The One About the Out-of-control Teen

Dear Agnes:

I am currently involved with a semi-decent and somewhat-kind man. He says his name is “Dale.” He has been living with me and my eight children for two months, and we get along very well when he’s sober. The problem is his step-daughter from a previous marriage. I’ll call her “Judy” because I don’t remember her name. She has just a tad little bit of the shakes from a nasty addiction to glint, gleam, and satan’s hairlip. Her pimp overmedicates her, causing her violent mood swings — almost as bad as mine! When the girl is not strung out on barbies, tellies, or shiva, she becomes nervous and cannot “perform good transactions” clearly with her johns. Then, Dale loses his patience and starts to yell at MY kids! I understand his position, tho. I mean, you try dealing with eight kids when you’re coming down after floating some jimmies in a tub of mesc or snorting a boot of skag!

Anyhoo, I have tried to tell my gentleman friend how important it is to keep the girl drugged evenly, even if we have to slip it to her in her food, but he becomes upset with me, calls me a skank ass bitch, and says I am blaming him for her problems, which CLEARLY I am. Recently “Judy” told me she’s going to to “straight” and get off the junk. That means no more hooking, and THAT means no more WonderBread for my kids! She told me she is worried about the long-term effects of the drugs, and is even thinking of going back to high school. I just think she’s being selfish! Dale is concerned that she cannot hook properly without her fix and is also concerned about not being able to afford his monthly subscription to Skanky Juggies (he and I met in the personals section … tru luv!) but he refuses to talk to her about her duty to contribute financially to the family.

I think it’s a mistake for “Judy” to dump the junk, and I don’t think I can pimp the girl on my own without Dale’s consent. Do you have any suggestions?

Drugged up in Detroit

Dear D-in-D,

Yes, Judy is being VERY selfish. Her step-father is trying to avoid his responsibilities to his step-daughter, you, and your eight lovely children. But, all is not lost!

A former pimp associate once told me, “You gotta treat your bitches like a garden store. Your women are your hoes and you gotta keep ‘em cleaned, lined up, and ready for plowing.” I am pretty sure, in fact, that’s where the term “ho” came from!

Here’s what you need to. First, call Judy’s pimp and tell him she’s been stiffing him for 3% and bragging about it to his other girls. Any pimp worth his fedora and feather knows how important it is to maintain respect on the street … and that means bitch-slapping any ho that talks smack (aka “Judy”).

If a little talk with Mister Fist and his sister Switchblade doesn’t get her back on junk and back on the street turning tricks to anyone with $5 and a back seat, then my name isn’t Agnes Sleestak. Let me know how it “hoes”!

Your best friend,

agnes-sig.gif

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About the Stalker

Dear Agnes:

There’s this guy. I won’t use his real name. Let’s call him “Darb”. I want to see his naked furry butt in a jockstrap. Now normally this wouldn’t be a problem. My powers of persuasion are very strong. And when in doubt there’s always sneaking around in the bushes outside someone’s window.

The problem is that he lives far away. So I have limited powers of persuasion. What would you recommend I say and/or do to convince him to do what I want him to send me this snapshot? Should I flatter? Demand it? Send gifts?

What do you recommend I do when I want him to do something? He’s very independent and sassy and likes to have his own way.

Eager in California

Dear Eager,

From the slants and loops in your letter, you’re most likely a Virgo *AND* the person who is always sneaking around “Darb’s” bushes! Shame on you, Virgo.

By your description I gather this independent man is sassy and likes to have his own way, even though you said it in your email I guessed it ahead of time. I’m having a VERY psychic run this week. Just this morning I had a vision that the mailman would have a horrified look on his face if I opened the door nude and asked him to lick my stamp. Guess what? HANDS ON BUZZERS! Lucky Seven! HE WAS HORRIFIED. I don’t know how I knew it, but I just did, I’m happy to say. It’s downright spooky.

Miss Agnes is consulting her magic crystal ball … it sounds like “Darb” is a Gemini … BOY you’re in for a rough storm! Your powers of persuasion are most likely not a match for his brilliance and wit … and power of avoidance! I have many good Gemini friends: Marylin, Prince (the artist formerly known as >0– >), Joan Rivers, and Ally Sheedy, and find them to be unpredictable, fickle, freakish, and darkhearted, but with a hiLARIous sense of humor. They make a great croquet partner and usually play a MEAN accordian. All of this spells trouble for you, Eager, especially with his furry mutt. I’m an AVID dog lover, but if this mutt has teamed up with a Gemini, there’s trouble-a-brewin. It’s a general rule that any Gemini with a dog has an evil heart. Example: Joan Rivers and her terriers. Also, I’m not sure why you want to see his dog in a jockstrap, but seeing as how you’re from California, I’m not surprised.

