Dear Murray

Dear Murray,

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.

Dear Murray,

Inkchica

“You ain’t nothin but a bag of bones, covered in a thin layer of FAG.” God, I loved Kids in the Hall.

Watching TV and getting sucked into pop culture’ll definitely put the fear of lard in ya. I do think bulemia and anorexia are passe these days, in favor of even more psyche-damaging fads like ATKINS. The fuck is going on here? Carl’s, Jr. has this creepy giant hamburger wrapped only in lettuce. What kinda ghetto fucking meal is that? WHEN WILL THE MEATSHAKE ARRIVE? COME THE REVOLUTION, COME THE MEATSHAKE.

The world would be such a better fucking place if we all knew how to use moderation, eh? Walk the middle way path of the Buddha, and we’ll all be happy and healthy and the world would have no fucking variety. Skinny people would have no fat people to make fun of. Fat people would have no anorexic people to make fun of. It’s such a wonderful symbiosis.

The people in the middle have the biggest dilemma. In a world where you are defined by your adversities and disorders, HOW CAN MR./MRS. AVERAGE GET AN INVITE TO BE ON RICKI LAKE MOTHAFUCKA! My entire empire of dirt for just one GO RICKI!

You’re no different. We all got something we have to crutch onto. C.F.S, A.D.D., pay ATTENTION TO ME!

Have you noticed how it’s fucking trendy to be in therapy these days? Are we really this fucked as a society? A: YES! I’m thinking of going into therapy on account of I’ve developed a complex due to the fact that all of my friends are in therapy.

Were you one of those people who would do like 500 sit ups a night, ’cause you were feeling guilty about that small order of french fries you had at lunch? Christ. Eat a sammich already.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray:

-Lost in Las Vegas

Well, first things first. Is your friend mildly retarded? Is she a codependent child of an alcoholic father? Self-esteem of a 13 year old with glasses, acne, AND braces?

There is a time for fighting for your true love and there is a time when you’re just a pathetic cling-on. THEY LOOK SO MUCH THE SAME.

Rushing the wedding plans? FUCK. He did it once, so she fucking thought she’d rush that shit and stake her claim on him, and it would all work out fine. Hubby would settle down and not cruise for $20 BJs no more no more. Ain’t gonna cruise no more. Good fucking luck. I’ve never solicited a prostitute myself, but I got a feeling that shit is like crack. Once you cross that fucking line into paying for hookers, you can’t get enough! Hell, you pick her up, do the business, kick her out of your car. Obviously, this mothafucka can’t exactly afford the hooker lovin lifestyle, so he’s turned to craigslist where he can get it for FREE.

And your friend just keeps taking him back. Christ, I swear I saw this shit on Lifetime. She gets genital warts and then they have to go in with like a woodburning needle and burn half her cervix away and shit. She can never have babies and don’t we feel so sorry for her blahblahblah.

Grab her by the ears and tell her BITCH! HERPES WILL BE YOUR FRIEND FOREVER (lylas)! If she still can’t get a fucking clue, I suggest you write this one off, and find yourself some less pathetic friends.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray:

I have been getting the urge lately to fucking punch my boyfriend in the face. What should I do? Punch the fuck out of him or tell him how i feel in a nice calm way.. even though I ask him OVER AND OVER AND OVER again to just pay attention to the little things he does that piss me off?

About to knock some teeth out,
Mike Tyson, Jr.

Alright. Here’s where mothabitches piss me off. IF YOU’VE GOT A PROBLEM with a mothafucka, TELL THEM. Tell them early. Tell them often. LOOK MOTHAFUCKA, don’t do that shit. If you keep it up, I’m gonna stab your goddamned eyeball.

It’s simple enough. Then people can adjust. They know what to expect. You can’t hold all that shit in. My ex wouldn’t bring up a goddamned thing until it was bothering her so much that it couldn’t be fixed. Things like OH GOD, WHEN YOU BREATHE, I WANT TO KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP! YOU KNOW WHAT? If you can’t fucking say something before it’s too late, you relinquish all rights to bitch. Put it in writing, put it on a plaque, needlepoint a big sign SPEAK NOW OR FOREVER SHUT YOUR FUCKIN TRAP.

So if you really have been telling him AS YOU SAY you have, and he continues, then by all means. You have every right to pop a mothafucka in his jaw. And I don’t mean just saying “stop”. “Stop” has no effect on dudes. Try something like “if you don’t fucking stop, I will cut your dick off and feed it to you on a kaiser roll.”

Otherwise, SHUT YOUR FUCKIN TRAP and leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Murray:

menses maude in maine

GODDAMN. Is that all it takes? Don’t let this shit out or the entire flower and fancy restaurant industries will collapse!

Does this have to turn into one of those fucking self-help group hugathons, though? there, there honey, it’s GOOD blood. it’s GOOOD. it makes life and you were chosen to make life. let’s chant. let’s all be happy. let’s

Fuck, I got carried away there.

The problem here is you are obviously ragging RIGHT FUCKING NOW, and nothing you say counts. Because if you want us to forget all those fucked up nasty things you say to us while you’re on the rag, we have to excuse EVERYTHING you say. Can’t be selective. It’s all or nothing, baby.

So then, bring your ass back here in a week when you’re not flowing like the mighty Mississippi and let’s see if your plan has been altered.

Then, we’ll talk.

Now leave me the fuck alone.