The Invitational Week 42: The 'Hole Story

Write us a funny 'Am I The Asshole' question. Plus winning parodies on the news.

For some reason, we thought this popular Reddit thread would be perfect for a contest in The Gene Pool. See this week’s Invitational below.

Hello. This is Invitational Thursday but before we get to the matter at hand, a pertinent one-question Gene Pool Gene Poll.

This Week’s Invitational: Are You the Asshole?

This week’s contest, suggested a while ago by both Alex Blackwood and Jeff Contompasis, was inspired by a long-standing and deeply vulgar discussion thread on Reddit: Someone writes in to recount a conflict they’re having with someone else, describes their own behavior in said dispute, and asks their fellow Redditors: “Am I the asshole?” Then others in the “AITA” community weigh in with their judgments.

Often, it is hilariously clear that the aggrieved writer is an asshole, a conclusion almost always confirmed by the community. An example we just made up: “I love mackerel in bouillabaisse sauce, and frequently make it for lunch at work, in the microwave or even the coffeemaker, which works splendidly for that. My co-workers complain it stinks up the office and all coffee subsequently tastes like fish. Am I the asshole?” Obvious verdict: You are.

Sometimes, it is clear that the writer has a good point, as in this real example from Reddit (slightly edited for space):

My boyfriend likes to be called “daddy” in bed. I’ve obliged but it’s starting to creep me out and I’ve decided I don’t want to do it anymore. He is not happy with this, and insists it has nothing to do with the connotation of the word, he just enjoys hearing me say it.

Since he wasn’t budging on the issue, I told him I’d like him to call me “grandma” in bed as a compromise. He didn’t like this option, said it was giving him visuals he would prefer not to have — like ok, join the fucking club.

Anyway, the last time he tried to initiate intimacy with me, I started to say, “Do you like when grandma does that?” etc, and he FLEW off the handle. Said I ruined the mood, made him feel gross and I was being ridiculous.

I think I proved my point but he thinks I’m being an asshole. So AITA?

The full comment thread has been taken down, but the consensus seems to be: Madam, you are NTA, not the asshole. HE is the asshole.

Anyway: For Invitational Week 42: Create a humorous situation proposing a question for “Am I the Asshole?” It can be “from” a nameless person or a particular real or fictional one. It can be filthy, though we do not officially recommend that. The length can run up to 150 words or so, like the “Grandma” example, or it can be just a sentence or two.

Click here for this week’s entry form. Or go to bit.ly/inv-form-42. As usual, you can submit up to 25 entries for this week’s contest, preferably all on the same form.

Deadline is Saturday, Oct. 28, at 4 p.m. ET. Results will run here in The Gene Pool on Thursday, Nov. 2.

Since we are in advice mode here, the winner gets the 1950 pamphlet Making the Grade as Dad, which was already in its seventh edition when this copy was printed in 1954. Written by child-rearing expert Edith Neisser — whose credit appears after that of her husband, Walter, “an advertising man” — the advice is generally still wise and probably progressive for its era (“It is a good thing for a boy to see his father helping to dry the dishes”) though clearly the product of its times: “Everywhere in the world, boys learn that when they grow up they will have to look after women and children if they are to be considered responsible members of the community. Even when mothers go out to work, fathers are expected to be strong and protective.”

Perhaps the designer of the Amazon logo was inspired by Dad’s mouth.

Runners-up get autographed fake money featuring the Czar or Empress, in one of ten nifty designs. Honorable mentions get bupkis, except for a personal email from the E, plus the Fir Stink for First Ink for First Offenders.

Meanwhile, we need questions / ruminations / observations that Gene can answer right here, in real time. Send ’em to this tasteful orange button:

Rock and LOL: The songs from Week 40

In Week 40 we put the call out for song lyrics and performances about matters in the news — which happened to be, as you’ll see, right when House Speaker Kevin McCarthy was getting his gavel grabbed away. As always, the Loserbards sent us far too many inkworthy parodies and videos to share here; over the next few days Pat will post another dozen or so in the Style Invitational Devotees group on Facebook; search on #parodies.

