Run For The Hills

Welcome back! That Angry Rabbit here once again to open the inbox in an attempt to break the everlasting cycle of human idiocy. No doubt I will fail miserably since trying to fight human idiocy is like holding out your hands to hold back a tsunami. Yet, still I try, meaning I too am an idiot, or I was court ordered to give advice so as to reduce my sentence for that bar fight I got into earlier this year. I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do? The bar wench tried to charge me for eight beers instead of just the seven I had. Bitches…

Dear Angry Rabbit: Last week my wife and I purchased three pairs of sneakers at a store. The service was poor and the experience was frustrating. As we were leaving I noticed the cashier only charged us for two pairs of sneakers. I chose not to say anything about it. In the car I told my wife what had happened, and she said, "Well, the store made an error, the service was poor and I guess that means I got a pair of free sneakers." Even though I sort of agreed with her (and I didn't go back to the store to say anything), this issue has been nagging at me. I feel as though I "morally" did the wrong thing. Should I go back to the store and pay for the sneakers? – Signed, Smelly Socks

Dear Smelly Socks: Oh, someone is worry a lot about behaving morally, aren’t they? Look, Smelly Socks, you feel guilty about the situation so if you ask me, you’ve already suffered enough. How much is the store suffering? That’s what I want to know. Look at it this way, look at how immorally the store behaved in your story: The service was poor but on top of that the mark-up on something like sneakers is practically sinful (they’re made for pennies on the dollar). The staff is either incompetent or untrained at using a cash register. The staff that is competent is surely underpaid. Using my moral math calculator, you come out on top of that equation. If you don’t believe me, please refer to the nearest Bible, turn to the Old Testament and read where it says an eye for an eye and a pair of sneakers for shitty service. You’ve got God on your side, Smelly Socks. Going back to the store to pay for the sneakers would be the work of the Devil. Now put some free shoes on and go run in traffic.

Dear Angry Rabbit: My boyfriend just won't respond to me emotionally. I can't get him to open up about his feelings and he is not sensitive to my needs. He makes decisions that affect me all by himself. I never get consulted. Then when I mention a problem, he immediately tells me how to solve it and tries to end the conversation. If I try to continue the discussion, he says he already told me what to do and walks away. Can you give me some hints on how to get through to him? – Signed, Carly the Carpet

Dear Carly the Carpet: Um, ground control to Major Tom…forget about getting through to your boyfriend, what the hell gets through to you? So he doesn’t respond to you emotionally; I’m assuming he does respond to you physically? If that’s so, you’re really nothing more than a pocket pussy that unfortunately for him, talks. You’ve got exactly one option in this scenario: Withhold sex until you get what you want, for him to talk about his feelings, which by-the-way he doesn’t have. He’s got you by the panties, Carly; he’s not doing anything you want and getting all of what he wants, which is off. Since he doesn’t give a crap about you as a person, withholding sex is the only way he’ll even consider pretending to like you for who you are in order to get sex (provided he’s not a rapist). The only possible alternative is, as the only other good advice columnist besides myself Dan Savage would say, “Dump the mother fucker already.” If you’re afraid you won’t find another boyfriend, consider the fact that someone was in fact stupid enough to be with you at least once. Finding a human boyfriend is easy as long as you’re willing to put out. Just don’t let him talk you into pulling out, ‘cause that shit don’t work. On the other hand, at least he’d be talking to you which is more than you’ve got going now.

If you’d like some advice from me, That Angry Rabbit, send your letters via email to thatangryrabbit@gmail.com. Letters/Emails of Idiocy that I respond to will have the privilege of being transmitted across the universe, ultimately causing aliens to come and kill all of us. Until that time, hasta la vista, baby.

50 Isn't Pretty

Time again for my weekly court-ordered anger management class in which I answer advice column letters with the advice morons should have gotten the first time but did not. Unlike some more popular advice columnists, I’m the rabbit who tells it like it is, no BS, no punches pulled. Nope, I’m the guy who points out idiocy when I see it, which is staring you in the face every time you look in the mirror. And away we go… 

Dear Unqualified Advice Columnist: Today is my 50th birthday. I'm a person with a few close friends, but I'm not widely social. The members of my book club knew it was my birthday when we met a few days ago. I had mentioned it before our meeting but nothing was said when we met. My best friend is going on vacation and hasn't remembered. My husband asked me what plans I had made for us to do today. My sister, bless her, has been wonderful and feels responsible to try to make this day special for me. Is it really my job to plan a celebration and remind everyone I'm close to dying? [She’s not that close to dying; I just threw that in there.] I have talked enough about how important this particular birthday is to me. I'm hurt that no one feels I'm worth the effort. Am I making too big a deal out of this? – Signed, 50 going on 2

