My fiance’ was in an abusive marriage before I met her. Her ex-husband is like the King of Douches. How can I deal with this problem without involving police, or at least becoming a suspect?

Overprotective in Wisconsin

Haha. Sucks to be you! Here, you thought you were just settling in for some easy regular action. Now, you’ve gone and gotten yourself in the plot of a Lifetime movie. On the plus side, at least you’re banging Valerie Bertinelli.

There are two main reasons a dude beats his woman. Either she taped over the Super Bowl with some RuPaul Drag Race bullshit, or the dude’s got a dick about the right size to fill an ant’s twat (and still leave room for a reacharound). Since you didn’t fess up to beating her any, too, we’re gonna have to guess it’s the latter.

So, here’s the other part that sucks for you. Lifetime movies always end the same way. Someone burns a bed, and your ass gets sent to the pokey. Now, if this was HBO, there’d be an insurance policy out on you, and she’d be banging Christian Slater.

Let’s take a little quiz, and see just which movie you’re in. Don’t anybody go and steal my thunder and start a Facebook “Which Domestic Violence Movie Are You?” quiz, either. I’ve got dibs on that shit.

Is your fiancee…
Attractive? (1 point)
Uglier than Blair’s retarded cousin from the Facts of Life? (3 points)
Ridiculously Hot? (5 points)

Is her ex…
Fat and Hairy? (1 point)
Danny Glover? (3 points)
A creepy-looking dude with a porno ‘stache? (5 points)

Are you…
As dull as the token cartoon “good guy?” (1 point)
More afraid of your fiancee than of him? (3 points)
One of them sensitive drama teacher types? (5 points)

Now, add up your score, and let’s see how you did.

1-5 points:
You’re Beauty and the Beast.
Dude may talk some mad shit, saying “I can change!” but all in all, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Your problems are G-rated.

6-10 points:
You’re The Color Purple.
You may feel like you want to like you want to cut the dude’s junk off while he’s sleeping, but he ain’t worf it, Miss Seeley. Call that dude’s bluff one time, and he’ll be all apologetic and sending her flowers. If he starts sending you flowers, then that’s a different movie, entirely. Sleep with one eye open and, whatever you do, don’t drop the soap.

11-15 points:
You’re Sleeping With the Enemy.
Dude, you’re fucked. There’s gonna be bullets flying, and one of you is gonna die. You’d better take that woman to a shooting range, because it’s gonna be all up to her at the end, while your ass is knocked out on the floor.

Now that you know what you’re up against, there’s only one thing left to do. RUN! While you still can.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Help me out please. I need an idea of how to exact my revenge without getting arrested.

Here’s why:
I’ve worked at this piece of shit company for a little over a year now. I was hired to do HR work and instead I get to do bullshit secretary work. The execs at this place are all chauvinistic pigs (I wasn’t aware of this when I accepted the job) and have spent the last year showing me exactly how little they respect me.

First my ideas were dismissed. Then I was ignored. Then I was really ignored. Then my ideas were stolen. Then I heard I wasn’t taken seriously because of how I dressed (and no, I don’t dress like a fucking hobo). Then what few HR projects I had, were given to the finance guy (cuz that makes perfect sense). Then I was regarded as the office whore (which is not legit).

Of course I’ve done the obvious and gotten a new job. However, I decided to man the fuck up and finish my two weeks (regretting it as we speak).

So in my last two weeks of hell how can I get back at them without anyone knowing?

Thanks,
Really fucking pissed off in Wyoming

There is no more powerful (wo)man in the world than ONE WHO HAS JUST TURNED IN THEIR RESIGNATION. Who the hell you gotta impress? It’s the one chance you’ll ever have to rain truth bombs all over that shithole you invested ALL THOSE GODDAMNED WASTED YEARS on.

What? You walking gingerly to get yourself one a them there precious referrals? Only a true ASSKISSER would finish that shit quietly. SPEAK SOME TROOF!

Yo, Indian guy in IT. You’re supposed to EAT THE CURRY, not slather it all over your body like you’re turning yourself into a walking homage to Ganesha’s asshole. If I have to smell your ass for one more week, I’ll never fucking eat tikki masala AGAIN!

Gary, in sales. When you laugh, it sounds like two elderly porpoises fucking. Seriously, I can’t UNDERSTAND why your wife just divorced your ass! I’m gonna have nightmares the rest of my life where I hear your laugh, have Vietnam-like flashbacks, and wake up choking the shit outta my girlfriend. If I could have the part of my memory that contains your fucking laugh surgically removed with a fucking chisel, I would.

Sue, you fucking cunt. You know why people don’t get more shit done around here? It takes TWO FUCKING hours to do anything, and 1 hour 45 minutes of that involves you standing at their desk bitching and whining about it. If you really want to increase productivity, you’ll spend that time licking your own asshole. That’s a more productive use of your jaw muscles than having to sit here listening to your whiny fucking voice. Your ass really needs to get laid. I hear Gary’s available.

HEY, FAT HORNY GUY. You know when we’re on the elevator, and a pretty girl steps off, the doors close, and you nudge me and say “did ya see that?” YOU FAT FUCK, you are WAY too fucking sexually excited to be touching me right fucking now. Now I’m gonna have to break into the cleaning closet and wash my arms in fucking BORAX just to rid my body of your festering pheromones. We both know you’ll be in the bathroom tugging your puny little pud in five minutes, and that’s cutting it way too close in the time between your hands touching me and your hands touching your dick. Keep the masturbation fantasies to yourself, motherfucker! If you can’t, then go tell ‘em to GARY.

