Dear Abby, Part 2

I have decided that giving people advice is my true calling. Here is another poor fellow that wrote to Abby in need of GOOD advice.

DEAR ABBY: My wife spends all her spare time with a female friend I’ll call “Cassandra.” Last August they went to Nicaragua for two weeks, at Cassandra’s expense. They are planning a trip to Puerto Rico next month. Again, Cassandra is footing the bill. They spent a week together in Louisville at a church-sponsored activity. They give each other oil massages in our bed and make frequent bets with each other with the massages as the payoff.

They spend as much as three hours a day communicating, whether it be via phone, e-mail or text-messaging. They see each other a minimum of once a week, plus at church, and we live 50 miles apart.

When they’re together, I can repeat a question four times or more and never be acknowledged. They make special dinners and buy each other gifts. The items my wife receives are many times what we can afford. When they’re on the phone or e-mailing, dinners have been burned and normal things that should be done around the house don’t get done.

Do you think there is something I should be concerned about here? — WONDERING IN ILLINOIS

Abby’s advice is to talk to your wife about this issue. Good lord. At least Abby has the good sense to guess that this Cassandra is your wife’s girlfriend.

My advice: HOLY FUCKING GOD!!! Should you be concerned?! Should you be fucking concerned?!! Are you on crack?! If you have rats in your house, you should be concerned. If you go bankrupt, you should be concerned. If any part of your body suddenly falls off or explodes in an explosion of exploded stuff, you should damn well be concerned. Wake up and smell the lesbian activity going on under your own roof! Oil massages? In your bed? Think about it! They weren’t even considerate enough to include you!

Here’s what you have to do: Get a frickin divorce! See a lawyer…now. Get as much out of it as possible. That’ll show your cheating wife what’s what…she’s gonna be poor and homeless, is what’s what. Talking to your wife about it, pfffft, what a silly suggestion. You clearly are not important enough for her to even notice if you stabbed yourself in the eye in the kitchen in the middle of breakfast. Talking to her is useless. Good lord, while you’re at it, why don’t you throw her a fucking pride parade? She is too busy cheating on you with her lesbian lover, think about it, let that sink in a bit…Now divorce her and slap that home-wrecking Cassandra bitch in the face.

Oh by the way, and just because your stupidity is annoying, I shall comment on how your “dinners have been burned and normal things that should be done around the house don’t get done”. What normal things? Clearly your wife having sex with you is not one of them. Perhaps if you did things around the house instead of leaving it all for her, she might sex you up instead of turning to her lover. Besides, you have to do these things now, as you will quickly divorce her cheating ass and take house, car, and money with you. She can keep the kids, as you are the victim here and do not deserve to be punished with taking care of whiny, ungrateful children.

Now that I have helped this poor guy fix his life…onward to the next problem! Here is a stupid lady needing advice on something stupid.

DEAR ABBY: When I go to lunch or dinner at a restaurant, I’m confused about where to place my purse or handbag during the meal. What’s the correct thing to do? — CONFUSED IN FLORIDA

Abby’s advice is something or other relating to purses and the such.

My advice: YOU’RE confused?! I’M confused!! Why do you need advice on this?! Are you retarded? Seriously, HOLY CRAP!

Purses are dumb. If you carry a purse, it’s like you are carrying a sign saying “Hey criminals! I currently have on my person a magical bag of goodies for you to steal! Besides minty fresh gum, its contents include unknown amounts of cash, credit cards, AND personal information that can help you steal my identity for your own sick reasons!”
My suggestion is to kill yourself. They don’t have purses in hell. Problem solved.