Albrecht Soothspitz (b.1327) |
Dear Albrecht:
I am a sixteen-year-old high school student. Your beard is stupid. And you are old. And you wear silly clothes. You probably listen to gay music, too. Anyway, I need help. School is stupid. And gay. Why should I sit in a classroom learning all of this stuff that I will never use again?
Signed,
Not Stupid or Gay
Dear Not Stupid or Gay:
I must admit you confuse me a bit. My beard is not sentient and, so, can neither be smart nor stupid. True, I am over six-hundred years old, but I do sometimes listen to gay music -- I am particularly fond of a lively galliard. My clothes serve to keep me warm. Not sure what is "silly" about that. At any rate, your question is interesting, even if you are not. It's simple: you learn things so you can grow closer to understanding the universe.
Do parents suckle their children on lotus leaves these days? God's teeth! I was interrupted in my gadget-magic gaming for this? I could be on world five by now.
Oh, and cheer up. There's no reason for a boy your age not to be gay.
Albrecht
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Dear Albrecht:
I work with a woman who is just plain hideous. She and I are good friends -- we have girl talk and sometimes go out together to bars. It's fun, but men won't approach us because she is so ugly. She looks a little like Anthony Quinn in a sundress. And she has hair on her feet but insists on wearing strappy shoes that reveal her copious Hobbit-like fuzz. Should I talk to her about her ugliness or just find a hotter friend to go out with? I need to find myself a man, and she's cramping my style. No, she's just plain shutting me down. Help!
Signed,
HANGIN' WITH THE WILDEBEEST
Dear Hangin':
First thing you need to do is call a priest -- be sure there is no foul magic going on here. Last time I saw a woman who looked like that, she was stirring a cauldron and chanting about toads. Once you rule that out, perhaps you should suggest a trip to one of those spas you women seem enjoy these days -- for her birthday. There's nothing you can do about the face, but maybe you if you cut down on the presence of rampant hair, suitors will not fear your beastly friend so much in the dark shadows of taverns.
Albrecht
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Dear Albrecht:
My boyfriend, "Gordo," is technically still married to his wife. By this, I mean that he lives in the house with her and his seven children -- we'll call them Ori, Nori, Fili, Kili, Bombur, Oin and Gloin. And, technically, he and his wife still share a bed and make love together every weekend, around four or five times. Strictly speaking, his wife has no idea about me and has no real concept that he is unhappy with their marriage at all. But I know he really wants to be with me; he tells me every time we meet when he is on business in Chicago, where I live. (He is from Australia.) Gordo and I want to get our new life underway. How do I get his wife to come to grips with the fact that he wants me more?
Signed,
GORDO'S TRUE LOVE
Dear True Love:
Do you know how I can smash through the blocks at the bottom of the screen to get to those gold coins? Any idea? I saw a kid do it in the mall . . . he somehow he made Luigi do a flip . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Let me reread the question. Right. I remember now: you are a stupid strumpet bound for Hell, either as punishment for your infidelities or for sheer stupidity. Consider taking a walk through a raging forest fire, unclean harlot!
Albrecht
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Dear Albrecht:
Since I've been old enough to be expected to abide by these damned grown-up customs, I've had a recurring, blasphemous wish come December: that nobody would buy me anything. Quite frankly, the exchange of gifts looks like a trade to me . . . [People] are driven by the expectation that the other party is going to get them a present equally excellent, because that's what the custom commands--and you don't question the custom. By the time I'm done buying all these people their respective presents, the least they could do is just replace the damned money I earned in the smallest possible increments only to spend on them in one flustered week of last-minute hustle. At that point, I don't need another light-up clock/radio from Sharper Image; I need a check just to keep the lights on (and a week to decompress from the unfamiliar state of thoughtfulness). The trade doesn't seem so worthwhile to me. Am I a blasphemer if I refuse to participate?
Signed,
CAN'T BE BOTHERED
Dear Can't Be Bothered:
From what I can gather from this modern culture of yours, in not participating in something you consider hypocritical, you would be given what everyone considers a worse label than "blasphemer": you would be called someone who "thinks too much." I'm not sure when it came out of fashion to think, but it seems to have happened. If you can stand the label, then, carry on. When you are shunned by the "wiser" folk who seem follow anyone clad in bright colors, stop by my hovel for a pint of ale. Maybe I will get another Wii remote and we could go head to head in Mario world.
Albrecht
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Dear Albrecht:
I recently auditioned for American Idol and I got cut. It's not fair. I worked so hard and everyone I know says I am a great singer. All of my friends agree. I practiced every day for, like, two weeks for this audition. Any advice?
Signed,
CRUSHED BY FOOLS
Dear Crushed:
My little cousin, Horst, was a castrato in the choir at St. Wilhelm's Church in Stankburgen and he was more of a man than you will ever be. So shut up. There's my advice, you dandy.
Albrecht
P.S. Simon Cowl was my kind of fellow. He never should have left. That Tyler chap is frightening.
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Albrecht, You are quite the amusing fellow, and would be proud to give you rest in my first AND second best bed, whichever you would prefer. I'll take the other. Carry on the strong work. Also, there are hidden levels in Super Mario. Shhhh dont tell anyone.
ReplyDeleteMr. Matt, i like the hobbit reference. Well thrown in my friend.
--Papi
Dear Papi -- text me about those hidden levels.
ReplyDeleteAlbrecht