Dear Fiddy: Are you making a big deal out of your fiftieth birthday? Considering no one’s ever lived past 50 before, why yes, it is a big deal. I mean, 50 is so special; you’ve gone around the Sun 50 times, whoa nelly! And you got there by reading books. No, no dangerous activities for you. Why, you might have accidentally killed yourself with a knitting needle by now, but you’ve been so careful that now you want people to give a damn. Do you know why your friend going on vacation hasn’t remembered your birthday? Because she’s taking the time to actually enjoy life for five friggin’ minutes. Meanwhile the best you can do is hope everyone around you acknowledges your special achievement. 50 might have been impressive 100 years ago lady but these days everyone’s doing it. It’s not that you’re not worth the effort, it’s that being 50 isn’t the big deal it used to be. (Or, you really aren’t worth the effort and I’m just being nice because someone spiked my carrot juice with Prozac.) But if you think this is a big deal, then you’ve got to take matters into your own hands. You know what they say, if you want something done right you’ve got to do it yourself. If you haven’t learned that by now, well, you may be 50 but you sure haven’t done a whole lot of living.

Dear Unqualified Advice Columnist #2: My 4-year-old is in love with pink, princesses, fairies, things that sparkle, accessories, nail polish, sassy shoes — all of it. I assumed she was just drawn to those things because she found them fun and aesthetically pleasing (I too love a good ruffle or sparkle), but now she’s becoming preoccupied with “pretty.” After she gets dressed or I brush her hair, she asks, “Am I pretty now?” My wife and I have tried to limit talking about things like flowers or butterflies as being “pretty,” though we do slip and tell my daughter she is pretty at times (because, come on — she’s my gorgeous little girl). We try to emphasize things she can control, like trying to learn her letters, hit a ball, etc., but only “pretty” seems to be registering with her at the moment. I don’t know how to respond when she asks me if she’s pretty. I end up saying something lame, like, “You’re always pretty, sweetie” but that response is not resonating with her. I think she knows I’m trying to avoid telling her she’s pretty, but she backs me into a corner and asks me point-blank! Help! – Signed, Pretty Stupid

Dear Pretty Stupid: Whoa, whoa, whoa. A four-year old is backing you into a corner? To start with, you need to grow a pair and tell your precious little girl “No one puts baby in a corner! Be-otch.” Now, it would probably be easiest to dismiss this behavior as a phase and just tell your daughter what she wants to hear, but what fun would that be? I mean, if it’s not a phase, the crafty little devil questionably sprung from your loins recognizes the value of beauty in manipulating people, case in point being yourself. The downside of her reliance on beauty is that she’s going to wind up pregnant by the time she’s 14 and on welfare with 3 kids by the time she’s 21. My advice is to start curbing this fascination with prettiness stat, which can be done in several ways. First, when she asks you if she’s pretty, ask her if she means pretty on the outside or pretty on the inside. This will start making her think and you can tell her that if she if only concerned with being pretty on the outside, no one will ever really love her because she doesn’t really love herself, or some crap like that. If this sounds like psychological warfare, well, it is. After all, you are dealing with a 4 year old which is twice the terror of a 2 year old. Or, you can tell her no, she’s not pretty, and she needs to start developing some life skills unless she plans to move to Brazil, the plastic surgery capitol of the world where she’ll probably wind up in a drug lord’s brothel. Or, you can start using the word ‘pretty’ in a different context, as is “You learned your letters, that’s pretty good,” or, “You hit the ball, that’s pretty special.” But I’m sure all of this has occurred to you since you stopped a minute to think about any of this. Oh, that’s right, you didn’t, because of you don’t think. You were distracted by how pretty your wife is and that resulted in a child. You know what? Let the kid do what she wants. I can’t wait for her letter 20 years from now asking me whether she should put her mentally ill father in a home or have him euthanized. Oh, the fun we’re going to have with you, pops.

If you’d like some advice from me, That Angry Rabbit, send your letters via email to thatangryrabbit@gmail.com. Letters/Pathetic Sob Stories that I respond to will have the privilege of being lampooned by yours truly. Hasta la vista, baby.