Click on the titles of the original songs below to hear the tune so you can sing along — though our winner this week will sing it to you right here.

The winner of the solar-powered hula dancer:

The song’s about Sen. Robert Menendez. Lyrics by Jonathan Jensen; performed by Tom Chalkley (center), Bob Friedman (right, on guitar), and Jonathan (on MicroBass). The three Baltimoreans perform occasionally as the Patapsco Delta Boys; Jonathan’s day job is playing string bass with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra.

First runner-up:  Re-Indicted (to “Reunited”)
Those guys were fools to haul me into court —
Each time they do it doubles my support.
Whenever they booked me, then the better things looked.
The base gets more excited ’cause I’ve got them hooked, hey hey.

Manhattan, Georgia, big one in D.C.,
Each prosecution is a boon for me.
’Cause when I’m arraigned, see all the fans that I’ve gained!
More charges, more they love me—see, I’ve got ’em well trained.

Re-indicted and it feels so good!
Charge me more? You know I wish they would.
My poll numbers climb when I get charged with a crime.
The MAGA crowd’s united ’cause I’m re-indicted, hey hey.  
(Duncan Stevens, Vienna, Va.)

Second runner-up: (To “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift)
Nice to meet you, where you been?
You can sure do incredible things—
Making catches for the win—
Saw you there and I thought,
“Oh my God, look at that man!
Guess I’m now a K.C. fan.
Love’s a game, wanna play?"

New outfit, white and red,
They will talk about us on TV.
Ain’t it funny, all that’s said?
And I know you think about me,
So, hey, let’s hang out
And you can run a deep go route.
On the Internet we’ll trend;
I can holler when you score on the weekend.

’Cause we’re hot and we’re famous,
They’ll gossip way too much.
Football’s what your game is;
You’re awesome in the clutch.
Got a long list of ex-lovers;
We’ll say that we’re just friends,
But I’ve got a blank space, Travis —
And I like tight ends. 
(Jesse Frankovich, Laingsburg, Mich.) 

Third runner-up: Donald’s Favorite Things: 
Buckets of crispy Kentucky Fried Chicken,
Huge MAGA rallies and candidate-pickin’,
Dictators, tyrants, oppressors, and kings:
These are a few of my favorite things.

Strip steak that’s well-done and slathered with ketchup,
Crazy-ass rants that my speechwriters fetch up,
Women who dream being one of my flings:
These are some more of my favorite things.

Fans wearing red hats who shout, “F.U., Biden,”
Breitbart and Tucker and Elon providin’
Claims that the deep state is clipping my wings,
All the while hiding how Putin pulls strings.

When I’m dogged by DOJ stings,
And it makes me mad,
I think about top-secret classified things
That I can reveal to Vlad.
(Chris Doyle, Denton, Tex.) 

Rhythm & Lose: Honorable mentions

Employees React to a Rebrand (To “Be Our Guest”)
We’re now X!  We’re now X!
Says the guy who writes the checks,
Understanding the rebranding
Raises riddles that perplex.
Why did Musk buy us out?
Why’d he change what we’re about?
When he did away with Twitter,
He consigned us to the shitter.
Is the stock through the floor?
Is the future insecure?
Is the ax about to come down on our necks?
We were a well-run shop, now we’re a dismal flop,
Pay last respects! Clear the decks! We’re now X.
(Mark Raffman, Reston, Va.) 

Two Ballads of Matt Gaetz
I. (To “My Blue Heaven”)
A vote that I called, to tell him goodbye,
That motion’s how I screwed Kevin.
Eight votes from the right, now he’s out of sight,
Good night, because I screwed Kevin.
Gone is that weasel face that we’ll replace, up in the chair,
And if there’s disarray, that’s quite okay, ’cause I don’t care!
Now all thanks to me, we’re leadership-free,
So happy ’cause I screwed Kevin. (Mark Raffman) 

II. (To “Stairway to Heaven”)
There’s a dude who is sure his intentions are pure,
But he’s clearly a scumbag to Kevin.
He the Speaker betrayed with a motion he made,
And he’s basking in all the attention.
Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh, yes, he’s clearly a scumbag to Kevin.