But back to the question! What do I recommend when you want him to do something? Have you tried the “How about if … ?” trick? That gets most Geminis most of the time. As with all Geminis, my guess is that with enough gifts, gifts, and/or gifts, you’ll most likely see something popping up in your mailbox very soon. And stay out of his bushes!!!

Your best friend,

agnes-sig.gif

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About the Itchy Coochie

Dear Agnes:

My crotch is on fire. I’m afraid if I itch it, it will become all red and puffy. What to dooooooooo?

Your Friend Jerri…..
Flat point, IL

P.S. My boyfriend requested that I pee on him. Do you think he has a skin infection?

Dear Jerri,

I had a sad, socially poignant, especially touching story I wanted to share with you, but here’s a different one about my runaway sister, Jerri:

Once upon a time I had a sister named Jerri. Jerri wanted to go to a party, but Father said no. That night she slipped him some ludes in his brandy, and he became comatose. Out of guilt and fear of another arrest, Jerri ran away and became a street whore. I still don’t know why she wiped her feces on the lampshade before she left. Was it a secret message to me?

From what I hear, poor Jerri was broke and needed some taxi money to get back to her pimp’s apartment. She worked all day in the bus station restroom, but by the end of the day she had just a couple bucks … hardly enough to get her back home, and her arm was too sore to hitchhike. To cover her taxi fare, she made a deal to perform some tricks in the back of a cab with a “few” other people on the long ride home. She didn’t know it, but one of the passengers waiting in the rear was Mr. Syphy, also called The Great Imitator (I guess because he does funny impersonations at parties).

Twenty-one days later, Jerri had a little passenger of her own: Treponema Pallidum. That darned Mr. Syphy had given her a case of prickly stickly. One dose of penicillin will cure a person who has had syphilis for less than a year. Jerri has needlephobia (fear of needles — a pretty ironic condition for a junky) and didn’t get it treated for several years. She slowly went insane, changed her name, and finally lost her job co-hosting the Live with Regis and Kathy Lee show. The point? Jerri didn’t wuss out and get it checked and neither should you!

Go find someone to scratch that puffy mess of yours! Wear your syphillis like a badge of honor, as my sister did! Perhaps your warped sense of reality will lead you into a new career as a junky whore? Follow Jerri’s example and your friends will respect you, and so will I.

As for peeing on your boyfriend, I say go for it. Variety is the spice of life, so make it a four-star evening! Here’s a tip: wait for a special occasion such as his mother’s birthday! Nothin’ says lovin’ like spraying him down from head to toe with good old golden sunshine in front of his kinfolk! And who knows? We just might be seeing you on the cover of Time next year for winning a Nobel Prize for finding a cure to skin infection!

PS — Your illegible writing and the way you dotted the ‘i’ in your name reminds me of my own sister’s handwriting. Jerri, if you’re out there, please come home! I miss your bawdy dinnertime stories!

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About Humping the Yard Boy

Dear Agnes:

I have a problem. I have a huge crush on my yardboy. I have offered to pay him a dollar extra per hour if he works without his shirt on. He seems to be into it, and now he’s working in the buff…How much more per hour should I pay him? Do you think I have gone too far???

Amanda Humpon,
Spokane, WA

Dear Amanda,

“Too far?” This Miss doesn’t know the meaning of the words! If I had a dollar for every yardboy that I had a crush on or watched secretly through the windows while they painted outside my bedroom, do you know what I’d have? A better lawyer for all the sexual harrassment lawsuits against me!

Getting your gardener to work in the buff is just as lucky as getting your dentist to work in the buff … or your meatman, or your greengrocer, or the lead singer of your favorite funk band, or your car repairmen (I have a strict “No chicks under my hood!” policy).

And anyway, what’s the problem? If you’re single and he’s single, go mingle! Unless of course you’re married. In that case your husband will have to get in on the deal to make it a fair trade. Put on some Doctor Funk, have them clean each others’ gutters, or perhaps they can dig together in your backyard or root around your flower bed? Make a day of it. Pack a picnic basket of your favorite condom-mints (catsup, mustard, etc.) Sounds like a dream, you lucky woman! Don’t forget the cucumbers!

To answer your question, a cool dollar fifty sounds like a good price to keep this hunk-a-hunka-burnin’-yard-waste as god intended him to be: naked, gardening, glistening with sweat, and working hard under a woman.

PS! My old pussy…willow has a nasty case of root rot and a mild beetle infestation. When you’re done with him, send him my way!

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About Sancho

Dear Agnes:

I need your help. I have been dating this man, for the sake of anonymity we will call him Boris. Anyways, Boris got it into his sick little head that he is not Boris anymore, but instead he is Sancho. All I hear all day long is “Is Miss Tibbits Sancho? No, I am Sancho”. What can I do to convince Pablo, er I mean Boris that he is not Sancho. I mean, Scott Baio is not Sancho, and you, Miss Agnes are not Sancho. We all know this, why doesn’t he?