The Inner Circle of Jerks

Welcome again to another one of my self-prescribed anger management classes in which I answer advice column letters with the advice morons should have gotten but did not. Unlike some more popular advice columnists, I’m not going to hold anyone’s hand and tell them everything’s going to be fine. No, I’m the guy who points out idiocy when I see it, which is all the time when it comes to human beings. Let’s open our first letter…

Dear Stupid Advice Columnist to Whom This Was First Written: This week, I had it clearly spelled out for me that there’s an inner circle of moms in our neighborhood, and I’m not in it. The message came from someone I’d actually considered a good friend, which made it even harder to swallow. My confidence is shaken. While I won’t seek out any of these women in the future, it’s difficult to avoid them entirely. I would love your thoughts on how best to move forward, apart from putting on a brave smile and staying close with true friends. – Signed, Shaken Not Stirred

A question back to you, Shaken, is to ask you exactly what is this ‘inner circle’ of moms doing that makes you feel left out? Do you not get to frolic naked in the woods with them as they prepare for a blood sacrifice? Do you not get a say in how the local PTA is strong-armed run? Or is it that you’ll have less people to share your feelings with, people who I assure you don’t want to hear about your problems to begin with? Kidding aside (not really), your main problem is that you base your worth as a person upon what other people think of you. Your confidence isn’t shaken; it was an illusion to begin with. So I say fuck putting on a brave face; brave faces aren’t brave, it’s a sign of resignation and defeat. What you need to do is accept who you are – which means accepting whatever it is this group of harpies doesn’t like about you – and shove it in their face. Maybe they know you slept with Sally’s husband. Don’t try to avoid Sally, make a scene in public about how much her husband complains about her bedroom skills. Or hire a detective and get some dirt on these bitches. You know what they say, always bet on blackmail. Stop putting all the power in the hands of wo-MAN and fight back. If your true friends are really true, they’ll help you hide the bodies.

Dear Anyone Who Will Give Me Advice: Back in high school, I had a crush on a senior. I never knew why, but he and his friends tormented me: They started rumors, told their girlfriends horrible lies so they'd want to beat me up, and just made my life as miserable as possible. Since then, I graduated from college in three years, now work for a top fashion website as an editor, travel, and look damn good. All in all, I'm A-OK and lead a pretty fabulous life. And what are those cool, popular guys up to now? They're either in jail, rehab for drug abuse, or trying to make it as white rappers. So wouldn't you know...after seven years of no contact, many of them have found me on social-networking sites and have contacted me! One in particular keeps telling me how beautiful I am and asks me out repeatedly. I've been polite, but in no way have I encouraged conversation. Yet he's persisting! I find him revolting, but I feel guilty not responding because his life is so crappy now. How do I nicely convey that I don't want anything to do with him? Or—shudder at the thought!—am I being a jerk for holding a grudge for so long? – Signed, A-OK I’m Retarded

I will once again begin my response with a question back to the letter writer. A-OK, why do you feel guilty about someone having a crappy life when you know full well that your high school tormentors never felt guilty about making your life crappy? Screw them for thinking they could parlay high school popularity into a meaningful life while you worked hard to get where you are. But also screw you for giving me this “I’ve been polite” shtick when it’s quite obvious that you like having the tables turned even if you say you have no plans to respond to any of these white rappers down in the crapper doing hard time getting poked in the behind. Why would you even contemplate responding to any of these asshats if you didn’t like the attention? You say you want to be nice about the persistent messages, but even you know you’re trying to be passive-aggressive. You’re a psychiatrist’s wet dream for shit’s sake. On the one hand, you seem to think of yourself as some kind of benevolent goddess, but on the other hand the sarcasm at the end of your letter indicates you know that you’re a jerk for holding onto the grudge. Holding that grudge so long means you’re not a hell of a whole lot better than they are; you’re all jerks, the only difference being the past and the present. You don’t need to be a jerk anymore, A-OK, you got your revenge. Either let it go or in no uncertain terms tell your drug-addled admirer to FUCK THE FUCK OFF! since coke heads need these things spelled out for them. (Of course, he’ll just wind up calling you a ho in one of his songs, so be prepared for that.)

If you’d like some advice from me, That Angry Rabbit, send your letters via email to thatangryrabbit@gmail.com. Letters/Pleas for Salvation From Your Pathetic Life that I respond to will have the privilege of being lampooned by yours truly. Have a nice day.