He’s a Florida man who’s a huge Donald fan
And a star among self-righteous whiners.
We’re all keenly aware that he’s proud of his hair,
And to boot, he gets busy with minors.
Ooh, makes me shudder … And he’s clearly a scumbag to Kevin. (Jesse Frankovich) 

Biden: His Time
(To  “When I’m Sixty-Four”)
Some say I’m aging, losing my grip
C’mon, man, not so!
Aren’t you all anticipating four more years?
Speak up, folks, I can’t hear the cheers!
Asking the old folk, begging the young,
You whippersnappers, you:
Will you respect me, will you elect me,
When I’m eighty-two?
(Rob Cohen, Potomac, Md.) 

^^ Your House (to “Our House”), written and sung by Judy Freed, Deerfield Beach, Fla., accompanied by Judy Freed and Judy Freed.

The Ballad of Sam Bankman-Fried (To “Be Our Guest”)
Bankman-Fried! Bankman-Fried! 
Tale of hubris, lies, and greed:
Funds invested feather-nested; at the trough his pals would feed.
Stole the loot, took the gains,
Used the dough to fund campaigns,
And his customers in crypto?  Off those folks he surely ripped — oh,
FTX took their checks,
Laundered funds (it was complex);
Off to jail Sam went with all deliberate speed;
He seemed a rumpled oddster; now this scheming fraudster
Has been treed—yes, indeed, Bankman-Fried! (Duncan Stevens)

Evicted (To “Busted” as sung by Johnny Cash)
It started in ’20, when orange-face Trump got evicted;
To old Mar-a-Lago, that roach-ridden dump, he was evicted.
He took what he said was all personal stuff;
Jack Smith and the feds have been callin’ his bluff —
But one scuzzy ’Pugnican isn’t enough
To be evicted.

Now Kevin McCarthy, the man with no shame, is evicted;
His aide called Pelosi and told the old dame: “You’re evicted!”
Pelosi’s a lady; she told him off nice,
With steel in her spine and a voice full of ice —
But I’m sure she was hopin’ the whole gang of lice
Would get evicted.

Now listen up, people, and hear what I say about “evicted”:
It isn’t enough just to hope and pray they’ll be evicted!
You Dems who love justice and right in your souls,
A year from November, get down to the polls—
And don’t you dare quit till the whole pack of trolls
Is evicted!
(Sharon Neeman, Pardes Hanna, Israel) 

Kevin’s Lament (To “You Shook Me All Night Long”)  
He was a click machine, made for the TV screen,
Gaetz was the biggest camera whore that I ever seen.
With Eddie Munster hair and a caveman’s glare,
Voting me right out of my House Speaker chair.
Taking more than his share, I said I didn’t care,
But the schmuck followed through, thought he wouldn’t dare.
Congress halls start quaking, my hand is shaking,
My gavel they’re taking, and the far right is breaking it
And you shook me alt-right wrong …
(Leif Picoult, Rockville, Md.) 

The Ballad of Sen. J.D. Vance (to the “Beverly Hillbillies” theme song)
Come listen to the story of a man named Vance,
A hardscrabble son who would never have a chance,
Except for some folks who would help him on his way…
The same folks now that he loves to betray.
(Coastal elites! Pointy-heads!)

A scholarship to Yale, a degree in law,
A best-selling book ’bout his crusty old Mamaw,
And then California, where a patron said, “J.D.,
Come feed at the trough of our private equity.”
(Start-up techs!  Massive checks!)

Well now he’s in the Senate where he plays pretend,
A “man of the people,”  but it’s Trump that he’ll defend,
So forget about his money or his fancy law degree,
He’s hiding them to practice demagogy.
(Candidate — ’28?) (Mark Raffman)

It’s High Noon for Kevin McCarthy
Do not forsake me, Grand Old Party, on this our votin’ day
I don’t think Donald Trump will save me — Loyal? That’s one-way!
I think I know what fate awaits me
Countin’ the votes says it’s a wrap
The Chaos Caucus gang will Gaetz me
I’m bein’ booted, my gavel muted, guess I’m ill-suited for this crap.

