have a very difficult thing to share with you. On occasion, late at night when nobody is awake except for my drunken neighbor, I will dress up like Charles De Gaulle and parade around my kitchen cooking croissants and speaking about Socialism. Is there something wrong with me? And did we really go to the moon?
- French Fried in Foxborough
You do that? Me too! I thought there was something wrong with me. But tell me something, where did you buy your hat? I find mine to be not quite authentic enough. But that reminds me of a funny story. I read that the economy is so bad that some people are even having their tattoos removed, and then putting on temporary tattoos saying “This Space for Rent” or “Eat at Joe’s” The economy is so bad that Rapper 50-Cent changed his name to 25-Cent. Your momma so fat when her beeper go off people thinks she backing up.
Dear Andy Griffith:
I have a deep fear of cats. I am also afraid of heights, widths, pears, any type of tree, freeways, and in-laws. I also get nervous around Mormons. What can I do?
- Loony in Louisiana
That reminds me of a funny story. I saw that commercial that says, “When you Come to the Olive Garden, you’re family.” So I went to the Olive Garden, and sure enough it was just like my family. Most of the people there were intoxicated, the cook was angry, and I couldn’t get out of there without someone asking me for money. Here is my advice for you. Get a dog. Stay on the ground. Do not move to the left or right. Cut down all of the trees in your neighborhood and stay there. Do not drive. Do not get married. If you are married, get out of it, and now. And for God’s sake, stay out of Utah.
Dear Andy Griffith:
My husband says that he wishes our lives were more interesting than they are. He wants to be free. He wants to travel. He wants the wind in his hair. Can you believe he said that? The wind in his hair? What does that mean?
- Confused in Cleveland
The next time your husband’s head is near your nether regions, lightly break wind at or near his hair. That should do it. But that reminds me of a funny story. It seems as if there were two couples who lived next door to each other, but never spoke. They communicated via sign language and WordPress, which was very difficult since they both had dialup.
The first couple was Sid and Nancy Bowel, who had been married happily for 3 years, and then unhappily for the next 24. Then there was Fred and Julie Shoulder, who were married somewhat happily for 6 years, and then for 4 years they were unsure of their level of happiness. This was followed by a period of numbness, desperation, and excessive bowling. After many years of this, the Bowels moved and the Shoulders separated.
Dear Andy Griffith:
My mother-in-law and me have a bet. I say spider monkeys have eight legs. She says they have four. Who is right? (A seven-piece chicken wing dinner is riding on this, so please tell us that I am right!)
- Crazy in Columbus
That reminds me of a funny story. The Olson Twins were recently on Oprah, doing a story on ridiculously rich celebrities and their guests, when a question arose from the audience. A guest asked if they had ever Twittered, to which they replied “Yes, but not in public.” So they are now the first celebrity twin twitters on record.
But back to your inane question. You are both right. The Australian Spider Monkey has eight legs, but the Madagascar Spider Monkey (Monkus Spiderus) has only seven. So have fun with those chicken wings.
There was a show on the news recently that talked about Prince Harry, and how is he is third in line for the throne. That sounds like me the last time I was at a keg party, waiting to use the bathroom.
Did you know that the Chicago Blackhawks are the only team to be named after an attack helicopter? Now you do.
I was reading about a tribal elder in Pakistan who is so tough that his nickname is Islamabad-Ass. He used to be called Ramadan Corleone. But then he changed it, for obvious reasons.
I just finished watching a movie called “Syriana.” Have you seen it? You haven’t? Why not? Are you too good for George Clooney? He is kidnapped in one scene, and the first thing the bad guys do is put a black hood over his head, so he can’t see where they are taking him. I think if I were ever to travel in that part of the world I would bring my own hood, just in case. You know, because of germs.
Olivia on “The City” is quite possibly the most clever person I have ever seen on television. All throughout the first season, she sets Whitney up like a set of bowling pins, only to knock her down repeatedly, mercilessly, with no regard to her feelings whatsoever. And she enjoys doing it. I know she does.
