(C) Daily Kos This story was originally published by Daily Kos and is unaltered. . . . . . . . . . . "Dear Addled . . . Got another problem, help!" [1] ['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.'] Date: 2024-04-07 Dear Addled is a shameless rip-off of the Dear Abby advice column that still runs in some newspapers. Abby fields inquiries from her readers and dispenses advice on a range of subjects. Dear Addled does roughly the same, but he has to do it while supplementing his income as a paid stand-in for various police departments conducting their criminal lineups. Unfortunately, he’s sometimes wrongly picked out as the offender, and sometimes, even more unfortunately, the eye witnesses ain’t wrong. Sigh. Dear Addled, My name is Donald and I am a famous word salad chef, everyone says so, even the salmonella. And everyone knows what a smart fish they are. Very smart fish, very smart. Did you know they swim up a fast moving river just to mate? That’s incredible, they do that, they go to all that trouble, which is incredible, got to, banging around, each other, in swirling water, and lots of it. That’s amazing, I mean, you wouldn’t believe how much trouble I got when I booked a room that was just standing still so I could cheat on my wife, but these fish are going against thousands of water. Thousands. But, that isn’t why I’m writing you. I used to run the Penn Ave Bistro in Washington D.C., had a side hustle, too, Sweet Pardons and Delectable Document Catering Company, beautiful, just beautiful, everyone said so, they were crying it was so beautiful, they said, "Thank you, Donald, thank you so much,” and they had tears streaming down their face and salmonella swimming up it, I think they call it runs, those salmonella make the runs in those crying people, people spawning the runs, and people know that, but they want that, deep down, in their gut, they want that, then I moved all of it to my resort, which is beautiful, Mar-a-Lago, down in Florida. Lots of people think it’s a Spanish name, “Document DoorDash,” but no, wrong, wrong, it’s Russian, they tell me, “Paper Boy, doorstep delivery only.” My problem is there are still some — and they’re horrible people, horrible people — that are still giving me bad reviews, had to close down the Bistro a few years ago because of that, yeah, that’s right, made me close down. Can you imagine? Why close it, I want to re-open the Bistro, but there’s this guy, he took over my lease, yeah, my lease, nobody likes it, can you believe that? Need a way to get back in, so I want him out of there. Help me on this, I’ll give you a couple pairs of my special sneakers. Help me a lot, you know a lot, bing, bing, bong, and I’ll throw in the laces, plus a rent-to-own option on Secretary of State. I’d give you Secretary of the Treasury, but a guy named Bannon called dibs on that, took it for his own. He could use the money, has a wardrobe malfunction, might need a size six in Supreme Court Judges’ robes someday, Goodwill won’t sell him on credit anymore. Can you imagine that, Goodwill? Why say you’re Goodwill, and you won’t? Donald Dear Donald, Yo, Donald, my man, you gotta lay off the chronic use of language laxatives, Exlax is not approved as a chewing gum for prolonged use, ok? See, here’s the issue, the words in sentences are supposed to have assigned seating, but you got them running around like the venue doors, your mouth, just opened for general admission for free-range nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs. Plus, the security staff, commas and periods, are off in the corner getting stoned on em dash lines of who knows what. Hell, your colons don’t know whether to shit or go blind, they can’t figure out if they’re a vowel or a bowel. I’m at my wits end trying to understand if I should send them to a gastroenterologist or an ESL teacher. On top of that, a semi-colon took your colons aside, and in a wink, put some inappropriate things in their heads. Now I’m left to see if I need a math teacher or Stormy Daniels to explain that whole sixty-nine thing. For chrissake, I’m not staffed for this kind of stuff. It’s just me and my assistant, and our editorial board, the Good Vibes Medical and Recreational Dispensary, doesn’t open until 12:00 noon. And if you didn’t just notice, the colon in that time,12:00, is snickering so hard they’ve got snot bubbles coming out of their nose. You know, the hell with this. Me and my assistant are in line at the dispensary and the doors just opened. Once I get my hands on something with a THC content number that exceeds my Sleep Number bed I’ll get back to you. And when I do I’ll give you a sentence that has no words, only numbers, and it won’t