Monday, December 19, 2011

Dear Albrecht: VII

Albrecht Soothspitz, b. 1327
I know everyone has been wondering where Albrecht has been. Millions, across the world (or, at least Nick, Shane and Zach from New Jersey) have been pining for another installment. Well, here it is, my friends. He has taken especially long to get through this batch of letters. He' s been up all hours of the night in his hermitage in the woods behind my house. I asked him why the light is always on an he muttered something about ending the financial crisis by converting iron into gold. Anyhoo, enjoy.

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Dear Albrecht:

My wife is on the computer all day, every day. On the weekends, she gets up and gets on Facebook and stays there all day. When the work week comes, she comes home and gets on the computer after dinner and uses it until way after I am in bed. If I wake up when she comes to bed, she picks up her iPhone and gets on Twitter with it, as if to ward me off, in case I get frisky. What should I do?

Signed,
IGNORED


Dear Iggy (May I call you "Iggy"?):

Stop being such a bore, firstly. You are clearly a run-of-the-mill chap. Women don't want run-or-the-mill chaps; they want knights and heroes. We may not all be Lancelot, but we can at least try not to be vapid fops.

Is there anything exciting about you? For instance -- what do you do when you are not working? Watch TV? Golf? Groom the greenwsard around you cottage? Something common like that, right? You probably have a pot belly, too. For the love of Jesu, man, you 21st century wights amaze me sometimes. Used to be a man would do great deeds to win over his lady. These days, you bungstoppers think saying a quick wedding vow and putting on shoes every day entitles you to four-hour romps in the hayloft five times per week.

You're boring. Face it. Write her a blasted poem once in awhile. Belching at her across the table at dinner isn't romance, you buffoon. Take her on an adventure. Give her a blasted back rub, for no reason. Get off of your reclining chair, put down the remote television channel selector and woo her, you dullard.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

I would describe my self as a very attractive woman. Other women are intimidated by me, of course, because of my looks and my large breasts and stuff. I'm also educated, so most of the men I date are intimidated by me, too. I know it might sound a little conceited to say this, but . . . whatever. I don't see anything wrong with being confident. I know what I got going on and I am proud of it. How can I find a man who is confident enough in his own masculinity to date me? Should I stop dressing well? Should I use smaller words? Things didn't work out for my last boyfriend and I, so I'm feeling frustrated.

Signed,
HOT AND EDUCATED

Dear Dear Hot and "Educated":

First of all, it's "Things didn't work out for my last boyfriend and ME," not "I". You were probably "educated" about that in the fourth grade.

Second -- what if you are crazy? Ever think of that? What if your "confidence" is all a manifestation of a complete lack of self-esteem; a shield you unconsciously put up to cloak the fact that you are deeply aware that you are actually quite unattractive, both inside and out?  -- a trick your subterranean mind is playing on you in order to keep your miserable, lonely life from falling into rags and splinters?

Could it be that people are not so much intimidated as repulsed by your ugly face and pathetically contrived personality?

Stand in front of the mirror for awhile and think about all of this. Then decide "what [you] got going on," you obnoxious tavern strumpet.

And Happy Christmas.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

It's the Christmas season. I hate the Christmas season. Any advice?

Signed,
HUMBUG!


Dear Humbug:

Yes. Shut up.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

I'm seven and I'm feeling sad. Mom and Dad keep telling me Santa won't come this year because I am bad. Sometimes it's hard for me to be good. I don't want Santa to be mad, but sometimes I forget to do the right things and sometimes I hit my brother on accident. I'm scared Santa won't come. Can you help me learn to be good? I don't mean to be a bad boy.

Signed,
SEAN

Dear Sean:

I just got off of Skpe with Santa. I checked up on your status. It seems your parents are mistaken. According to Kris (Santa and I are on a first-name basis) your parents have it exactly backward. He's quite angry at them for confusing you into thinking you are a bad boy. You are a good boy who does bad things sometimes. There is a big difference, lad.

Anyway, Santa smiled when I mentioned your name. Happy Christmas, Sean. Enjoy your presents

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

I am considering telling my mother-in-law she is not allowed to come and visit us anymore. She is in her sixties and she dresses very provocatively. She's a bad example for my daughter, who is ten. I don't want her to grow up thinking that being pretty is everything -- that she should be preoccupied with make-up and hair and fashion. What should I do?

Signed,
MIL PROBLEMS

Dear MIL Problems:

Is you mother in law single? It does get lonely here in the hermitage . . .

That said, why don't you just be a mother to your daughter and set your own example? I used to take my little girl, Inga, to the faire in the summer, two days' ride outside of Stankburgen. Seeing jugglers every now and again didn't have her tossing eggs in the air between the hen house and the cottage at home. You see, we taught her the right way to carry them.

(Why do fools turn the complicated simple and the simple into layers and tangles?)

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

My favorite thing about Christmas is reading to my children by the light of our tree. What's your favorite thing about Christmas?

Signed,
SIMPLE MAN

Dear Simple Man:

People like you.

Albrecht.

7 comments:

  1. I thoroughly enjoyed this. Thank you.

    ~Larissa

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  2. It's not Christmas until we hear from Albrecht. Thanks!

    --Papi

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  3. Larissa and Papi -- I will pass on you kind words to Albrecht. He wll be pleased. In fact, hwe will probably say, "I'm pleased."

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  4. Awesome. Thank you for sharing Albrecht's words of wisdom.

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  5. Merlyn -- Albrecht sends his thanks and says he wants to know: Are you the same Merlyn he once knew from a summer's stay in Wales? He mentioned some great discussions on philosphy, architechture and alchemy . . .

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  6. Albrecht is greatly wise. Also, a hint to the first correspondent: doing the bloody dishes once in a while is hawt.

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  7. 'nora -- now you've done it. Albrecht has been thrown in to a linguistic tizzy. He's been studying ancient lexicons and blowing the dust off of old manuscripts all day, muttering to himself and trying to trace the derivation of the word "hawt." He's convinced it has roots in West Germanic, but he keeps getting thrown at the step over Middle English. I would tell him the truth, but it's too much fun to watch him squirm. By midnight, he'll be plucking out his own beard.

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