Dear Addled is a shameless rip-off of the Dear Abby advice column that still runs in some newspapers. Abby fields inquiries from her readers and dispenses advice on a range of subjects.
Dear Addled would like to thank Dear Abby for conceiving the idea. Addled would also like to acknowledge Donald Trump for the idea that shameless rip-offs, fraud and grifting off of other people’s work is now the new American Dream, and that my REM sleep is in overdrive on the highway of heisting.
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Dear Addled,
My name is Marjorie and I’m a member of Congress in the Republican-led House of Reprehensibles and I’m really pissed off. Our Speaker of the House, Moses Supposes Johnson Ain’t It, is a commie and in Democratic drag. Why hasn’t he burned down the Reichstag Capitol building so that our Führer leader can return triumphantly to save our country from the evils of democracy, decency and laser shows.
If only Donald Trump was given a chance like that other guy got last century, who I’m not naming because if I did everybody would get all bent out of shape, but they have so much in common it’s almost freaky. It’s like those double-gangsters people always talk about, you know, where it’s almost like they’re twins they’re so similar. Well, I think Trump should be given the same opportunity. I mean, why isn’t everybody on board with this?
Come on, why is this not happening, what do I not see??!!
Marjorie
Dear Margie,
Double-gangsters? Do you mean doppelgangers? Weirdly, I guess you’re not far off with your version, although it wasn’t originally on my Doppler radar or my bingo cads.
And, to continue on our merry way with your take on things, I would definitely put you in the “not see” camp when it comes to this, but let’s not dwell on those SuperScript runes you’re sporting above the neckline on your collar, although how do you get them to shine so brightly?
You can fess up, Margie. Just between you and I, I heard you use a homemade polish you’ve concocted, which has you sucking venomous poison directly from a snake’s fangs, after which the snake gets toxic shock, a couple of horrendous toothaches and is tossed aside like a five-year-old’s empty juice box.
As for resemblance, well, yeah, I guess there just might be. First, you’ve got two people who had their names changed from something that’s less than lyrical to something that had more of a catchy goose-stepping gait. It’s not exactly the Texas Two-Step, meaning those boot scoot boys, Abbott and Paxton, aka Butch Catastrophe and the Some Dunce Kid, but, while the footwear is different, it’s the same bullshit. By the way, Margie, what a juxtaposition that is, Republican cowboy boots and a doctor’s examination room, the boots are firmly planted in the room, but it’s not their feet in the stirrups.
But back to those names, a quick review does show a bit of clunk to their previous names, Schicklgruber and Drumpf, which sounds like a Teutonic business from the 1880s. You know, maybe something dealing in fresh horse entrails, month-old black bread, Smokey Josef grill marks and no repeat business. Unless, that is, your stomach was made in an iron foundry instead of a womb and your mouth was fitted with howitzer shell-resistant Kevlar Invisalign®. “Come for the Schicklgruberdrumpf Schnitzel, stay for the coroner's inquest, a closed casket wake and a reverent word about the deceased from the chef . . . ‘Gesundheit.’ Thank you.”
“And for you, ma’am?”
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
“The Schicklgruberdrumpf Schnitzel?”
”No, the paramedics and that personal injury lawyer.”
You know, I think I’m warming to your assertion on that resemblance thing. There’s also the hair. Both of your boys have unusual coiffures, and it seems so do other dictators and their wannabes. I think that strange hair thing portends very bad endings. So, to stop it in its tracks we should issue bulletins to all barbers and hair stylists on our side: if you see such styling please act swiftly. Move like your hair is on fire. Scratch that, move like their hair is on fire. Clear cut that undergrowth. Cull the roots of evil. Douse the flames of follicle fascism.
That means hair stylists should now be added to the first responders’ team, so sally forth brave clipping crew! And, to that end, let me recommend that you upgrade your shears by dropping in a Hemi 392 supercharged engine on to the clipper chassis, add fin stabilizers for a steady hand and mow that crap down like it’s Kansas wheat and Dorothy is driving that fuckin’ flying house through it. “Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore! We are freebasing the winds of freedom! Hand me my ruby slippers and the Zillow app.”
And the relationship doesn’t end there apparently, at least as I see it. It appears that the Foreign Former Guy and our Domestic Former Guy were separated at birth by fifty-seven years. Now, I’m not really saying they came from the same womb. I mean a single uterus just couldn’t be asked to handle two of those seismic events — it’s like being asked to be the Gates of Hell, and that is just a fallopian tube too far. No, what I am saying here is it wasn’t just a matter of coincidence that Mother Nature has given birth to two tsunamis of super suck in less time than we get a hundred-year storm trooper.
You know, Margie, I’m thinking maybe you’re right and we should give this thing a trial period. How about Nuremberg, 1945? Hell, we’re already at 91 counts, what’s another one, right? If we keep this up maybe we’ll win by the slaughter rule alone. Margie, you’re a genius. Have a Cobra-Cola on me.
Addled
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Dear Addled,
My name is Robert and my trial for being an innocent tourist at the Capitol on January 6th is coming up. Sure, I picked up some things in the gift shop while I was there, but I can’t remember if the shop was in Nancy Pelosi’s office or in the Capitol Police Armory. Anyway, I’m wondering if I can use the Trump bible I bought to be sworn in for myself or any of those lying witnesses at the trial or if I have to use the traitorous court’s version?
Robert
Dear Robert,
That’s a good question, I mean, do you have to use the King James version or is the King Donald the Third (Grader) with Pricey Barcode version ok?
From what I understand there have been some alterations to the standard version, most notably the original Top Ten Boo-Boos To Avoid As Told By The Top Expert have been replaced by the Ten Contaminants.
The originals were released for non-performance under the right-to-not-quite-work-for-Donald laws and then forced to sign a NDA written in pig Latin by Alina Habba. And to give it an old timey biblical flavor she wrote it using the same instrument she uses on the truth and facts, crucifixion.
And for those of you who wonder if the NDAs are really binding, and are not well versed in foreign languages such as pig Latin, see the Good Book: Donald Trump Word Salad — The Complete Guide To Words Released To Their Next of Kin From the Mouth Morgue After Having Served In Death Sentences.
Each word has a toe tag and the date it expired after being horribly torqued and twisted into positions usually reserved for Mike Johnson’s inept congressional maneuvers or carnal carnage gone way, way wrong. For the latter see the enthralling nature documentary, Toad Stool On A Stormy Night, and if you still have those glasses from watching the total eclipse staple a dozen pairs directly into your eyes before watching.
Sure it’ll hurt like hell, but it ain’t nothing compared to seeing the Donald doing the dirty. Ever hear the expression, “It burns like a thousand suns?” Well, those suckers are on a dimmer switch compared to seeing the raw footage of the Duffle Shuffle. As for the hearing impaired, you can watch the Trump hand accordion interpreter actually achieve airlift and get takeoff clearance from a control tower, all from flapping their arms like they’re being colonscopized with jackhammers as they do the play-by-play.
Jeez, Robert, we’ve only covered the Ten Commandments and I’m already having my doubts about the wisdom of using the Trump bible. Listen, why don’t you cut your loses and just use the tried and true bible of the wild blue yonder. Plead guilty, take the sentence and who knows, maybe we can hook you up with a live-in prison chaplain, you know, the one that hawked you that book. He can teach you all about an eye for an eye and a fang for a fang.
Addled
And remember everyone,
if you acted on advice from Addled,
you’re probably not still in the saddle.
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For past “Dear Addled” diaries see the links below