And you, Fred. You’re the worst of them all. I started listening to death metal at my desk because it was the ONLY THING POWERFUL ENOUGH TO DROWN OUT YOUR OBNOXIOUS VOICE. And I FUCKING hate death metal! I hate death metal more than anything and everything in this world except for the sound of your voice, so it was an easy decision. I suggest you get yourself a horse muzzle and strap that shit on, for always. There is nothing worse in this here life than overhearing a conversation between you and Gary. Between your voice and his laugh, I fucking swear a vortex is gonna open up and suck this whole company down into the fire of fucking hell.

And I don’t wanna be here when that happens, so that’s why I’m resigning.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

You’re off on the right foot. Every self-aware person needs a good tranny telling them what to do. Just make sure you never, ever forget the reacharound! He/she will grab you by the ears and fuck your life hard if you forget that.

Are you knocking poets? I’ll have you know I’m a licensed practitioner of the poemetry. At the very least, you could use some of the practice at slowing the fuck down withtherunonsentences it would give you.

Have you read the Bhagavad Gita, ya hippie? In it, Arjuna gets all whiny “OH KRISHNA, KRISHNA, I can’t go to war. Killin’ is wrong!” Krishna smacks the whiny little bitch around and tells him he’s being selfish. “If he wasn’t your cousin, you woulda already stabbed him and fucked the wound, so shaddup, ya pussy!” My sanskrit is a little rusty, though, so I’m paraphrasing.

ANYDAMNEDHOW. It’s the same with good deed doing. Good deed doing has become pretty fucking pointless. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You did something for someone. You want a fucking medal? YES. Everyone wants the goddamned medal. Feeding the homeless is a ripe (in more ways than one) opportunity for press! WE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO GOOD! HALP PEOPLE! Bullshit. We don’t have to do a goddamned thing but eat, drink, shit, watch football and die.

Would anyone be doing good for anyone else if it weren’t for the medals and keys to the city and the GENUINE Kodak moments and the tax breaks and the great Nobel circle jerk? Highly doubtful.

Anyhow, quit your fucking whining and worrying about what you should be or wanna be or coulda been. If you feel like doing something, do it. If you don’t, don’t. Just don’t get caught up in all that IF I DO THIS WHAT WILL IT GET ME bullshit. Then, you’ll be just another empty cocksucker, like the rest of them.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

i have a problem with a stalker. he’s been stalking me for 2 months now but then he stopped all of the sudden. it really bothers me. do you think i am too fat?

-cindy

You know the thing about stalkers? You never feel lonely when you got a stalker. You ain’t never sitting around thinking “Oh god, I’m so very bored at this moment,” ’cause all you have to do is look outside and there’s your entertainment. Murray ain’t never gonna stalk anybody, ’cause I’m too damned unmotivated. If you want me to stalk you, you’re gonna have to give me an arranged time, and you can drive by and I’ll stalk you. HEY HEY I’M STALKING YOU NOW! OK ARE WE DONE STALKING YET? OK BYEBYE! SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!

You think after two months he hasn’t learned a trick or two? He won’t give up that easily. Good stalking takes lots of practice, and equipment. He just had to save up, and he’s gotten much, much better. Trust me, he’s there right now. Stop fretting, your pudgy ass can rest in peace tonight.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

You know those nylon-mesh bags I have that I put my lingerie in so that it doesn’t get all tangled up and snagged in the washing machine? How many pairs of thong underwear can I put in at once? What about bras? What if I want to combine undies and bras? Thanks in advance,

Washday Woes

What I’m not understanding here is why you need to wash them at all. You’re sitting atop a gold mine, lady. Allow me to demonstrate. Let’s say you pay $20 a thong. You wear it for, say three days. The going rate for such goods would appear to be somewhere in the $50-$100 range. Even more if you fit within the following keywords: “college” “teen” “lesbian” “martha stewart”. You know it’s big business if eBay had to develop a standard for pantie sales. So quit thinkin about what you can stuff in your bag, and think about all those dollars you’re washing down the drain. There’s an infinite amount of dudes sitting there right now with $50 in one hand and… umm… I’m NOT GONNA TELL YOU WHAT’S IN THE OTHER HAND. Come on, lady, let Murray be your business manager.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

I think I am in love with two men at the same time. One guy lives in LA and the other lives in SF.

I am moving to Cali shortly for work – either to LA or SF. I now must decide on where to move and focus on my career. I am very torn because I know where I move will ultimately decide who I will be with. I know I should focus on what is best for me in terms of my work – but my heart is also on the line! Help!

Confused in Connecticut

Damn, girl, you sure get around! I’ve told you before, Murray ain’t the settling type! Ladies get attached to Murray and they gotta go trying to change him. “Don’t be so cranky,” “Tell me I’m pretty,” “Take a bath”. MURRAY CAN’T BE CHANGED!

Do you make a good faghag? There’s nothing wrong with it. My dear old mama was a faghag. If you pick San Fran, though, chances are you’re set in that for life, and you owe it to them to be a damned good one. If you move to LA, you need to run some phrases through your translator. “Let’s do lunch” means “Look, I ain’t callin’ your ass ever again… well, maybe if lunch is at The Standard and you pay.” “I’m working on a screenplay” means “Not really, but I fancy myself an intellectual… NOW LESS TALKING, MORE SUCKING”.

Shit. Who cares? Keep setting up franchises. I hear the men in Budapest are looking!

Now leave me the fuck alone before I fucking cry a river.