be in Word, it’ll be in an Excell. Addled Dear Addled, Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but you helped me before. My name is Mike Johnson and I’m the Speaker of the House of Representatives, at least for now. If the name doesn’t ring a bell maybe the problems you previously helped me with might. One had to do with me and my son agreeing to monitor each other’s porn intake via a cell phone app. The app would make your porn buddy’s phone go off every time you started watching the no-no on your cell phone, that way they could stop you before you pulled the lanyard for the opening salvo. Now that his sleep deprivation has cleared up — he threw his phone into a live lava pit after crushing the speaker between some tectonic plates during their busy season — he’s getting plenty of rest. Thanks for the tip on that one. And the other one you helped with was that whole thing where I thought God was telling me that I would be like Moses if I took on the Speaker role. You were right about the voices. It was the stems on my glasses pressing too hard on the nerves in my temples. It seems that had over stimulated the nerves, which, weirdly, caused vibrations with some ear wax stalagmites I had — never knew those were a thing — and that created some sound distortions. Kind of a wild trip that was, almost like when I went to see the Beetlejuice play and the opening credits for Debbie Does Dallas broke out. Darn glad I wrote you, by the way, I was really on the fence about seeing a doctor or a good geologist. But your solution worked like a charm. Once I irrigated my ear canals like you told me to, with the liquid pewter, distilled holy water and a hint of mint, it cleared up almost immediately. Turns out God wasn’t really telling me that I was Moses for taking on the Speaker role, but a fucking moron if I did. That was definitely an eye opener. I really hadn’t expected God to use the word fucking. Of course, when I mentioned that to Him, He said, “Why wouldn’t I use that word? I FUCKING INVENTED IT, MORON!” I have to admit, I didn’t have a good comeback for that. There are somethings the bible just doesn’t cover, yet you would think . . . oh, never mind, I don’t want to be called that naughty word again, God and Marjorie Taylor-Greene already do that enough as it is. And that’s why I’m writing you. MTG is angling to get me dumped as Speaker. First Matt Gaetz got Kevin McCarthy canned and now Marjorie is looking to do the same to me. What can I do, other than ask Kevin if he’s open for a play date so we can cosplay Thor with our gavels? Mike Dear Mike, Hey, glad to hear from you and always happy to provide any assistance I can. So, you’re a bit bedeviled by MTG, huh? Yeah, she’s a handful, been that way since she was young. The way I hear it, that all started when she was a teen and she opted to have extensive dental work, had her teeth fitted with concertina razor wire braces and capped with manned pillboxes. Kind of the Maginot Line of the Mouth, French kiss her during your adolescence, and if your testicles hadn’t naturally dropped during your infancy, they’d definitely shoot out your pant legs like Civil War grape shot then. Of course, all of that later gave her that infamous mouth of hers, which is such a grand cross between pearly whites and dragon fire, or a similar sentence that uses the words grand dragon, whites, cross, fire and the like. And you know, I’m not sure what’s up with those people, but you’re picking the wrong hobby if your household linens have to double as casual weekend wear and your Mike Lindell MyPillow goes naked while you attend a meeting of overweight white traffic cones. “Hey, no more rolling coal with your pickup trucks at this month’s meeting, ok? Last month I only had enough bleach to either give grandma a Covid treatment or clean the soot outta my robes, and tough decisions had to be made.“ “By the way, who left a Pyrex casserole baking dish at the wake? Gotta apologize, we accidently buried it with grandma, thought it was her denture case. Which sucks, ‘cuz her actual denture case only fits half the leftovers we had.” What I’m leading up to here, Mike, is MTG is probably going to dog you until the leash on your Speakership lease runs out, and that all depends on which side of the minefield she wakes up on during any given morning. As for dodging that bullet meant to unseat you as Speaker, well, I hear Kevin has May 8th open, you fuckin’ moron. From God’s lips to my ears. Just sayin’. Addled And remember everyone, if you acted on advice from Addled, you’re probably not still in the saddle. For past “Dear Addled” diaries see the links below. 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