Yours in Sanchotude,

Miss Tibbits
Tibberia, TA, UTA

Dear MT,

I once who had a friend, Martin, who had what I’ve labeled the Sancho Personality Disorder (SPD). Our friendship started off normal, but after a cultural traumatic experience at the Midway Sunday Flea Market, he was struck with SPD, and all he could say after that was, “Are you Sancho? No. You are not Sancho. I am Sancho.” Then, to top it off, he’d tilt his head back and do a little hip-hop-hip-hop that would make me moister than a Betty Crocker Cake. My menopausal school-girl crush got the better of me and that evening when Martin/Sancho passed out from too many servaysas, I mounted him like a taxidermist and rode him faster than a speed freak on a mechanical bull — sparks, smoke, leather, beer stains and all! Something came alive in me that day … I never regreted taking advantage of him in his drunken slumber. Not once.

Martin/Sancho met a bitter, traumatic, tragic, very sad, very nasty end: He overdosed on back-alley gorditas at the local Taco Gal the very next day. Three months later I was a ‘gal in trouble’ and after what seemed like months, I eventually gave birth to a boy who I named Ricky … he had two rows of the most gorgeous teeth, and dark hair with natural blond highlights. And boy could he shake a rattle! And he smiled all the time. The nurses said it was gas, but I knew it was happiness. I gave him his father’s name as a last name, and then put him up for adoptin. Last I heard little Ricky Martin was in some boy band, Menudo, and was doing well.

I still pine for Martin/Sancho and his reeko swavay ways. I know when my time comes and god calls upon me to make the final run for the border, Martin/Sancho will be there waiting … smiling at me … wearing a white tank top and a gold chain.

In conclusion, Miss Tibits, you’ve got to take your Sancho in whatever form you can while you can get it and be thankful you’re getting any at all. Mine got away, but yours doesn’t have to.

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About the Inconsiderate Girlfriend

Dear Agnes:

Ho comes to da crib wid no money, so I says you betta gots my crack or mo money. Cause, slap me an abe, Ho! The T.J. hookers struttin’ on stage need their crotches filled, know what I’m sayin!! So I says, Don’t you gots love fo’ me no mo’ baby? Sheeeit, you my bitch, ain’t ya!? Don’t ya be runnin in here like buffy and jodi outta da projects wid nuthen. This ain’t yo crib do you see rats, roaches and an eviction notice.

What to doooo, sheeeit

Pimp Mac Daddy

Dear Pimp Mac,

Thank you for having the courage to write to me addressing a touchy subject. Nepotism has its downsides, but it also has its upsides. While the intricacies of day-to-day office relationships with family members can be quite damaging if problems are not addressed swiftly and directly, they can also lead to stronger bonds of trust between spouses and their children.

In your case, I’d like to address my answer and advise more fully in Jive. Please forgive me of some of it seems a little rusty, but believe me, I feel you, Boo.

I feel so’ry fo’ ya’ cuz’ it seems likes ya’ is real hurtin’ about dis…and it seems likes ya’ real love yo’ mama but, ah’ dink whut gots happened here be dat. Man!..yo’ mama be on some powa’ trip not only at wo’k but at crib too, she gots powa’ ova’ ya’ at wo’k and she gots powa’ ova’ yo’ emoshuns at crib, she knows dat ya’ gots’ta do nuthin t’keep ha’ and dis be whut be makin’ ha’ lose respect fo’ ya’, she obviously sees ya’ as bein’ weak and not some sucka she kin respect. Man! (I’m not sayin’ dis t’hurt ya’ even mo’e, it plum comes across dat way t’me in yo’ postin’) ah’ duzn’t know if ah’ have any advice t’cut dat gots’ta help ya’ but ah’ can say dis…Duzn’t beg, grovel o’ whine, she gots’ta plum look at all uh dat as mo’e weakness. You’s gots’ta stay strong and if nodin’ else rap it out wid her. Ah be baaad… You’s kin alway go and rap t’de main sucka’ upside ya’,(besides her) and let dem know de situashun. You’s dun didn’t say but gots ya’ wo’ked dere longa’ den she has? Just da damn way ya’ described ha’ aggressivness makes me dink dat she likess power. Ah be baaad… If ya’ real wanna keep ha’ ya’ gots’ta reestablish some radical powa’ o’ control but try t’keep it on an even level, nodin’ t’overpowerin’.

Peace out, Dog.

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About the High School Sweetheart

Dear Agnes:

Four years ago, I married my high school “sweetheart,” Niko. We lived in L.A. and planned to buy a Camaro and raise a family of twelve there. Before we settled down, however, Niko decided he should spend a few years living apart in a different climate to see if he liked it better. I agreed, with the understanding that we would move back to L.A. together in three years if things didn’t work out for him.

