Dear Abby: You're Obsolete. Part III[a]: FTFY

There are four distinct species of a “Dear Abby,” letter, at least that I have both identified and care about enough to type up:

Strain A: The cutely yet poorly written letter by an illiterate youth [see also: an obvious product of American public schools], nine times out of ten involving some sort of sexual conduct.

DEAR ABBY: There is a boy I am dating, and I really like him. But I'm scared to kiss him. I'm a person who acts like she knows everything, but the truth is I don't really know how to kiss. Now, I know this sounds weird, but I'm only 12.

I wrote to you 'cause I need to trust someone, and I hope that person is you. Just so you know, so far you are the only 1 I can trust 4 now or 4-ever. Please answer soon! -- "TINA" IN TUCSON

DEAR "TINA": Thank U 4 the compliment. Please try not to obsess about not knowing how to kiss. I promise it will happen naturally, when the time is right. The boy you are dating is probably wondering how to kiss you, so hold off and let him make the first move. Then close your eyes, purse your lips and keep both feet on the ground

First of all, cut out the “only 1 I can trust 4 now or 4-ever” bullshit; it makes you look like every other member of your generation … retarded. Second, you’re fucking 12, so you should be way, WAY past the “kissing” phase of sexual maturity and you should be a full-blown [pun sort of intended] prosti-tot by now; have those Bratz dolls and Lindsay Lohan taught you none of those valuable lessons? You should let this boy you like do the same thing that your Uncle Jimmy does to you every night at 2 a.m. when he stumbles in your room stinking like Schnapps, B.O. and old oregano for his massive Web-cam audience. Oh, shit, now you know about the Web cam … my bad, Jimmy, I guess you’re just going to have to kill her before she gets loose and tries something crazy like call the FBI or castrate you.

Link here.

DEAR ABBY: I am a 14-year-old girl. I have this boyfriend I have been dating for over a month. His name is "Travis," and he is 15 -- about to turn 16. Travis has had other girlfriends before me, but he said that nothing happened between them. He calls me about four times a week, and I talk to him at school daily. He keeps giving me the impression that he wants to move our relationship further.

When I told one of Travis' closest friends, I was informed that he had said that to the last three girls he had. So now I suspect that he has had sexual relationships with all of them. I would do anything for Travis, and he would do the same for me. But I am not sure I want to have sex with him -- at least not yet.

I don't know what to do. My sister, "Tess," who is dating one of my friends, told me to just go along with it. But I don't know if I would be doing the right thing. I want Travis to be happy, but I don't want to get hurt in the process. Please help. -- LOST AND CONFUSED IN LAKE CHARLES

DEAR LOST AND CONFUSED: Travis may be the nicest boy in the world, but look at the last three girls he "had." He's not with any of them, is he? That means your boyfriend has a short attention span, and more than a girlfriend, he wants a challenge.

Please do not listen to your sister's advice and "go along with it" to make him "happy." There are three sad girls standing in the background who tried to make him happy. I predict that trio will soon become a Greek chorus, and you do not want to be part of that crowd. Trust me on that. And strictly limit your "alone time" with him.

Oh, your sister is totally right; in case you’ve been blind, deaf and dumb since the dawn of man, you probably missed that memo about how it is the sole reason for a woman’s existence to make men happy … sometimes more than one at once if you’re efficient enough. Seriously, just run with it and fuck his brains out all over the place until his dick snaps and you’re bleeding from the chafing and internal tearing like a jackrabbit that just got shot at point-blank range with a 30-06. Make sure not to use any form of contraceptive, since that offends Jesus people who think they channel Jesus … also, make sure he blows every load directly into your fallopian tubes. Everyone knows that it’s a good idea to get pregnant at 14, since you get all of those sweet benefits from the government and general admiration from the general public.

Now, here’s the tricky part. You have to make sure to wait until prom night to perform the D.I.Y. Coat-hanger Abortion (TM) in the girls’ bathroom while everyone else grinds on each other to whatever the fuck you dumb genius kids have simulated sex with each other to these days. Now, this is key: MAKE ABSOLUTELY SURE that you [a] don’t tell “Travis [who sounds like some kind of demi-god to me]” that you’re having his abortion, [b] wear a white or close-to-white prom dress so that your sweet bloodstains show unmistakably and [c] wrap the aborted infant in ONLY TWO of those easily shredded paper towels next to the tampon machine and leave its mangled body where NOBODY WILL FIND IT – namely, buried under a couple of candy bar wrappers, tampons and, if there’s a resident bad girl, bottles of vodka and a copy of Tiger Beat or whatever the fuck.

Don’t worry, people will think that you’re awesome after word of this gets out.

Okay, all tasteless and uncalled-for pedophilia, sexism and pro-prom-bathroom-abortion jokes aside, I have to say that this is the worst kind of “Dear Abby” letter. You know, the teen “should I totally bang this dude” letter. You know, to a total stranger, but that’s not weird or anything.

