Dear Libby: This Bitch's Thoughts About Your Problems

Good Christ, Lay 'Em On Me, I'll Do My Best

I might look like I’m annoyed by your letters, but that’s only because I probably am.

Well, it’s the second round of Dear Libby, Mooch’s Advice Column. I specialize in tough love with some common sense canine wisdom. I have five letters to answer today, so let’s not waste any more goddamn time. The ghosts of Ann Landers and Dear Abby will have my furry ass if we don’t get through these. Here the fuck we go.

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Dear Libby,

I find myself in a bit of a Halloween predicament. I live with my partner in a large city. Since coming to live in the “big city” from a rural farming area, I have come to love providing for kids something that I wasn’t able to enjoy as a kid. We are the house on the street with the big candy bars. We love trick-or-treaters, Halloween, and all things spooky and magical.

Now we come to the problem. Our neighborhood is full of trunk-or-treat, harvest-festival-touting families who have decided for the second year now to close our street so they can hide from local trick-or-treaters and hold a secret, pasty block party out of view. Last year we tried luring the local kids to our street waving our big candy, but it only worked in part. What do you suggest we do this year to make sure that kids know WE ARE OPEN?

Big Love & Happy Spooking

Brett

Dear Brett,

Apologizes, I didn’t get back to you on this before Last month. The goddamn mailman dropped your letter and it just came today. I get why dogs hate them so much.

Oh yes, THOSE people. I’ve seen this “Trunk-or-Treat” bullshit advertised locally. Often, churches seem to offer this to lure you onto their property and hand you the worst candy along with print propaganda, inviting you to come hate minorities, liberals, and the LGBTQ community with their members each Sunday.

Fuck those bigots. People need to get out of their tree-hugging hippie zones and get with the program. Back in my day, all we had to worry about was not biting through a damned rusty razor blade in our candy. Easy enough to check for that with your giant candy bars.

Put out online ads on your social media that offer shots for adults, or hits from the bong. Don’t worry if you don’t actually have a bong. Just tell anyone who shows up that they should have arrived sooner. When you party like it’s 1999, shit happens. Their greedy asses will still be happy about the free giant candy bars.

Here’s to generosity, childhood obesity, and your role in it,

Spooky Libby

Who has the bad aim? Time to solve a mystery. Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash

Dear Mooch,

I have an old cold case to solve, a true story. It happened 29 years ago when one of my sons was 8 and the other was 5. Both were prime suspects in what I’ve come to call the “pee-on-the-bathroom-floor” caper.

On this fateful day, I marched my suspects into the bathroom and asked, “Who peed on the floor?!”

Both denied culpability, which only compelled me to sarcastically ask, “Oh, so I guess MOM did it?” My five-year-old replied in earnest, “Oh no, Dad, Mom didn’t do it, she sits DOWN when she pees!”

Needless to say, I couldn’t get mad at my five-year-old (even if he was lying) because he 1) stuck up for his mom and 2) made me laugh my ass off.

To this day, neither suspect claims to remember the incident, and yet they both still deny culpability. Go figure. My question is, should I interrogate them again? Or should I just blame the older one who seemed more than happy to let his mom take the rap?

Sincerely,

Old Boomer Dad With Unfinished Business

Dear Boomer,

It was 29 years ago, drop it. Christ, I’m surprised you can even remember it happening, that far back ago. Don’t fuck with these kids of yours. They’ve made it clear that they either don’t remember the petty incident you’re referencing, or they’re still the biggest liars on the planet, almost 30 years later.

These will be the people deciding if you will be allowed to live with them in your Twilight Years. Calling them out on this again could be the tipping point between having a loved one changing your diapers, or having it done by some mean Russian woman working at the 1-star nursing home these little piss-pants are certain to put you in.

Think, my Friend. Fuhgeddaboutit. Nobody knows nothin’. Bury it, and bury the shovel.

Auntie Mooch

It’s fun to have a battle of wits when your opponents are unarmed. Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash

Dear Libby,

I’ve allowed myself to get baited by tweets from a collection of right-wing Neanderthals.

As someone who prefers logic and research to investigate national and international affairs, I’m also prone to responding to the intellectual second graders and their “truths” with over-the-top sarcasm.

My responses to their myopic and incredibly distorted ravings have been construed as support and resulted in an abundance of likes and followers.

What’s the best way to back out without missing the levity their inanity provides?

Steven

Dear Steven,

BACK OUT? Why in sweet and sour fuck would you do that? You’ve got them exactly where you want them. Finish the job and enjoy the freak show aspect of this circus you created. Be P.T. Barnum up in this bitch.

Reading your letter reminds me of a Facebook group I’ve come to love and enjoy greatly. Have you heard of it? It’s called “A Group Where We All Pretend to Be Boomers”. It’s fucking crazy. Half the people in it likely don’t even realize they are being made fun of. Check it out when you have time:

Website here:

By screwing with these Trumpanzees, you are doing a great deed for your country. These colors don’t bleed. We do not negotiate with terrorists. Take these assholes down.

We appreciate your service,

General Mooch

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Dear Moochie,

I was wondering if you would mind giving me your opinion on something. My company agreed to be acquired and there is always uncertainty in that situation. How should I cope with the stress?

Steve

Dear Steve,

Corporate takeovers can be challenging. Once a company agrees to be sold, it’s natural for employees to start worrying about their futures. I’d be scared shitless if I were you.

Will there be a pink slip on your desk in the morning, with an empty box to toss all your belongings into, as you do the walk of shame to your Ford Focus? Nobody wants to have to un-decorate their cubicle, staring at all of the people you’ve let down in your family photos. I guess the kids can go to community college.

Let’s not automatically assume negativity though. You could be one of the ones they decide to keep. They may even promote you. I recommend taking a “fuck-it” attitude. Perhaps follow this guy’s lead in the video clip below.

Let us all know how it works out for you, Steve. I think good things are coming your way. Just don’t go back and shoot the place up, in case I turn out to be wrong.

Talking you down from the ledge,

Peace-Loving Mooch

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Dear Libby,

Sister wife №4 here! Long-time reader, first-time complainer.

I’m pregnant with twins and the other 7 kids are delighted but acting up.

I can’t get my 3 year old to stop sucking his revolver at the table. I’ve tried cayenne pepper and all sorts of foul-tasting things. The other kids are already up to automatic weapons and have learned not to cock at dinner time.

Can you help?

Daphne

Dear Daphne,

First-time responder, already bored. But let’s see if we can help straighten shit out for you. Four sister-wives. A seven-pack of crotch-fruit. The propensity for sucking on cold, hard, American steel. Am I about right, so far?

Jesus Fleetwood, how do you fit them all into a double-wide? Does Utah have zoning laws about stacking manufactured homes one on top of the other? What Would Joseph Smith Do?

I’ll tell you what: He’d run. Head west, young woman. Your vagina is your own personal business, not a clown car. You need to escape the Branch Davidians and get the hell out of Dodge. Even though your brain isn’t likely fully formed yet at age 19, you owe it to yourself to THINK, for once.

Leave the weapons. Tell the other three Big Loves that you are taking your kids to the zoo and call an Uber, already. Find a safe place and get some counseling. I’ll pray for you.

Peace (and quiet) Be With You,

High Priestess Libby the Mooch