It’s been four years since Niko moved to Florida. I met two nice conjoined twins (and a couple truckers, oh and a homeless guy, well, a couple of homeless guys) at the Wal*Mart I work at, and we had an affair (at different times, not all at once, except for that one time). Now I am pregnant with triplets, and I’m not sure who the fathers are. This is wonderful news for me, but Niko knew from the beginning that I didn’t want to raise my children away from him. I told him it’s time to come home to LA and be a responsible father to his illegitimate kids, but he won’t hear of it. I wants the babies to be born in LA. Niko says I am welcome to stay in LA, but that he is staying in Florida.

I love Niko with all my heart. How can I convince him to move back to L.A.?

Your biggest fan,
The Unhappy Hooker in the West

Dear Unhappy Hooker:

Shame on Niko for not keeping his word, and shame on you for being such a slut. If I would have kept any of the kids *I* ever had, I DEFINITELY would have treated them a lot better than you’re treating yours.

Now you must decide which is more important — your marriage or your occupation. You’ll be hard pressed to convince Niko to do anything. You need to find a way to put the “oomph” back in your relationship! When you figure it out, you will know what to do, but if you don’t, here’s a hint: a six-pack, a road trip to Florida and a Saturday Night Special in your purse spell romance!

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About the Fat Wifey

Dear Agnes:


Bertha’s front

Bertha’s rear(s)

My wife and I have been married for 42 years. Bertha is a mostly-loving wife, absent mother and an average, adequately-educated woman. She has always had a problem with her weight, and this has made her unhappy (she has been tried and acquitted three times of the involuntary manslaughter of three previous boyfriends). Last year, she went on a new diet (the one turkey/one quart of plain yoghurt diet) and slimmed down considerably to a gorgeous 350 lbs. She is now a size 26 and looks fantastic!

The problem is Bertha’s taste (or lack there of) in clothes. She has always worn baggy, shapeless slacks and tops — quite a lot of cloth for one woman to carry around, frankly. I think she should show off her new figure, but she isn’t interested. I have even taken her shopping and selected clothes that are more fitted — tube tops, spandex, leggings, see-thru push-up bra, crotchless panties, mesh workout shirts — but she refuses to buy them. How can I convince her that she has a fabulous body and ought to be proud to let people see it?

I’ve attached two photos of Bertha for you to see for yourself.

Hungry for some deep-fried lovin’,

West Texas Bubba

Dear Bubba:

It may take a while for Bertha to see herself (or her shoes) as you do and dress accordingly. Meanwhile, smother her … with whipped cream and compliments. Enlist the help of the sales personnel when you take her shopping. Slip them a Franklin for their efforts.

And be more amorous, more often. That ought to convince her to at least give the mesh outfits in her wardrobe a much-deserved rotation.

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About the Famous Quote

Dear Agnes:

A long time ago, you printed a terrific definition of success. It made a huge impression on me. Would you please print it again, and this time, I promise to clip it and put it in a safe place.

Signed
Ohio Fan

Dear Ohio,

With pleasure. This Communist Manifesto was written in 1848 Marx and Engels for the Communist League. It is one of my favorites:

“Of all the classes that stand face to face with the bourgeoisie today, the proletariat alone is a genuinely revolutionary class. The other classes decay and finally disappear in the face of Modern Industry; the proletariat is its special and essential product.”

I hope you enjoy.

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

The One About the Anniversary

Dear Agnes:

My parents will be celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary next year. They have always wanted to take a cruise with the family. My brother and sister think this is a wonderful idea, which makes sense because they can afford it. I cannot and I don’t want to have to sell another child to fund a vacation. That would only leave three to clean the house and cook.

My parents have offered to help pay for our tickets, but my husband refuses to permit it. He says if we cannot afford it, we shouldn’t go. Meanwhile, everyone else will be celebrating with my parents, and I will be stuck at home with my asshole husband and four yappy little mouths to feed. My parents would feel terrible if we did not participate in this important event, but I am getting a lot of pressure from my husband to stay home. What should I do?

NY Mafia Crime Boss Daughter

Dear Dago Daughter,

It would be a shame to miss out on your parents’ 50th anniversary celebration because of money.

Ask your husband if he would be willing to pick up your cousin Sal at the pier late on Friday night and have him iced. Then use the insurance money to fund the vacation. While you’re at it, keep up the frugality by kidnapping and selling a neighbours’ child rather than your own. You can buy yourself a new sundress! Then, inform your folks that you are taking them up on their generous offer to tag along on the trip, and offer to give them Sal as a wedding present, on the condition that they never question the untimely death of your husband, or talk with Hard Copy, for at least five years (statute of limitations for fraud in NY). And see that they keep their word. Show them you’re serious by sending their new puppy, Puddles, on his own little vacation to Dirt Heaven. Have a nice trip.

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006 Agnes, Your Best Friend

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