Shoulda been honorin’ my sworn duty
’Stead I helped trample the Constitooty
Trump with his tie so red and long — what a buffoon!
He thinks the Presidency’s hisn, ’cause it can keep him out of prison
I’m not a fan of his but oh — what made me think he should lead me?

Now that you’ve dumped me, Grand Old Party
Some say I’ll quit this carny ride
No, I won’t be a K Street smarty
And my new hobby won’t be to lobby, and if it is? Then hey, I lied!
(Gary Crockett, Chevy Chase, Md.)

Two songs sung by Clarence Thomas
I. (To “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly”)
All I want is a billionaire
Flying me on a jet somewhere
Paying for my air fare
Oh, isn’t it so loverly?

Now I sail on the finest yachts,
I don’t sleep in my RV cots 
In Walmart parking lots.
Oh, isn’t it so loverly?

Oh, so loverly living in the lap of luxury
Paid by lawyers who have lots of cases in front of me!

It will never affect my vote
When a litigant buys my boat
Or pays my mortgage note,
Oh, isn’t it so loverly?
(Barbara Sarshik and Andy Pike, Vienna, Va.)

II. (To “Let It Be”)
When I find myself with time to travel,
Wealthy friends will cover me,
Whispering with their checkbooks,
“Big RV.”

And if I want a yacht vacation,
Sailing on some tropic sea,
There will be an answer,
“It’s on me.”

Get it free, get it free, gave a spree, Justice T.!
Ethics can be damned, sir,
Get it free! (Mark Raffman)

From “The Lauren Boebert Musical” (To, once again, “Be Our Guest”)
Feel our breast, feel our breast,
Then we’ll let you grope the rest.
Let your fingers run across us, dear, and you will pass the test!
In the House, we’re a Rep,
So you better watch your step:
As they say, “You go and hump her — just don’t piss off any Trumper.”
You’re okay, it’s a play,
We’re in public every day,
And our voters trust that we know what is best.
So follow Trump and Jesus, do your thing and please us.
Feel our breast! Yes, our breast! Feel our breast!
(Neal Starkman, Seattle) 

 Speaker of the House (To “Burning Down the House”)
Ahhhhhh Watch out! You might get what you’re after
Big babies—estranged and getting stranger
Appoint an ordinary guy
Speaker of the House.

Hold tight, wait till the Party’s over
Hold tight, we’re in for nasty weather
There’s got to be a better way
Speaker of the House

Vote your ticket, back your flag, it’s time to behave overboard
The aggravation is here.
Close enough but not a czar, we’re not what we think we are
Fighting on a high wire … ah!

All White, we might need a scapegoat,
Break down, don’t discuss much in daylight.
Too many palms for us to grease.
Speaker of the House….  
(Barbara Turner, Takoma Park, Md.) 

The Major Maniacal Dictator’s Song (To “The Major-General’s Song”) 
I am the very model of a master of autocracy;
My name is known throughout the world (albeit for hypocrisy);
I have a lust for power, and my mission’s to expand my reign,
And nothing’s going to stop me (once I finally smash that damn Ukraine).

I had a private army called the Wagner Group (you may have heard);
It’s said I killed their leader — bah, I tell you, that is just absurd!
He led an insurrection but I’m never one to hold a grudge;
That plane crash was an accident! Was I involved? I’ll be the judge!

My latest message to the world (I say this quite sadistically):
I have some brand new nukes, and they can reach your home (ballistically!).
So use some common sense: don’t try to mess with my autocracy,
’Cause Xi and Kim Jong Un could help me polish off democracy!
(Beverley Sharp, Montgomery, Ala.)

RNC’s Ronna McDaniel Watches the GOP Debate (To “If I Only Had a Brain”)
Trump will never just surrender — there’s nary a contender
Whose path he didn’t pave.
They’re on stage to audition for a Cabinet position,
Not the job they truly crave.

Some could win the right-of-center, defeat their chief tormentor,
Who’s brazenly depraved.
With ol’ Joe’s numbers sinkin’, we don’t need another Lincoln
For our party to be saved.