Now, I’d look for examples of this, but I don’t really feel like it. Maybe someday when I read a dumber letter / response than this, but I’ll probably forget. But in all the years I’ve glanced over these petty people and their infinitesimal problems, the “teen wants sex advice from a 50+-year-old stranger” letter always elicits the same response:

RUN! SEX IS SHAMEFUL AND BAD! YOU ARE A MINOR AND UN-CAPABLE OF MAKING YOUR OWN DECISION! IF YOU’RE NOT MARRIED, IT’S LIKE BEING MORALLY RAPED!! THE SKY IS FALLING!!!1on1!!

Now, this sounds strangely like a proven failure and waste of our tax dollars. And I’m not talking about D[onuts]A[re]R[eal]E[xpensive]. Or N[egro]C[hildren]L[eft]B[ehind]. Or the War On [insert some vague political ideology / religion / societal faux pas only offensive to a small minority of dipshits here]. Look, I don’t feel like researching this shit to actually back this up, so …

If you disagree with me that Abstinence-Only Education totally works, you’re a fucking idiot. Plain and simple.

Virulent Strain “B:” The degenerate is too much of a spineless pussy to just tell someone to fuck off, stop being a dick and pay up or because “polite, moral” society doesn’t ever show emotion, much less emotion.

DEAR ABBY: I am a woman with friends of all ages, and I receive lots of phone calls. I like people and enjoy hearing from them. However, several of the "regulars" who call me talk nonstop. As long as I listen, they're fine. But if I try to launch into a subject that interests me, they tell me they're really busy and terminate the call.

How should I interpret this? I have tried laughing it off, but it feels like a put-down. -- FEELING USED IN THE SOUTH

DEAR FEELING USED: It seems you're spending a lot of time on the phone. The people you have described appear to be quite centered on themselves. They appear to be in love with the sound of their own voices, rather than calling to converse -- which implies an exchange of information.

I don't think they are trying to put you down. It's just that in their "universe," listening to someone else is too great an inconvenience. People like this are more interested in an audience than a friendship, so budget your time accordingly.

Why don’t you grow some sort of ovaries and say “hey, shut up for a fucking minute and let me talk for a change … unless you want to pay my phone bill so that I can spend more money on liquor since I obviously live alone with my six cats. Seriously, there’s probably a nice assortment of Clorox, rat poison, ammonia and bleach under your sink; why not make some kind of sweet martini? You know what? To be honest with you, you:

Kill yourself, painfully, and stop pissing in my genetics.

DEAR ABBY: My husband and I are planning to attend my niece's wedding next month and, as usual, the prospect of being with my family has thrown me into a tizzy. We are simple people -- we are both teachers, and we have raised three great children but no superstars.

My sister and brothers are all wealthy. Their children are excellent scholars and/or athletes, including two who play professionally.

I feel fine about our accomplishments and am proud of our children and what they have done -- that is, until I am around my brothers and sister. Then I beat myself up thinking I wasn't as good a mother as I should have been.

I am tempted to skip this wedding because this happens every single time, and I don't enjoy my visits with them. What do I do? -- TEMPTED TO REFUSE IN THE U.S.A.

DEAR TEMPTED TO REFUSE: I see no reason why you should feel "second best" and compare yourself and your family to your siblings. You and your husband chose to go into one of the "helping" professions rather than one that would bring in more money. Many people would consider that a far greater contribution to our society than accumulating a pile of assets.

As to comparing the accomplishments of these "superstar" athletes and scholarly nieces and nephews -- I can't imagine a greater waste of time. If your children are educated, employed and happy with their lives, then dear lady, you have accomplished what is most important.

Skip the wedding if that's what you prefer, but please do not do so because you're ashamed of your life. From my perspective, you and your family are very successful people in your own right.

You should be totally ashamed of your life, you waste of sperm-and-eggs-and-air-and-natural-resources. I mean, seriously. It’s obvious to me that you’re a sorry excuse for a genetic defect if you’re the only one of your siblings to actually score a sweet, comfortable, nested-in, materialistic life. And while we’re on the topic of fucking up, how about those kids you should have drowned in a lake in your [and this is a long shot, given how big of a failure you and your little family are] fully insured car; you should have drowned the little fucks at two-years-old and then blamed it on some illegal immigrant.

Fuck, man, the life insurance policies alone could have gotten you a nice cruise in the Bahamas or a fantastic trip to Amsterdam … plus, you would have saved a few pounds over a fuck-load of money on braces, bicycle repairs, maternity fees [and the ensuing post-natal hospital bills for about 18 years], food, water, shelter, private school, fines after your son got arrested for gay prostitution, $500 for your daughter’s double-abortion [“it was only thirty guys, I SWEAR!”], gas for all of those soccer games you could have avoided, and various hospital bills for jacking off too hard [judging on how genius your kids sound]