Dear Albrecht: IV

Albrecht Soothspitz, b. 1327

Albrecht has sent a new pile of letters up to me from his little cottage in the woods. It has been quite a while, but I suppose six-hundred-year-old philosophers with Wii addictions just aren't as concerned with deadlines as the rest of us. I hope you find his wisdom as enlightening as ever. If you have missed his previous advice columns, you can catch up here, here and here. Please remember: We at Hats and Rabbits do not necessarily share Albrecht's viewpoints.





Dear Albrecht,

I have a friend who flosses his teeth at the lunch table in work every day. I have asked him to stop and he simply won't -- he claims cleanliness is always polite. It is horrible. The other day his floss pinged like a plucked harpstring and a particle landed in my coffee. I can't take it any more. What should I do?

Signed,
STRUNG OUT

Dear STRUNG OUT,

It's simple: you and your work mates should throw him out of his chair and onto his stomach. Take the floss -- a goodly length of it, say, five feet -- and thread it through his two front teeth. While the others hold him down, you step on the back of his head and pull upward on the two ends until he shrieks like a burning witch. Leave him there, the floss still embedded in his gums, to contemplate his actions. That was what we called "a lesson" in old Stankburgen.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

I keep having these dreams. In the dream, my mother turns into Adolf Hitler and she stands over me while I attempt to solve algebra problems. She is pleasant enough and continues to call me her little cabbage, as she is wont to do in real life. The problem is, each time I try to write down the answer, my pencil point breaks, at which event my mother/Hitler breaks into tears and claims she wishes I had never been born. It is quite disturbing. What can I do to rid myself of these dreams?

Signed,
MISSING THE POINT

Dear MISSING,

The answer is twelve. You're welcome.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

I am a high school teacher. Since I am very concerned with my privacy, I started a blog just for my friends, with no privacy constraints to keep either my techno-savvy students or the rest of the civilized world out. To further preserve my privacy, I won't say where I teach, either, but let's say it is in a town in Pen%sylvania. (I'm clever that way. On my site, I even put an initial instead of my whole last name under my picture.) Anyway, I am under a lot of scrutiny because I said nasty stuff about my lazy, whorish, whiny students. As a curmudgeon, I know you will side with me -- they are lazy, are they not? Shouldn't someone "call it like it is"?

Signed,
Natalie "Sickofstudentsadfterfiveyears" M. (Note how I disguised my last name, even here. I just don't understand how people found my blog.)

Dear NATALIE,

Maybe you missed something. Have you ever heard me attack my friends -- those I love? Have I said a single bad thing about my beloved dead brother Ruprecht? Have I criticised my students from back in the Stankburgen University days? No. And why is that? Because I have love and respect for them. Because I am not a self-centered arrogant wench like you. I may be critical of the world around me, but my students depended on me for wisdom, not for public betrayal. My advice? Get a job teaching in a mortuary, where your delicate sensibilities are not likely to be offended by normal human behavior and where no one will complain about your inane, commonplace pontifications.

Oh, and consider basic computer lessons. I was born in a time of bloodletting and even I know how to set my privacy constraints, you cantankerous strumpet.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht,

I have a yearly family gathering for Easter. All seem to have a good time, except my cousin's wife -- we'll call her "Jezebel" --  who tends complain about everything from the food to my decorating taste. She also kicks my cat, tries to seduce my teenaged son and steals money out of my desk drawer. Would it be rude of me to ask her never to attend another gathering?

Signed,
FLUMMOXED IN VIRGINIA

Dear FLUMMOXED,

What you do is install a very thick oaken door on your dungeon. (What do they call them these days? "Basements"?) And ask her to go down to retrieve a bottle of wine. When she does, slam the door and lock it. It might help if you an find a lunatic somewhere in your village with whom to lock her in -- no one too dangerously insane, but be sure he has long, dirty fingernails. Leave her in for a few hours with the lunatic. You'll find her outlook on things quite changed by the end. Of course, for appearances, you'll want to "apologize" for "accidentally" locking her in, but make sure you give her a meaningful glare later. (It would be appropriate to give the lunatic a meat pie or something for his pains and the inconvenience of having been locked in with your brutish cousin-in-law.)

Albrecht
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Dear Albrecht:

I keep quitting my jobs -- at which I make excellent money -- and I keep dumping wonderful girlfriends, who treat me like gold. I'm afraid I might have some sort of condition. I looked it up online and found a condition called "hyper-avoidance social repellance syndrome." Do you think I might have this? Maybe I should see a psychologist. What's wrong with me?

Signed,
JOBLESS AND LONELY

Dear JOBLESS:

You are what we in the Middle Ages used to call "an idiot." I'm sorry, alas, there is no cure for that.

Albrecht