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.

Hungering for Unbaked Cake

Oh, humanity, you may me laugh, you make me cry. Your collective ability to negate all your few great accomplishments with a flood of ridiculously simple questions is unparalleled in all the universe. But don’t take my word for it. Let’s get right to the mailbag…

Dear Angry Rabbit: I was watching the Hunger Games movie and was wondering if it was true. Like, did it happen to Nazi’s after WWII?

Dear Hungering for Knowledge: I’m not sure what you’re asking. Are you asking if a teenaged femi-Nazi named Katniss (note the ‘SS’ in her name) was forced to kill other Nazis’ for the amusement of the victorious Allies of WWII or are you asking if participating in gladiatorial death matches in general was the Nazis’ punishment for losing WWII because you’re concerned Nazis were the sympathetic party involved in WWII? Or, are you asking if The Hunger Games is simply a metaphor for how Germany was treated after WWII? Seeing how unlikely it is that you know what a metaphor is, my answer to you would be that the movie The Hunger Games is based upon a book by the same name which is a work of fiction which is based upon a Japanese movie called Battle Royale which is also fiction which itself is based upon an earlier fictional movie called The Running Man which is based upon a book by the same name which is also a work of fiction. The key word here is ‘fiction.’ There are no stupid questions, just stupid people.

Dear Angry Rabbit: Is it possible to make toast in the microwave? I’m at work and really craving toast because I am pregnant.

Dear Walking Time-bomb: Based upon your question to me, I gather you never asked yourself a more important question, “Should I reproduce?” Meanwhile, I’d like to ask you who hired you. I want to thank them for setting a new low standard when it comes to the people they employ. Can you make toast in the microwave? When was the last time you put something in the microwave and it came out crispy? Do you realize in the time it took you to ask your question you could have wasted a piece of bread to find out for yourself? You obviously can’t cook, so, what the hell do you plan to feed your forthcoming child, McDonalds?! Please give your child a fighting chance and put it up for adoption. Please.

Dear Angry Rabbit: If Batman’s parents are died, then how was he born? It doesn’t make sense how died parents can have children.

Dear Batshit Stupid: I’ll tell you what doesn’t make sense, your English! Okay, okay, maybe English isn’t your first language. Hell, it isn’t even the first language of anyone in the United States anymore, so I’ll let that slide. But let’s think about your question for a teeny, tiny second. Let’s suppose Batman’s parents died after he was born. Do you see where I’m going with this, kid? Because if not, nothing I say is going to help. My advice? Stop reading comic books and for the love of all that is holy stay in school. The rest of the world will thank you.

Dear Angry Rabbit: I tried to make a cake for my little sister but it came out of the oven burnt. How do I unbake a cake?

Dear Baked: Of course you can unbake a cake. All you have to do is unheat an oven to -375 degrees and put the cake back in the oven for -40 minutes. Then, unmix the wet ingredients from the dry ingredients, put the eggs back in their shells, and sell the cake mix back to the supermarket you got it from. Simple enough, I know. Be sure to tune in next week when I tell you how to unbirth yourself.

If you’d like some advice from me, That Angry Rabbit, send your letters via email to thatangryrabbit@gmail.com. Letters/Stupid Questions that I respond to will have the privilege of being laughed at by the only rabbit that matters. Carrot on my wayward son.

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.