Deary Abby Game

Suggestion: Let the responder decide either to answer or answer and add their own Deary Abby letter.


Dear Maudlin Maggie:

Confront them, and finish your own cup first as an example. And, good for your Pop! Obviously the other customers are not in the restaurant when he drinks his coffee, or they're just not paying attention to him. O/T I wish you would stop giving things away "On the house". Collinsport Inn diner is not yours.

Best,

Abby

Next Letter:

Dear Abby,

Not sure why I have to refer to you as “Dear,” since you mean nothing to me and should consider yourself fortunate that I’ve chosen to pay any attention to your insipid little column. I guess some people have to work for a living. I won’t, my family is very rich, and after my old man and my Aunt kick off, I’ll be in charge of the local peasantry. Who knows, one or both of them may find themselves smashing into a stone wall or a big oak tree… if a little part were to go missing from their brakes. Ever spray hairspray or grease cleaner into the eyes of rabbit or a chipmunk? Didn’t think so. In addition to being obtuse and common, you’re probably a big coward like most people. People are not much different than the rabbits and chipmunks, don’t you think? Yeah, what would you know?
Some stupid psych guy my Aunt made me talk to claims that I have over-lapping Cluster B Personality Disorders, but I think he’s a moron. He has to work for a living too, so what would he know? I think this is just their way of persecuting me. They’re all so jealous… must be that class warfare thing.

Signed,
Bored by inferiors in Collinsport
(Yeah, the town’s even named after us… Bet yours wasn’t.)

P.S. Do you think it’s okay that even though I’m nearly fifteen now, I have cartoon cutouts decorating my room, and sleep with the lights on because I’m afraid of stuff? (If you laugh at me, I know where you work) I was just kidding about the brakes… maybe.

Next Letter:

Bearyy Addy,

I dunno what good it will do to right to you, but I dunno where else to turn. I am so ashamed of the things that I have dun, the things he forces me to do.

It all started last spring. I was lookin to get lucky, and I broke in to where this man was sleepin. Since then, I’ve been his slave. He wheres a cape, sits around in this old house with a bunch of candles burnin all the time, and makes me do things against my will every night. I’m disgusted by all of it. I tried leavin him, but... but... he dun somethin to my mind.

I tried goin to the local police, but they just laughed at me. I went to the local docter, but he started talkin about sodium or soda, or something or other, and asked “does your mother know?” People in town are even startin to talk. The other day, when I went to buy more candles and take the man’s fancy housecoat (just like Merv Griffin’s) to the cleaners, everyone was snickerin behind my back.

What can I do, Addy? What?

Signed,
Feelin so uzed

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Recently, you published a letter from my younger cousin. Your response to him has had immediate results. Much to our housekeeper’s dismay, he has experienced enuresis for six consecutive nights (his previous record was three). He also set fire to his governess’s underwear drawer, while also appearing to have… shall we say “relieved himself” in her shoes (a new twist, even for him). My mother is very upset about this, as she doesn’t want to lose the governess. This young woman has been remarkably patient and understanding with my cousin’s behaviors, but, I’m sure even she has her limits. Mother was forced to hire her after he set fire to the school he had been attending. He has always liked to play with whatever wildlife he encounters on the estate, but in recent days he has increased both the frequency and degree of his abuse toward them. He now tells me he’s attempting to record their cries and screams, in the hope of determining what makes him laugh the hardest. He then intends to keep the best recordings for his amusement on-the-go. He claims it’s a “science experiment”. The psychiatrist to whom mother previously took him attributed all of this to, if I remember correctly, Macdonald’s and triangles. I think the man was a bit batty, as he also claimed that my Aunt was a big bird. I know… weird.

Anyway, yesterday, when I asked him about all this, he screamed that you were making him do these things and it was your fault. He claims you too are persecuting him because you are jealous. I know… the little jerk is soooo annoying. I still have the pistol I nearly used on my would-be father-in-law, would that help?

So, anyhow… I was also wondering if you could help me with my problem. I can’t help but give myself to every man I meet. I’m presently engaged to three of them (well, only one of them officially), and I just met a fourth one who has a really b****in’ motorbike. My friend, who dresses like Hester Prynne (we’ll just call her “Vicky”), thinks I’m a *****. I think, since no money is involved, I’m just a ****. Please resolve this difference of opinion.

Signed,

Confused, but ever available.

