When we’re in the car, my husband tends to drive dangerously. He passes other cars in no passing zones, he tailgates inches from the car ahead, and he swears and waves obscene gestures at other motorists as he drives. I don’t feel safe riding in the car with him. How can I get him to drive more safely before he has an accident?
Driven insane in a Pontiac in Pontiac, Michigan
Your problem is that you worry too much. Men have a certain amount of aggression in them and it is perfectly normal and healthy for them to release it in traffic. Modern cars have airbags, crumple zones, safety-cages, side-impact beams, safety glass and collapseable steering columns. Automotive fatalities are now lower than they were in 1944, when gasoline and rubber rationing prevented most people from operating their cars. So I say you should let your husband drive how he wishes, even in the worst-case scenario, you’d escape with only minor injuries. Surely your marriage is worth more than a broken arm, or a few cuts and bruises.
Last week I lost my job at the condiment factory. I came home earlier than usual on my last day, and found my wife to whom I devoted the last ten years of my life in the arms of the Cable TV man. To further add to my plight, the bank foreclosed on my house yesterday. I am now jobless, homeless, wifeless, and penniless. If only I knew how to tie a hangman’s knot, I would it end it all. Can you help me?
Desparate in Decatur
A hangman’s knot is tied as such: The rabbit goes around the neck, through the hole once, around the tree six times, and then up the tree. I recommend using a strong natural rope such as hemp for guaranteed results. Let me know how it turns out!
(Edited for length)
After reading some of those “how me met” stories, I decided to write about how I met my husband Andrew. It was shortly after V-E day. I was working as a waitress at Fred’s Seafood Splashdown. It used to be on the corner where they built the new drugstore. The restaurant had lots of exciting sounding names for what were fairly ordinary seafood dishes. Names like Tunarama and Salmonella. Anyhow, like I said, I was a waitress at this place. No wait, at that time, I guess I was working at Harry’s House of Lard. Anyhow, I was pulling a late shift because Phyllis had to go to the funeral of her aunt. Or was it her mother? I can’t remember, anyway, this guy came in with slicked back hair and sits down. I go to take his order, and he has the cutest eyes. I could sense a chemistry brewing between us. Like something that was meant to be. As I headed back to the kitchen, he slapped me right across my bottom! Now that is something that you just don’t do to a complete stranger. I found something strangely charming about him. Maybe it was the way he patted me on the bottom, or maybe it was the whistling. Anyway, I agreed to go out with him. On our first date, he took me to the White Castle. I had three of them little square hamburgers, and he had I think six. Anyhow, long story short, six weeks later, we were married and have had three beautiful children, and one really ugly child. We have lived happily ever after ever since.
Blissfully married in Nashville
Please stop sending me rambling stories about how you met your husbands. I find them boring and insipid and I am certain that most of our readers do as well. Unfortunately, I have to print them because I don’t get enough real questions to fill a daily column.
In your August 23 column, you suggested that Stupified in San Antonio should “go &*^% himself.” I am highly offended by such language and I believe that it does not have a place in a daily newspaper where children can see it.
Appalled in Nepal
&*^% you. &*^% you and the horse you rode in on. &*^% that horse. &*^% it with a giant dildo fashioned from one of them giant plastic candle Christmas decorations. You know, like the ones that are probably in your attic. In and out. In and out all night. Just like downtown. Oh yeah.
Several years ago, one of your readers sent you a poem entitled “There I Sat.” It meant a lot to me at the time. and I would like to know if you could reprint it again so that it can bring joy and hope to others that it has me.
Constipated in Columbus
I had to dig way back for this one, but here it is:
There I Sat
"There I sat to take a dump.
Out it squirmed, a greasy lump.
Greenish-black, like melting tar
Or oil from an old used car.
It floats a moment, then it sinks.
My chunky cable - how it stinks!
My ass cheeks tremble, my sphincter sighs,
And cramps of exhaustion clench my thighs.
I weep with pride at my slimy &*^%,
And ROB is the name I give to it!"
-- Lord Byron
I am worried about my son “Fred.” He is dating a girl “Luanne” who is black. They are talking about getting married. Luanne is a nice girl, and I’m not racist or anything, but I can’t stand the thought of my own son being married to a black person. It just doesn’t seem right. I’ve told him this, but he gets all offended and calls me names like “bigot” and “hate filled Nazi.” How can I convince him that marrying this girl is a bad idea?
Fighting for the Status Quo in Colorado
Obviously you are a racist and a bigot even though you claim not to be. If you want to maintain a relationship with your son, you need to be supportive of him, and allow him to marry whomever he wishes. You should be happy for your son. After all, Luanne sounds like a nice girl. I wish them the best of happy marriages and hope you can see that true love is colorblind.