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

Originally, I said that there are merely four species of the "Dear Abby" dumbassed letter-writer.

I stand corrected; there are actually five known to modern psychosociological science. I forgot the last category, detailed below.

Anybody in the hard or social sciences knows that many experiments, whether performed Double-Blind, or Controlled, can always be missing some category, detail, option, characteristic or another.

Well, when I first started writing this, I forgot about this one, which may or may not have fucked with my "research."

Just Plain, Diet-Vanilla With White-Milk Sprinkles, Independent Candidate [since we all know by now that smart people have the survival skill of staying far the fuck away from politics] Dumb:

DEAR [CR]ABBY: I have had four years of really bad luck. Is there a proven method to end this streak? How is it that some folks are lucky at almost everything they do, and then there is someone like me who could really use some good luck? Any suggestions? If positive thinking is your answer, please explain that concept. -- CONNIE IN COLORADO SPRINGS

DEAR CONNIE: There is a theory that positive thinking attracts positive results. In other words, if you approach each day with an optimistic attitude, you will become more energetic, clearer in your thought process and nicer to be around. (More people around you creates more opportunities for success.)

Conversely, negative thinking can cause negative results. People who think negatively walk around with a black cloud over their heads, and people tend to avoid them. They can also become so burdened with their depression that they fail to recognize and take advantage of opportunities that come their way.

In this wonderful age of science, if you still believe in superstitions such as "bad luck," Big-Foot, Alien Abduction and Free Speech, I would strongly suggest removing yourself from society via sky-diving without a parachute in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

DEAR [FL]ABBY: I have a 25-year-old sister, "Sheila," who has three beautiful children. The problem is, she does not care about herself, her kids or her family.

My mother has raised Sheila's oldest off and on since he was 8 months old. He is now 9. Sheila constantly yells, "I can't stand him! He makes me sick!" She has even gone so far as telling the boy she hates him. I have tried telling her that he is only a child. I tell her God blessed her with the ability to have children, and she should be thankful she has them. She just tunes me out.

Add to that the fact that Sheila beats our mother at times. Our stepdad died last year, and a week after the funeral my sister came in and beat up Mother.

I don't know what's going on, and the family is scared to confront her anymore because she gets really mean. Any help would be appreciated. -- CONCERNED SISTER IN KENTUCKY

DEAR CONCERNED SISTER: Sheila could be mentally ill, drug-addicted or a rage-a-holic. If she would raise a hand to her mother, what might she be doing to her children? From your description of your sister's state of mind, it is possible that all the children should be removed from the home. Child Protective Services can make a determination. And if she raises a hand to your mother one more time, the police should be summoned immediately.

First of all, there's a wonderful number you can call. It's called 9-1-1. Do I need to repeat that slowly since you obviously are going to fuck up three numbers?

9.

1.

1.

There you go, the solution to all of your problems. Grow some balls, call the police, and then ... when she assaults them and ends up at the business end of a tazer and nightstick, well, problem solved. You sound like your family is fully of defective pussies, by the way, so why don't you just turn off that Carbon Monoxide detector and blow out all of your pilot lights [furnace included].

DEAR [G]ABBY: I am 17 years old and believe I am suffering from chronic depression. I am very emotional and cry a lot. I get good grades, and people say I'm a great baby sitter, but I feel that I'm not good at anything else.

My younger sister, who is 15, is very outgoing and has a lot of friends. I have only a few, so I get jealous.

Now I have started gaining weight to the point that I am no longer "skinny."

About four months ago, my best friend of two years and I stopped getting along, and we haven't spoken since.

I have had counseling for two years. I go every three months, but nothing is changing. Both my parents feel that it is a waste of money. I try to talk to them sometimes, but they just take it as a joke. I am confused about everything, and I am so lonely. Do you have any advice? -- HURTING IN PENNSYLVANIA

DEAR HURTING: Yes, I do. Depression, increasing isolation and low self-esteem are problems that require counseling on a more regular basis than every three months, and possible medication in addition. If the person you are seeing hasn't recognized that the sessions haven't helped you, then it's time for another evaluation with another therapist. Please show this to your parents and tell them the letter was written by you. You need more help than I can give you in a letter.

So you're so freakin' dense that you haven't realized that nobody loves you? And that you have obviously no chance in the world since you're ugly, fat and probably some kind of fairy? And you don't realize that nobody would miss you when you were gone until they used up the life-insurance fund after you painted the den with your gray-matter? Well, I'm happy to inform you that there's a gun store, probably five blocks from your house, and they're fairly lenient on background / mental health checks. I suggest you pay them a visit. Oh yeah, and your friend hates you ... something about being a whiny douche.

p.s., I hear that bulimia is awesome. Why not give it a try and tell all of your friends how cool you are … that will quell any concerns that you might be a douchebag right-quick.

DEAR ABBY: I recently ended a nine-month relationship with a 40-year-old man I'll call Shallow Hal. I was head over heels in love with him. We had a lot in common and our personalities were compatible, but there was one major problem. Hal loved everything about me, but his love for me was contingent upon my losing weight.

Hal told me that when I lost weight, he would treat me better, let me meet his family and introduce me to his friends. Until I did, he denied me all those things, including hugs and kisses. For nine months Hal strung me along, and I believed that losing weight would change everything and we would end up together, happily ever after.

I am currently working on my master's in counseling psychology, and I should have known better. Clearly, Hal did not accept me for who I was, and I should have ended the relationship long ago because he was not into me. Some days he didn't know if he ever wanted to get married and have kids; other days he did. He was definitely unstable.

Why did I put up with this when I was the one who did all the driving to his house and all the courting? And how do I keep all this from replaying in my mind? I hear his weight comments over and over, and it's self-destructive, but I can't seem to let it go. Why do so many women like me waste so much time on men who simply don't care? The worst part is, I still love him. Please advise me. -- HEARTBROKEN IN WEST CHESTER, PA.

DEAR HEARTBROKEN: What you have described sounds more like obsession than love. You, like many other women, could not resist the challenge of "winning" a man who was unwinnable. By remaining one step out of reach, he stays in control. The woman gives and gives and gives, hoping that by giving just a little bit more she can "make" the man love her. It's a mating dance that doesn't end until the woman either wises up or collapses from emotional fatigue.

A way to erase those old tapes from your mind would be to consciously remind yourself why the comments were made. If that doesn't do the trick, then talk to a therapist. What you think of yourself is far more important than what Shallow Hal thought of you.

I hear that people like you find a lot of comfort from the ice-cream isle. I also hear that sumo-whale porn is hot right now among those sexual festishists who are afraid of lipo and people who aren't a major drain on our health-care system. You know what else? I hear that bacon and vanilla ice cream go together very nicely, and that they might induce a heart attack. Why not give it a try? Exercise is overrated. Oh yeah, and if you don't have the balls to off yourself [as you should so society can go on without major pollutants such as yourself and your 16 cats], well, hell, there's always diabetes to look forward to. Your old boyfriend was totally right, you're too fat to live, learn about wonderful inventions called "sit-ups" and a "gym," and you might get laid again.

But I doubt it. You fatass tool. Go choke on a spam sandwich.

/The Aristocrats!