Oh, I could tell you why we’re in such disarray.
Ron’s a wonk whose claim to fame is “don’t say gay,”
And the rest have no cachet.

In debates they’re bellyachin’, and red-state heads are shakin’,
Reviews have not been rave.
Where to find someone saner who’s a highly skilled campaigner?
Let’s raise Reagan from the grave.
(Steve Smith, Potomac, Md.)

The Elon Song (To “I’m Too Sexy”)
I’m too X-ey for that name, too X-ey for that name,
Twitter? No, that’s just lame.
I’m too X-ey for ol’ Zuck, too X-ey for ol’ Zuck—
What, “Threads”? What a schmuck!

Get blue checks-ey, pay the fee, blue checks-ey, pay the fee,
Show you’re loyal to me!
I’m a mogul, you know what I mean,
And the techie staffers say, “What a prat,” walk.
Have a spat, walk, grab their hat, walk.
The site is breaking down after that walk.

Not too X-ey, though, for Nazis, too X-ey, though, for Nazis,
Racist bilge quite a lot sees.
You’re objectsy to your feed, objectsy to your feed?
Then I’ll cap what you read.

I’m a mogul, you know what I mean,
The employees hear me tell them all “Scat,” walk—
“What a brat!” walk, “brain of gnat!” walk,
A site-will-now-frequently-go-splat walk.
Too X-y for my, too X-y for my, too X-y for my, too X-y for my
[TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES] (Duncan Stevens)

The headline “Rock and LOL” is by Chris Doyle; Chris also wrote the honorable-mentions subhead.

Still running — deadline 4 p.m. ET Saturday, Oct. 21: Our Week 41 contest to “discover” new terms by snaking through a word search grid. Click here for the grid and directions.  

Last, if you are a free subscriber and can afford a paid subscription, please consider supporting The Gene Pool. Our paying subscribers let us continue to expand and experiment while keeping most of this newsletter free and open to all. It’s $50 a year or $5 a month.

So here comes the renowned real-time questions / observations part of the Gene Pool, and answers thereto. REMINDER: If you are reading this in real time, keep refreshing your screen to see more Q’s and A’s.

Q:  Speaking of personal dysfunctions, as you required, I once took my family to the beach and through a maladjusted bike rack, got a huge scratch on my car’s roof. A body shop would have charged me for the whole roof. So I primed and painted it myself. But I didn’t get the gold-flecked black paint, instead used close-enough hardware store spray paint. Then kind of touched up a few marks. Then blended it etc. Well, 2 years later, the cheap paint is all degrading on my otherwise decent car, and people stare at it at stop lights.

A: Made me laugh, and made me remember a “poke” I wrote years ago, retelling an old joke as a poem.

Upon my doorstep stood a maiden fair
Who asked if there was work that she could do.
I cast my eyes upon her yellow hair,
And felt a pang of pity, through and through.

Girls with golden ramparts at their ears
Are often curs’d by claims that they are slow.
“My porch needs paint,” I said, “and has for years.”
She smiled and said she’d give the job a go.

I showed her to the paint and paid her well,
And went inside, and left her all alone
'Twas not an hour ere she rang the bell
Declaring that the painting job was done.

And with a grin as big and bare as Texas,
She said, "That's not a porch, sir, it's a Lexus."

—

TIMELY TIP: If you’re reading this right now on an email:   Click here to get to my webpage, then click on the top headline (In this case, “The Invitational Week 42 …” ) for the full column, and comments, and real-time questions and answers. And you can refresh and see new questions and answers that appear as I regularly update the post from about noon to roughly 1 p.m. ET today.

Send in questions and observations here, to this special orange button:

Q: My dysfunction is Mail. I have the most difficult time with mail. What do I need to keep? What needs to be shredded so my identify doesn’t get stolen? Can I throw the whole thing in the recycling bin once I’ve opened the envelope or does it need to go in the trash? When I moved in 2020 I went through unopened mail dating back to 2014, which is the first year I lived in that location.