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Like the no-nonsense responses to your readers amusing banalities. Humans must be kept in line, or the next thing we know, they’ll be thinking they run the planet. I don’t mean to boast, but I may as well come right and state that I’m the Regional Supervisor of Witchcraft for New England and New Jersey (okay, so I lost a bet and got stuck with that add-on). No sense in denying this fact, and humility is one of the more nauseating traits of humanity… so glad neither the trait nor the classification apply to yours truly.

I saw somewhere recently that you were rumored to have had a facelift; hope it went well. I’m still the same dashing devil I always have been. I haven’t aged a day in nearly four hundred years – pity the same apparently couldn’t be said for you, Deary – but, I digress.

As a being with enormous responsibilities, I rely on delegation to my underlings. It really pains me when they fail. The last time this happened was a couple of years ago, in Maine, when this witch allowed herself to be made an utter fool of by falling in **** (how I detest that pestilence of a word), and maintaining a two hundred year vendetta of spite toward the uninterested target of her desire. I took great pride in my rather creative resolution of that one, although I ended up getting placed under Hades Arrest for certain circumstances… Oh, anyway… she failed me.

Now, just when I’ve returned to my duties armed with the greatest plan of attack upon humanity, another underling pulls the rug right out from under me. This little punk refuses to stay in his demon form and ascend to the throne that was preordained for him. He keeps whining “I don’t wanna be a monster, wa, wa, wa…” Okay, so he’s really only about ten weeks old and grew from a seed in a cigar box, but he really should at least try to have a bit more dignity about this! If this plan fails, I could end up losing my pitchfork and being turned into a… human.

So, how should I approach this matter with my friend, the reluctant monster-from-the-box? Tough love? Send him on a one-way cruise to Panama in a boat loaded with enough TNT to blow up the Edmund Fitzgerald? What? I try to be a nice guy, but my tail is quite literally on the line here.

Signed,

Runnin’ with the Devil on the carefree highway to H***

Deary Abby:

I have a boarder in our house that has been wearing the same suit well, since I can remember. At this point it's just getting ripe. What shall we dooo?

Please help -- it's getting worse as I write!

Big Hair in Maine

Swing away, Merrill....Merrill, swing away...

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

It was an honor to have you as our guest at the Collinsport Inn during your recent visit to our community. We trust your stay was a pleasant one.

Be that as it may, upon your departure, we discovered several items of hotel property missing from the room in which you had stayed. We have made numerous attempts to discuss this matter with you privately by telephone, but calls placed to the number given by you upon check-in have all reached only a garment child labor sweat shop in Thailand.

These items, quantities and values include:

(2) Bath Towel, Lrg, embroidered w/Inn Logo @ $18.00us each
(3) Hand Towel, embroidered w/Inn Logo @ $12.00us each
(1) Pillow, Feather, Queen, Extra Firm @ $43.00us each
(2) Pillow Case, embroidered w/Inn Logo @ $11.00us each
(1) Bible, KJV, leather-bound, signed by Rev Trask @ $37.00us each
(1) Showerhead, 3-way, Hi-flow @ $23.00us each
(1) Bed Warmer, 18th Century Antique @ $625.00us each

Total Value of items: $822.00us.

Unless all of these items are returned to us, or remittance in the amount of $822.00us is made within ten business days, we will have no alternative but to refer this matter to our attorney, Tony Peterson, Esq.

As a respected, centuries-old hotel of distinction, our guests have high expectations. Given that, it has been nearly impossible to rent that room because of the missing items. Only one very strange fellow has just recently agreed to stay in it, and even he too has been heard to growl, no doubt because his bed is cold and he has no shower. In fact, he’s probably so upset over it that I fear he’ll tear me to pieces.

Signed,

Different Strokes

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I don’t often seek advice, much less from those not of my considerable pedigree, but I just don’t know where else to turn. Recently, upon my return from a business trip to Boston, I discovered that certain members of my family appear to have joined a religious cult of some sort. My niece even plans to marry the leader of the cult – a drifter with long, curly hair, poor manners and utterly deplorable taste in attire. My cousin, whose opinion I highly regard, even claims that this character is some sort of a monster. I suspect he’s worse than that - he may even be one of those peace hooligans I’ve heard about at meetings of my local chapter of the John Birch Society.

Ours is a highly respected, affluent, old New England family of considerable position in the local community. Given that, it simply will not do to have any of my family worshiping a head of lettuce shaped in the image of Melody Patterson, carrying around fetish pictures of Rodney Allen Rippy, selling lalaloopsy dolls at the airport… nor any other such abominable acts sure to bring never ending shame to the family name.

Signed,

Concerned Head of The Family