“You seem a bit down, is everything all right?” she asks Whitney, batting her doe-like eyes.
And you just knew that Whitney was about to fall for the trap.
“Well, my boyfriend just broke up with me and I am a little upset.” Whitney would answer, clueless to the calamity that would shortly befall her.
Confident with her setup, Olivia would respond with a cutting remark that left even the strongest viewers gasping for breath.
“You need to keep your work and personal life separate. I think you are very unprofessional.” Olivia would say, with the cold-blooded callousness of a prairie hunter.
Whitney just gave the same response she gave every other time she was knocked to the ground by the evil genius. She responded by doing nothing. And Olivia would walk away, again triumphant, again on top!
When the two of them were given the assignment of pulling outfits for a very important magazine spread, Whitney picked the perfect outfit. Olivia said, “No, that outfit is hideous. It will never work. There are too many of the same colors.” But when the magazine chose Whitney’s outfit for the cover, Olivia took all the credit. I stood, dumbstruck, along with the entire world, as Olivia gave Whitney no credit whatsoever! And we all know what a trooper Whitney is. She packed up from Los Angeles, and went to New York to realize her dream of being a Fashionista. The opening sequence says it all, as Whitney exits her cab and looks up at the skyscrapers with the simple-eyed wonder of a backwoods inbred.
Again and again Olivia outwits her opponent. When she takes a job at Elle Magazine, she mows down the competition without remorse. When she leaves Joe hanging without the names and costs of the garments shown on NBC’s morning show, she blames Erin! I couldn’t believe it! She knows how to outplay her opponent. She leaves them hanging, and when the whip comes down she pleads ignorance. “I wasn’t given proper guidance, Joe” she whines. “If Erin would have given me the information I needed, we wouldn’t be in this predicament, Joe” she whispers. And Erin is left saying “It’s her or me, Joe” at the end of episode 22. Way to go, Olivia. That’s the way to play your opponent. You beat them by getting into their head. And when you are there you stay. You stay there and you do some damage.
I have always had a keen fashion sense. Perhaps I will move to New York and start my own business. Now that I know how the game is played I think I would do well. I would do well because I have learned from the Master. I just wish my teeth were a little whiter.
As long as I can remember I have always wanted to be a Champion Hopscotch Player. While other kids dreamed of being plumbers and loan sharks, I had my eyes on one thing and one thing only – King of the Hopscotch.
I came across Hopscotch the same way everyone else did – in the back alleys and abandoned construction projects near my home. How I marveled at the squares laid out on the oil-covered asphalt. How I longed to play! I even told both of my friends of my dreams. “I wish to learn the art! I must play Hopscotch!” I would tell them. But they just laughed. They told me to get my head out of the clouds. They mocked me. They just couldn’t understand how I needed to jump. “Let me play Hopscotch, or kill me now!” I would cry. “Without Hopscotch I don’t want to live!” I would scream. But again they laughed. But they won’t be laughing for long. Not when I become champion. Champion of the Hopscotch.
Each day I arise with one goal in mind – to become an even greater jumper than the day before. I run, I lift weights, I stretch, I nap. Sometimes I eat cereal. I often eat popsicles. I do all of the necessary rituals to get in shape. Have you seen those guys in the commercials with the abdominal muscles that look like steel? I look nothing like that. But that’s not important in Hopscotch. If your thighs rub together it’s not the end of the world. And it is a scientific fact that having girth helps you to land easier. Just watch the Science Channel, they will back me up. And I need to be able to jump on those squares just right. I need to be able to flip around quickly. I need to be more agile than anyone else. If I expect to be King of the Hopscotch there is no other way. And I will not be denied. One day I will reign supreme. I will be King of the Hopscotch. Only then will I rest. I will rest and have a popsicle.