A: I have frequently found checks for hundreds of dollars, sometimes more than a thousand bucks, that are so old I have to have them reissued. I also tend to mislay mail from the DMV, informing me of outstanding traffic tickets (speed camera crap) that I will eventually have to pay double for. Also, I once found a mummified two-year-old chicken dinner in styrofoam in the backseat of my car.

Q: In our house, we are unable to commit to anything that might take longer than 30 seconds to fix it if we change our minds. And I say "30 seconds" to be generous to ourselves, because it might be more like 3 or 4 seconds. Basically, if we can't be certain it will be forever, we can't do it. Leading to a large collection of framed posters, paintings, etc., sitting on their bottom edge in various spaces of the house, because hanging anything up would likely lead to disagreement about exactly where it should be hung, and then it would have to be moved. By disagreement, I mean, of course, that I would hang it up and I would be perfectly happy with it, but my wife (who claims superior aesthetic sensibility) would declare this to be appallingly wrong because it needs to be moved an inch, or it needs to be swapped with something hung up elsewhere. And I might do it, but I would silently seethe, because I hung it where I thought it was best in the first place. And if I do move it, she will insist that I agree that it is better in the place where I privately think it is less good, and there can be no peace unless we verbally agree with some realistic level of enthusiasm, carefully calibrated to indicate actual preference (which is a lie) but no sarcasm (which is the truth). So I don't hang things up.

A: This made me laugh. I don’t share it, but it made me laff. I don’t share it mostly because Rachel is not picky about aesthetics. Mostly, she was just tickled when I framed and hug up two receipts she got, Many years ago, from the Post. They were for two things she had done: One, was helping me by doing ground reporting on my story on Joshua Bell’s impromptu concert in the Metro ( a story with the internal name “genius,” and the other was a piece she had done — brilliantly — about having a large bosom. It was part of a Post magazine issue devoted to “Looks.” Her twin checks read, “Genius, $100; Looks, $1,000. Almost exactly a line from “A Chorus Line”. Dance 10, Looks 3.

Q:  The profound “Americanness” of pumpkin spice? Magellan set out to go around the world, discovered some things in Brazil, possibly ginger or cinnamon, then was killed in a native skirmish in (the now) Phillipines, then the ship discovered Indian spices in Goa, then the ship returned to Portugal. Not much Americanness there, except for the spices’ combination in pumpkin pie and its marketing in the 20th century. Excess calories AND marketing. Now that’s American!

A: I am not sure what elicited this observation, but just for the record, pumpkins are indigenous to North America, particularly the peoples of Mexico and Native Americans, both of whom cultivated it.  So you are wrong and I am exposing you as a fool and a poseur.   The center of pumpkin spice is pumpkin, not spice. 

Q: Long ago I was told by my dear departed mother (she was not departed at the time) that it was bad luck to eat the point first [on pie, pizza, etc] so I never begin with the point, I always start at the side, which produces strange looks from people but I would rather have strange looks than bad luck. I have told both my kids this and they never start from the point. 

A: This is very weird and I condemn you for it.  But I never weigh myself naked. I need some room for denial.  If I am heavier than I want to be I console myself by estimating I am wearing, say, 26 pounds of clothing.

Q: So, you hate the Astros for the same reason that people have hated the Yankees over the years? What did you think of fans who did that? - Sauk Rapids

A: What?  No.  I don’t hate the Astros because they are good and successful.   I hate them because they are horrible, organized cheaters.   And because they are from Houston, a city I dislike. 

Q: What’s really pissing me off all over again is that the post season baseball commentators mention the Astros’ WS win in 2017 as if it were a neutral thing. No a verbal asterisk, a disrespectful pause, nothing to note the admitted and proven cheating that got them the title. In any other community, industry, academic circle, or realm this organization would be reviled and shamed. Shame on you MLB.

A: Correct.   There is a reason the 1919 White Sox have been expunged from history.

Q: I was going to say I was only sporadically an asshole, but in another chat you specifically declared me an asshole for putting up an April Fools’ Day sign saying my property was going to be developed into high-rise apartments. Since I still have no sense of regret for that action, I guess there’s nothing sporadic about it.

A: Thank you for admitting I was right.

Q: My dysfunction (one of many) that I submit anonymously: I am 45 years old. I still have my Winnie-the-Pooh security blanket from when I was a baby (my grandmother hand made it), and yes, I sleep with it. My spouse knew going in that I had this dysfunction and married me anyway. I have to rub it between my fingers to fall asleep. Now that I work from home, I can rub it between my fingers all day when I'm feeling stressed so... it’s in my lap right now as I type this.

A: This dysfunction thread is one of the best things I have ever perpetrated.

Q: “Everywhere in the world, boys learn that when they grow up they will have to look after women and children if they are to be considered responsible members of the community. Even when mothers go out to work, fathers are expected to be strong and protective.” The phrasing is dated, in particular “Even when mothers go out to work,” but the general premise seems accurate. My impression (as a man) is that straight women are generally attracted to men who are strong — both literally and figuratively — and want to feel protected. Perhaps some women can either correct me or confirm that.

A: This is highly objectionable, and of dubious relevance, but I am putting it out there. My immediate reaction is that you are full of shit. I don’t think women want to be protected. I think they want to be treated as fully fledged human beings.

Q: My favorite character on the comics page is the Bumsteads’ dog, Daisy.

A: I have always liked Cookie Bumstead, the daughter, but am afraid to say it out loud. It has been pointed out to me that she is probably 15 years old; however in one sense, the actual chronological one, she is 84.  She was born in 1941. 

Q:  When we last looked in on our intrepid wordsmith, he was staggering around under the influence of what he assumed was “Lexi’s Revenge” — an expulsion of such magnitude it presumably brought tears to his eyes (hence the staggering). However, on further review, it turned out to be the result of decaying cruciferi. While the "Mystery of the Phantom Fart" was cleared up, left hanging in the air, was how the broccoli was enchaired to begin with. Could there be a Febreze-like coverup ? 

A:  Several people have asked about this, as though it were unusual to have two head of broccoli rotting on a fine leather chair in the living room. The reason is simple.   When Rachel or I enter the house carrying groceries, the thing most immediately available is a big old chair in the living room. We dump it there. If you are functional you pretty soon remember to transfer it to the refrigerator. See?

Q: Something I will only admit anonymously (even though I bet you can figure out who I am, please keep my identity between us). A lot of people say that if it came down to it, they don't know if they could kill someone to save their own life. I happen to know... I can use lethal force. I was once in a situation that was life-and-death and I had the opportunity to run. I wasn't the target, I wasn't in direct danger. But I also had the opportunity to end the situation because he didn't yet know I was behind him and he'd dropped his sledgehammer he used to break down the door right next to the door he was standing in with his back to me. I took my opportunity without ANY second thought. I stepped out of my high heels, grabbed that sledgehammer, and went to swing at the back of his head. However, he went down before I made contact...he'd shot himself after shooting my neighbor in the head. But I was already swinging when he went down, so there is no question I could have killed him. Instead, I did major damage to an already damaged door frame. I couldn't save my neighbor. Then I sat there for 10 minutes with a dead person and a rapidly dying person waiting for the cops to arrive. TEN MINUTES and I lived IN A MAJOR CITY. I remember thinking it was a good thing the shooter was rapidly dying because if he wasn't, he could have killed half the building before the cops arrived. Epilogue: the shooter died either soon after arriving at the hospital or on the way to the hospital. I later found out he was my neighbor's ex, so he'd always intended it to be a murder suicide. The other person in the apartment at the time wasn't injured, as the shooter had missed him. 

A: I do not know who you are, and if I did, I would not reveal it. It’s a fascinating story; if it has a flaw it is only that I’m not sure most people would agree there is something wrong in killing someone to save your own life. I have often considered a thought experiment in which I would need to risk my life to try to prevent the rape or death or kidnaping of a loved one. The answer is yes. The only lingering question for me is why, and that fascinating. Would it be because of love? Or would it be more selfish? I would know, for example that if I didn’t do that, the rest of my life would be a living hell, resulting ultimately in suicide, either deliberate or gradual.

On that happy note, I will declare us down for the day.

Money? You got some pocket change? Right here, please: