MovieChat Forums > Dark Shadows (1966) Discussion > Deary Abby Game, Part 2

Deary Abby Game, Part 2

posted 10 years ago by WinstonNephron
53 replies | jump to latest

This is a continuation of the thread started by Moosefeathers. Collinsport locals write to Deary Abby for her advice with their problems.

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I'm feeling much better since my last letter to you. As I believe my daughter informed you, I've spent some time, again, at a rest home, taking a break from bending my elbow. The pain was killing me. Ha! What am I saying? I wasn't feeling any pain... That was the problem.

Anyway, during my stay there, I got into a disagreement with another patient in the dining hall one evening. We didn't see eye to eye as to whether lettuce feels pain when it is shredded. I was so upset about it, I decided to leave and walk home. It took me nearly six hours... And, that was including the last half hour riding in a van after a group of kids were kind enough to pick me up. Nice kids, and their Great Dane, too.

Abby, it should have not taken that long for me to return home. Our wormhole that we purchased from that Door-to-Door salesman, has stopped working. It's worked fine up until now. Need to go to the family mausoleum at the cemetery, five miles away in the middle of the night? No problem, step outside our front doors, and we're there in thirty seconds. Want to visit our cousin in the old house on the other side of the estate? Ten seconds, tops. It took only a couple of minutes to get to the rest home; but when I went to leave, the wormhole didn't work, and I spent hours walking.

Here's the trouble Abby: I didn't save the receipt, and don't have a number for the salesman. His name was Jason something or other, I can't really remember. Since we can't get a refund, do you have any ideas on who we could call to try and get this thing fixed? We're a very respected, old New England family, and it just won't do to have anyone know that we can't resolve our issues in twenty two minutes as we usually do.

Signed,

Slow Ride

P.S.:

The Great Dane in the van could talk... At least I think he did, as there was so much smoke in there, it was difficult to tell who was saying what. That long walk really worked up my appetite, because I've never eaten three entire boxes of HO HO's in one sitting before.

[–] moosefeathers 10 years ago

Dear Slow Ride:

From reading your letter, it seems to me that you can be a whiny spoiled little bitch. Hm. There must have been some reason you were sent to the sanatorium...or was it a sanitarium?

I would also say that if you are speaking of a Great Dane that spoke, you must have been hopped up on some of those sedatives that so called "doctor" in a green tweed suite she wears every day in residence is passing out to everyone. Next you'll be telling me that you've been being drained by a vampire.

Regarding this Jason Something-or-other. Without a full name I cannot help you with this matter. Perhaps you could write to There Ought to Be a Law column instead and stop bothering me with this inane problem.

From what I have gleaned from your letter, everyone hates you and all want to see you harmed.

I remain forever annoyed at you,

Deary Abby

P.S. Stay away from Parallel Time. You think you've got it bad here, eh?

Swing away, Merrill....Merrill, swing away...

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 10 years ago

Dear Slow Ride,

I'm glad you are up and about. I don't blame you for leaving the rest home. Disagreements are so darn irritating and can really ruin one's repose. Here's to your nice healthy walk. Sounds like you might have grabbed a lift in that psychedelic The Mystery Machine. How groovy! I hope Scooby-Doo shared his Scooby Snacks with you, as you must have been hungry after all that walking. I wonder if Velma wore you out with all her scientific jargon. It can be a bit too much!

Your door-to-door salesman sounds just like a scammer that an aquaintance of mine, Willie, once knew. His name was Jason, too, and he turned out to be a real bottom feeder. It's a wonder your wormhole worked at all in the first place! It probably only worked par un curieux hasard. If you locate some family members of the Hermann Weyl clan, perhaps they can divulge the real magic of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge and you can return to your lickety-split form of travel soon.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 10 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Thanks very much for your kind advice regarding the use of the "magic trick" excuse to cover for my spontaneous vanishing. It worked like a charm. The locals here are so batty, they'll believe just about anything. Anyway, I write to you again in the hope that you can once more assist me with a problem.

Having only recently attained my drivers license, I decided to purchase an automobile so that I can not be so reliant on my minimally exceptional servant. The Plymouth Valiant that I purchased from the nice folks at the local refuse facility (for only one hundred dollars), has been mostly sufficient for my needs.

Yesterday, I went for a scenic drive up the coast of Maine, but my car got a flat tire. I soon discovered that I had no means of putting on the spare, as I had no wrench for the lug nuts. After a while a nice young fellow in a fancy white sports car was kind enough to stop and offer assistance. He changed my tire in no time, and refused my offer of payment, saying he was happy to help. He then told me he was on his way to be in some sort of race. We wished each other luck, and each went on our separate ways.

By the time I returned to my local village, a heavy early-evening fog had rolled in off the sea. I was driving cautiously through the village, on my way to the local antique shop to see if anyone had yet purchased the ornate cigar box I'd placed there on consignment, when it happened. I glanced in my rearview mirror, and saw what appeared to be a smiling chimpanzee. The chimp was wearing overalls and a red and white striped cap. We startled each other, and the chimp let out a loud scream. This caused me to lose control of my car, and it jumped the curb. Standing on the sidewalk, in front of the antique shop, had been a tall young man. The car hit him. When we stopped, I quickly rushed to his aid. Fortunately, he's alright. He's in the local hospital, and should recover in time.

Here's the trouble, Abby... The Sheriff thinks I hit the man on purpose because he'd been flirting with my young cousin, and he was there in front of the antique shop to meet her for a date. The Sheriff is skeptical about my story regarding the chimpanzee. He's further skeptical of my claim that in addition to the chimp, I saw a young boy, dressed in clothing identical to what the chimp was wearing, and that they both jumped out of my car and ran off into the fog after the accident. If only I can find those two characters, they... Or, at least the boy could corroborate my story to the Sheriff, and clear me of the ridiculous suspicion that I'd run that poor man down because I was jealous of his interest in my own cousin.

This whole incident has left me feeling just drained. My servant, who, for an imbecile, occasionally does have some notions of value, suggests that we try to lure the two out of hiding with a big pile of candy. Possible?

Thanks again, in advance.

Signed,

The Real Caped Crusader

P.S. My other cousin, the one who ingested the malevolent mushrooms from another dimension, recently returned from his stay in the rest home. He seems okay, but has no memory of the events that sent him there, and insists we call him "Langley". Awkward.

[–] moosefeathers 10 years ago

Dear Caped:

I wouldn't worry about this sheriff. He seems to change like the wind everytime someone writes about him, so with so many faces, seems he's got some secrets of his own. I'd "remind" him of that and I bet you dollars to doughnuts, he'll leave you alone.

As far as the chimp and the boy, perhaps you were eating the same mushrooms as "Langley"?

As Always,

Deary Abby.

Swing away, Merrill....Merrill, swing away...

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 10 years ago

Dear The Real Caped Crusader,

For once, I am jealous of one of you people who write to me for advice. That nice young fellow in the fancy white sports car was none other than that gorgeous heartthrob Speed Racer. I have wanted to date Speed Racer for a very long time. You are extremely lucky to have met him! How wonderful!

The young boy and chimpanzee in your car were none other than Speed Racer's little brother Spritle and his pet chimp Chim-Chim. They are normally very helpful and I am sure they will cooborate your story if you can find them. Luring them with candy might work...

But you really should try contacting them through Lions Gate Studio as it has released "Speed Racer" on DVD. And, if you ever see Speed Racer again, please ask him to contact me here. Let him know Abby's ready, willing and able to get into the Mach 5 and sing "Go, Speed Racer, Go!"

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 10 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

First, I’d like to apologize for my previous letter to you. I may have come off as being a narcissistic, budding sociopath with quite a big chip on my shoulder. I was a mixed-up kid back then; but, now that I’m fourteen, I’ve really straightened out. I’m no longer trying to sabotage my father’s car, have cut way back on lying and haven’t tortured any small animals since I don’t know when.

So, anyway, I’ve got this problem that I was hoping you’d be able help me resolve. It’s not just my problem, it affects my entire family. Abby, we’re a very old, respected New England family, but there’s a dark secret we share: we’re serial re-gifters. I’ll start at the beginning. About five years ago, the manager of my family’s business gave my Aunt (you know her… The one with the repetitive motion problems with her elbow and liver) a box of fancy cigars for her birthday. The box was this ugly, overly-ornate wooden thing, and when it was empty, my Aunt didn’t want to keep it. Never one to really throw things away, she wrapped it up and gave it to our housekeeper for Christmas. The housekeeper used it for a couple of years in her bathroom to store extra rolls of toilet tissue. When the housekeeper no longer wanted it, she gave it to our weird cousin (you know, the guy with the cape and all the candles), who kept it in his drawing room, I guess to keep his magazines out of sight whenever my Aunt would visit him. He finally tired of it a while back, and gave it to the couple who’d recently bought the local Antique Shop. Rumor has it they used it to try to grow an army of super Sea Monkeys to take over the world, or some such nonsense.

How does this affect me? Well, a few days ago, my father returned from one of his trips to Boston. He’d missed my birthday while he was gone, and brought a present for me. He claimed he’d bought it in Boston, but I’ve strong reason to suspect otherwise. Abby, it’s the same horrid box. Oh, but worse yet, it’s been altered. There it sits in my bedroom, unwanted and unused. He told me it was a Jack-In-The-Box, but I’ve discovered otherwise. To be frank, it’s really more of a Jerk-In-The-Box. First Off, when the crank is turned, it plays this awful, twangy piano music that sounds like it should be in a commercial for an incontinence product. Then, this hideous clown pops out and starts making wild accusations about knowing who I “really” am, and demanding to know why I’m persecuting him by not telling him the truth about who I “really” am. Worse yet, his name isn’t even Jack… It’s “Bruno”. And to top it all off, it took me nearly three hours to stuff Bruno the Clown back into the box, because he’s got more hair on his head than a whole pack of poodles.

This must stop. This must end with me. I refuse to re-gift this monstrous box any further. Abby, what must I do to destroy this evil thing?

Signed,

No Clownin’ Around

PS,

Bruno smells like stale cigars. Should I just light him up, and be done with it?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 10 years ago

Dear No Clownin' Around,

Your dad certainly tried to hoodwink you with an infernal box that just won't give up. It must be terribly annoying having to hear music that is better suited for a commercial advertising a product that induces wee-wee. Your dad is obviously the snide, cruel, pompous type who has indirectly called you a crybaby by giving you such an awful present. It's almost as crass as him coming right out and giving you a gift of wee-wee pads. It's time to get even!

My advice to you is rid yourself of that dreadful Bruno any way you can. Then, find a way to get 1960s' pop singer Tiny Tim trapped in that box. Fix it so that when the crank is turned, the box plays "Tip Toe Through the Tulips". When Tim pops out, make sure he says nothing but "Roger, over and out". You'll be indirectly letting dad know that his hiding days are over and it's time for him to come out. Finally, give the box back to dad for HIS belated bithday present.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 10 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I’ve really no alternative but to seek your advice. No, I… Yes, Yes… Perhaps you can help me after all. I’ve got this problem that’s rather difficult to talk about, so please bear with me.

It began on a stormy evening… Well, this evening, to be truthful. I was working in my laboratory, in the basement. I’ve inherited a science project from a dear friend who recently passed away under mysterious circumstances. The completion of this project is vital. In fact, it’s a matter of life-after-death or death. All was going well, when suddenly, there was a knock at the front doors. The servant answered the door, and encountered a young couple who told him that they’d had some car trouble and wanted to use the phone. He told them that we were having a private party. A group of my friends had come to town for an evening of folk dancing, and we really didn’t want any outsiders around. You understand. I’d just completed the project, and was anxious to unveil the results to my associates.

The couple just barged right in, having fooled the servant into thinking perhaps one of them was the Candy Man. He's not hard to fool, being a minimally exceptional little putz whose hobbies include tomb robbing and making breather calls. These two were really weird, Abby. The girl, whose surname rhymes with vice, was using a newspaper for a rain cap. By-the-way, you’ll be pleased to know that the Cleveland Plain Dealer still carries your column. These two were a long way from home, being as we are on the coast of Maine. The guy, a tall, nerdy looking lad, kept asking my guests if they knew how to Madison. To add insult to injury, they acted like they’d never seen authentic folk dancing before. Hoping to get back on the right foot with these two, I invited them to join myself and my guests in coming to the lab to see what was on the slab. Things went from bad to good to worse.

The girl, a shameless little hussy who hides behind false modesty, acted all shocked at the sight of my creation. Well, THAT was short lived, let me tell you! As the hour was very late, they were invited to stay. Couldn’t very well throw them out into the rain, now could we? Later, I went to the lab to check on my project. What did I find? Little Miss Hotty pants with my creation! That’s right, she broke him in. He wasn’t even seven hours old. The nerve! To do this in my house… Okay, my friend’s house (yes, the one in the cape)… Alright, technically it’s his cousin’s house, but it’s still so rude. Isn’t it?

Abby, that’s where it stands right now. I’m writing this after having taken a sedative… Oh, okay… Several sedatives, and really need to know what to do next about these intruders. The servant thinks we all ought to share a dance and a swim, and then watch a science fiction movie. What do you think, Abby?

Signed,

Hotdog’n Doc

PS,

Maybe I should just serve them dinner. Perhaps meatloaf?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 10 years ago

Dear Hotdog'n Doc,

Those two are intrusive and imposing. They need to go! The young woman seems like she's been able to run amok in the place. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to rid yourself of them by placing each in their own personal time warp. You all should share a dance and swim, and then watch these science fiction movies:

"The Day the Earth Stood Still", "Flash Gordon", "The Invisible Man", "King Kong", "It Came From Outer Space", "Dr. X", "Forbidden Planet", "Tarantula", "The Day of the Triffids", "Curse of the Demon" ("Night of the Demon" if that's what ya got!*) and "When Worlds Collide". This should get rid of them!

For dinner, don't serve them meatloaf! I knew a man by that name who swore he would love me to the end of time. Alas, he didn't. Hence, my dating men like Joe Haskell and Buzz Hackett simultaneously. I wound up swearing I would love each of them to the end of time. Naturally, I moved on, as Meat Loaf did to me.

* UPDATE: Both are available on 1 DVD. Watch both!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Once more I must write to you for advice. I trust you are well. As you may remember, I used to be a budding sociopath, but now I’ve reformed. I no longer set fires, don’t sabotage the brakes on anyone’s automobiles and have cut way back on abusing small wildlife.

As you know, I live on a secluded estate, high up on a hill, on the rocky coast of Maine. My aunt presently owns the estate. Also here, are my father (who’s still having occasional flashbacks from his experience with alien mushrooms); my father’s new wife (who keeps offering me cigarettes but can’t get her lighter to work, so what’s even the point); my new friend (a young girl I’m teaching how to make slanderous accusations and pick locks and stuff); and my older cousin, whom I’ll refer to as “Jacy”.

For the most part, life here is idyllic… We’re rich. Sure we’ve got our share of murders, possessions, hauntings, cousins in capes and the like (it is, after all, a gothic mansion) but we get along okay, except…. Well, it’s Jacy… She’s just not right I think.

Jacy is very pretty. Problem is, she knows it. She’s had more boyfriends through this place in the past few years than the Cleveland Browns have had quarterbacks. Worse yet, she just uses them for her little schemes. It’s disgraceful. Even more troubling, is her bizarre mood swings. She goes from Chrissy Snow to Almira Gulch in 3.2 seconds without leaving a skid mark. Scary.

Abby, now the worst of all. She’s got her latest boyfriend hidden in the deserted wing of our house. She thinks she’s fooling everyone, but we all know what’s going on. How could we not? Jacy is a Screamer. That’s right, I said it: my cousin is a Scheming Schizoid Screamer. It’s embarrassing; I have to make excuses to my young friend as to why we can hear “Billy… Billy… OH, BILLY,” through the dumbwaiter half of every afternoon while we’re trying to play board games and watch Strange Paradise.

Abby, what can we do? There is a guy who just came to town (actually, he’s my friend’s older brother) who I think likes Jacy, and I think we could use him to pull herself off of “Billy”. Only problem is my friend tells me her brother is a bit of a wolf. Please help.

Signed,

Humble Bumble

PS,

While exploring the deserted wing today, my friend and I just found an old crank-up telephone. Should be lots of fun. What kind of trouble could we possible get into with something as harmless as that?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Humble Bumble,

Why, you poor dear! I'm sorry things are still not copacetic at your house. How bothersome for you! Jacy is simultaneously a real lulu and a loose goose. It's a good thing she doesn't go from Chrissy Snow to Almira Gulch to The Wicked Witch of the West in 3.2 seconds without leaving a skid mark. So, let's give her credit where it's due. After all, people need a bit of commendation in life.

Encourage your cousin to have a fling with your friend's older brother. Perhaps this man's love would be the very thing to cure her of those wild and promiscuous ways. He might just be a sheep in wolf's clothing. Try to bring them together. If you have a second house on your property, see to it that they move there so you won't have to hear any screaming.

Regarding the crank-up telephone...you and your friend could have a blast with it. Try playing "I Saw What You Did". What you do is, make a phone call and tell whoever answers "I saw what you did. And I know who you are." Then hang up. If you do it often enough, you might reach a homicidal maniac who'll come after you. It's a cheeky game, but it can be so amusing!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Thank you, for taking the time to read and respond to my letter today. Since coming into existence recently, your newspaper column has served to be a resource of both intense intellectual growth and knee slapping entertainment. Your column is better than reading Aristotle while watching Hee Haw.

As with most readers who write to you, I’ve a problem with which I need your assistance. Although the rate of my intellectual evolution has been - as my Life-Force Donor (long story there, Abby) said - “bitchin’”; my social skills are – as my new friend (who’s some sort of supervisory Warlock or something) says – "F'in retarded.” Anyhow, my Life-Force Donor (who, by-the-way, wears a cape) is refusing my new friend’s suggestion that we enter a local Father/Son talent show contest. Everyone’s doing it… Even the little pyromaniac on the other side of our coastal Maine estate, along with his father, who despite what others have told you, still has serious (albeit hilarious) flashbacks from consuming those hallucinogenic malevolent mushrooms from another dimension.

So, Bat Man, as I’ll call him, refuses to sing “Putting on the Ritz” with me at the show unless I agree to his oppressive stipulations. First, he insists that he be allowed to wear his usual cape and use his usual wolf’s head cane, instead of a tuxedo and theatrical cane. Second, I’ll have to wear a top hat. Third, and worst of all, I have to wear a tuxedo – NOT my beloved green sweater. For Townshend’s sake, Abby… I never have taken off that sweater, and I ain… Am not going to do so now just to satisfy Bat Man. It just makes me feel so pretty, that I would feel bad without it.

My devilishly handsome new friend has taught me so many useful things about the world so far (like how to treat women; how might makes right in getting whatever I want; and that morals are for losers) so he just can’t be wrong about this one when he says I should tell that bloodsucking putz to stick it in his belfry, and go ahead and wear my sweater. Heck, I may really spit in his eye, and upgrade to an angora version. That would really drive a stake in him.

What do you think, Abby?

Signed,

Uber-Viridescent Prometheus

PS, In light of my philosophical discussions with my new friend, I’m still somewhat ambivalent on the whole “good/bad” thing… Was it “wrong” of me to liberate the shoulders of my Life-Force Donor’s minimally exceptional flunky from their original location, because he’d lowered my self-esteem by mocking me while also depriving me of sustenance by Kentucky fried poultry?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Uber-Viridescent Prometheus,

You need to let Bat Man know that you are not Robin! Let him go ahead and wear his usual cape and use his usual wolf's head cane. Regarding the top hat and tuxedo vs. your beloved green sweater, tell him you just won't do it. Bring up the point that "Young Frankenstein" has already robbed "Puttin' on the Ritz" from Clark Gable in "Idiot's Delight". Let him know that dress clothes are now considered passé for that particular musical number. Be persuasive and convince him that green's the thing.

Now then, about the liberation of your Life-Force Donor's flunky's shoulders...was it wrong? Um, I guess so. Remember "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." (Ask Bat Man to show you Matthew 7:12 and Luke 6:31 in his Bible.) I honestly feel you're in with a bad crowd. You remind me of someone I know called Milton the Monster. He had similar problems to yours and I advised him to start hanging out with Speed Racer, Marine Boy, Winky Dink and Dodo, the Kid from Outer Space. He did and now his life is divine. I suggest you get in with the in-crowd ASAP.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I’ll get right to the point, and not waste your time or mine by telling how much I admire you and your column. Truth is, I do not. It merely seems the most advantageous way to let the world outside my painfully small seaside village know the truth about what has been going on.

There are practitioners of evil, minions of Satan all around us. I, being a righteous man, like my dearly departed father before me, am more prone than most to be the victim of persecution at the hands (or are they claws) of Satan’s evil doers. My father suffered a horrible death, perpetrated by one of the worst of the Devil’s merchants of Evil. Like my father, I too am targeted… Targeted for persecution by evil consorts of the Devil. Please think me not redundant, repeating myself or stating things over and over (known in Boston as a “Fraiser”, I believe).

I run a well-respected funeral parlor here in this coastal New England village, a village which has been overtaken by evil. My father went missing more than four decades ago, while fighting against the agents of Satanism in the area. I recently, thanks to the assistance of a young woman with special abilities, was able to discover that he’d in fact been murdered. He was sealed up behind a brick wall in the basement belonging to a man who had been a practitioner of Satan’s treachery.

His son recently came to the area, purportedly from England, and proceeded to persecute me. He even stole my fiancée from me, and caused her untimely death. Well, I’ve avenged all of it tonight.

Abby, I’ve been doing some masonry work, right here, in my own cellar of the parlor. That’s right… Lover boy is down there, right now, suffering what promises to be a lingering death in the dark. My only question for you, Abby, is how is it that no one else can see that this is the right thing to do? Surely God must smile upon my actions. Why, at this same time, I’ve been most honored to have assisted a very righteous man, I’ll just call him Gerry, to expose a warlock. This warlock is of the very same family as the man I’ve just bricked up. Gerry’s got a good head upon his shoulders, and really seems to know a lot about witchcraft. How would I go about nominating him for Sainthood?

Signed,

God’s Bricklayer

PS, Do you think it wise of me to have disposed of Lover boy in my own parlor basement? I mean, not that I’m fearing the discovery of his body there… It’s just that such a discovery would be bound to lead to other questions… Like what other things I do in that funeral parlor cellar at night after business hours. Perhaps I’ve said too much.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear God's Bricklayer,

I am sorry you are being pursecuted. It must be dreadful! Yours certainly seems a bizarre case of "Like father, like son". And running that funeral parlor must be such a Trask...um, I mean task.

Your masonry work might ultimately be for nothing. You never know if a female spirit and couple of women will come to your rival's aid. Believe it or not, it's been known to happen before. I really mean it!

People who don't see your actions as the right thing to do might be from the school of those who don't like to see history repeat itself. If they seem rather stuffy to you, just pay them no mind.

You need to contact the Pope about nominating Gerry for sainthood. But, I wouldn't do it just yet. For all you know, this Gerry is not what he's cracked up to be. Wait awhile until you're sure he's a saint and not a devil in disguise.

Dispsosing of Lover Boy in your own basement parlor might not have been the best thing to do. As indicated, he could be rescued. Regarding the other things you do in the funeral parlor cellar at night...please post footage on YouTube. I'm curious!

Best,

Abby

[–] 9 years ago

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[–] 9 years ago

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[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Permit me first to thank you for your many years of providing sound advice to those in need of it. With that in mind, I’ve a problem… Or, I should say, our whole family and community has a problem with which we need your help.

For some months now, a self-ordained minister… A fanatic charlatan to be more precise, has been spreading discord amongst us. I am sorry to say that it was a member of our own family who invited this quack to come here to our quiet, coastal New England village in the first place. This man, whom himself I believe has written a few letters to you in the past, will stop at nothing to spread his rancid brand of religious zealotry.

He’s accused innocent people of being witches, and under the guise of “religious freedom” is seeking to hang and/or burn them for crimes they clearly did not commit. Any suggestion that he cease this abusive activity has been met with the absurd lie that we are “persecuting” him by denying him his “religious freedom.”
Abby, any suggestion how we can rid ourselves of this menace?

Signed,

Not the Purple Dinosaur

PS: Oh, by-the-way, my quite-recently deceased bride (whom I was forced to marry anyway) made a dying threat to me that I’m sure is really nothing to worry about. I mean, the witch hunter guy can’t possibly be right about any of this at all… Right? Has this anything to do with the ridiculously large bat flying around outside my house this evening?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Not the Purple Dinosaur,

What your village needs is a Hester Prynne! Find a woman who is assumed a widow and make sure someone suddenly gets her pregnant. Then spread the word that your village's villainous version of the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale is the illegitimate baby's father. Make sure your "Hester Prynne" swears by it. With all of the local biddies tongues a wagging and the stout laddies making life difficult for this bigot, he is sure to run out of town fearing the good ol' tar and feather method.

The bat that was flying around your house that evening was not really a bat. It was one of the neighborhood boys playing around with his own homemade version of the Bat-Signal. If I were you, I would creep out of my house at night and hide about. When you catch the impish little bugger doing his Bat-Signal thing, threaten him with a full week of his feet and hands held in the town square's stock from after school until dinnertime. This should put an end to his mischievous ways and, hopefully, your village will be peaceful for many years to come.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I hate to be a naysayer, but frankly, you blew it. Your recent advice to me wasn’t accurate at all.

Okay, the first part (about getting rid of the religious fanatic in our midst by discrediting him) is still a work in apparent positive progress… But, the part about the bat buzzing my house… Way off! I’m surprised. Usually, you’re spot on.

Turns out, that Bat was real (big as a Piper Cub), and it came in the house when I opened the front doors. Problem? It bit me! I was sick in bed after that for several hours, then must have blacked out for a time.

When I woke up, my thought-to-be-dead unwanted bride revealed she’d been playing a prank on me. Some prank… After I blacked out, she put me in a box. Ever since then, I’ve been sleeping all day and have a drinking problem. I can’t help myself from going out all night and drinking. Oh, I feel alright… But, people could start to talk.
Worse, my former fiancé was so embarrassed about my new behavioral difficulties, she threw herself off a cliff last night.

You’ve got to help me, Abby. It’s so bad, my own father has made up the false story that I’ve left to live in England. What can I do about all this?

Signed,

Going Batty

PS: Any suggestions for how I can comb my hair and brush my teeth, now that I don’t seem to be able to cast a reflection in a mirror? My manservant speculates it’s just psychosomatic reflective dissonance. Ever since I taught him to read, he’s become such an armchair professor.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Going Batty,

I'm glad the plan to rid your village of the disreputable clergyman is in positive progress. If only there was a way to speed up pregnancy to one month instead of nine months -- you'd be able to rid your village of this pest sooner.

Regarding the bat, in your previous letter (when you signed off as "Not the Purple Dinosaur") you had said there was a bat flying outside your house that evening. You had said nothing about it coming into your house and biting you.

This new knowledge puts an entirely different complexion on the case. There have been reports in the National Enquirer about a youth scaring his neighbors with a homemade Bat-Signal, but I see now in your case...this ain't it.

Since your father has made up a story that you've gone to live England...why not do just that? While there, you can amuse yourself by going to Madame Tussauds and seeing Jack the Ripper and The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

Take your manservant on your voyage. Have him comb your hair and brush your teeth. And, since you have taught him to read, let him read to you at bedtime from such works as Sheridan Le Fanu's "Carmilla" and Bram Stoker's "Dracula".

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Being an important member of an old, highly-respected New England family, I don’t usually do something so common as write to a newspaper columnist, but circumstances necessitate that I must reach out for assistance with a difficult situation.

A couple of years ago, I returned to my incestral home, here on the stormy coast of Maine. I’d lived out of state for several years, and decided to return to my roots. Upon my return, I assumed the role of overseeing the operations of our family’s seafood processing plant. My older sister, who doubted my abilities, has been proven wrong. She may own the place, but I’m clearly in charge. Her pet plant manager doesn’t scare me.

While all may seem well on the surface, there are festering issues beneath. There are those at the plant, who, despite my proven success, continue to talk behind my back. Nearly every day, I hear snickering comments as I walk past the production line. Some, apparently, misunderstand that just because my previous experience in food production was in a fudge factory, does not mean I was in any way involved in packing the product. I was in management… Of course. Also, there are those who make fun of my previous career as a male fashion model. I’m quite proud to have been one of the original FOL underwear models. These peasants at the plant couldn’t be more wrong when they think they are insulting me by whispering “fruit” as I walk past the line. Further, it wasn’t my fault that the shoe manufacturer made unreasonable demands upon those of us modeling their products. If I’d have known that they wanted me to gain seventy pounds so they could test the strength and durability of their loafers, I wouldn’t have taken the job. I’m proud… Proud I tell you, that they terminated me for being too light in the loafers. Who needs them? I was young, had a very hot wife, and a wonderful son, whom I’m reasonably certain is mine.

When my wife flew the coop to live in a warmer climate, I decided to move back home to New England. I don’t regret it a minute. Problem is, Abby, how do I make my inferiors realize and respect my abilities and authority? Would mass firings help? What?

Signed,

When My Baby Smiles at Me, I Go To Rio

PS: Regarding my wonderful son, should I be worried that - following my recent accident in which a brake failure resulted in me wrapping my Bentley around a large oak tree - he was laughing so hard he nearly wet himself? Should I take him to the urologist, or is this something he will grow out of.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear When My Baby Smiles at Me, I Go to Rio,

Now that you are overseeing the operations of your family's seafood plant, I have a perfect way you can get those annoying lowbrow workers' respect. Since they are harassing you with snickering comments about your former career in a fudge factory, you should order each of them one of Carvel's famous Fudgie the Whale ice cream cakes. You can have naughty but nice comments written on each cake to the people who have been mean to you. Things like: "Pack this fudge in your face!" would be most tactful to write on the cakes to get your point across.

Regarding your son. He should grow out of it. Word probably got back to him about his dear old papa being called "fudgie" names. Laughing was his way of releasing all he had heard. Kids will be kids! However, if he doesn't start growing out of it soon, order him one of Carvel's lovely Cookie Puss ice cream cakes. Have it written on his cake: "If I catch you laughing at your papa again, I'll take away your toy robot and your governess...And that'll be the way the cookie crumbles. Your loving Papa." This ought to straighten up your amused man-child...FAST!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I just don't know who else I can turn to. I've recently accepted a position as Governess to a boy on a big estate on the New England coastline. I should be happy, but I'm so confused. I've been finding automobile parts in my underwear drawer; both the caretaker and the father of my new friend have suddenly transformed overnight (like in a Science Fiction movie); I'm seeing disappearing bodies in the water; and now... I've found a pen.

I just don't understand it. Who would lose such a nice pen? What does this mean? Abby, please help.

Signed,

Beautifully Bewildered

PS: Do you have any idea how to get grease stains out of silk?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Beautifully Bewildered,

Personally, I think the father of your new friend and the caretaker are in cohoots. Did you happen to go far, but not far enough with the former in a Lovers' lane? If so, he might have assigned the carertaker to leave the car parts in your underwear drawer as a symbolic way of getting even.

The dead bodies in the water are probably just dummies that they put there to scare you into the arms of your new friend's father. (You know how childish men can be!) The pen you've found was left on purpose so that you could write him a hot love letter. DON'T use it for such a thing.

Immediately use it to write your resignation. A girl like you could always find a rewarding job at a foundling home in a big city like New York. Foundling homes need level-headed young women for teaching positions. Regarding the stain, use Shout Triple-Acting and Shout it out! Good luck in the big city!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I have a problem. Okay, usually I don't need to consult with anyone else but me, myself and I to resolve an issue, but this is an exception. Next to myself, you're probably the one whose opinion I'd trust the most.

So, anyway, as you've previously been made aware, we in this small coastal New England town have been participating in a reality television show that is cleverly disguised as a fictional daytime soap opera. We "actors" are real people, and the things that happen on the show are real. Real witches, real vampires, real werewolves... Really.

Well, Abbs... You don't mind if I call you Abbs. Anyhow, our producer is also a big fan of crime dramas, Dragnet, in particular. Because of that, he recently started giving our daily episodes titles, rather than just episode numbers. So, just like on Dragnet, the episodes are each titled "The Big __"

This was okay, until he started getting too personal about some of the titles. On the show (e.g. in real life) I'm known as being somewhat difficult and I yell quite a bit. The other day, my fiancé's boss offered me a good paying job with an expense account and benefits. I turned him down flat, and I yelled at her when she questioned my decision. All perfectly normal behavior for a very special guy like myself.

The problem? Well, the episode aired today, and I about fell off my expensive Corinthian leather sofa when I saw the title: "The Big, insufferable, Narcissistic D**** Bag". Wow. Even a got-it-together superior person like myself has feelings.

Should I march into the producer's office and demand more money? Should I try to direct even more scenes? He owes me big time now, right, Abbs?

Signed,

Mister Smiley

PS: Please remit $9.95 for the autographed picture I've enclosed for you.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Mister Smiley,

I know all about your small coastal New England town reality show. I blew into your town on business awhile ago and wound up dating two of its denizens at the same time...Joe Haskell and Buzz Hackett. Yes, I know, you can picture me with Joe, but you can't picture me with Buzz. Well, we all stumble and fall and wind up with unlikely partners at one time or another. I had plans of sending Buzz to Yale and getting him a wonderful job as a diplomat at the United Nations, but he just couldn't pass his GED tests. Eventually, I grew weary of him and dumped him even though he was good in the sack in a raunchy kind of way. Moi, je ne regrette rien. :)

Now, getting to your problem. It wasn't nice of the producer to do that. I happen to know his name is Dan Curtis. Don't ask him for more money. He won't pay it. Since your reality TV show is low-budget and there is no time and money for retakes, I suggest you direct an episode and refer to the producer as "Helene Curtis" several times during taping. Just say out loud "Oh, this dreadful low-budget big Helene Curtis production gets on my nerves!". Ol' Cheapo will have to let it slide because he's much too frugal to permit retakes. Since you have directed the episode, wangle a way to call it "The Big Helene Curtis Production". It'll even up the score.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I've a bit of a problem that I hope you can help me with. I work for the DMV in a small, coastal New England town. We get all types that come through here, seeking to get their driver's licenses, but one person in particular has caused me great concern and I just don't know what to do about it.

A couple of years ago, this man in a cape (yes, you read that right, a cape) shows up just as we were closing for the evening, and insisted that he be permitted to take his examination that night. I informed him we were closing, and he'd have to come back the next day. He gave me some sob story about something or other, and I reluctantly agreed. He passed his written portion quickly, and then we proceeded with the driving test. The man ran over every cone, jumped two curbs and backed over a fire hydrant. Surely he'd failed? No, the female State Trooper who'd rode along for his exam, walked back in the building, looking as if she were in some sort of trance, and gave me his passing results. I was stunned, to say the least.

The oddity of the matter didn't stop there. When I proceeded to set up for taking his picture for the license, he asked if he could get a Religious Exemption on the basis that he was Amish, and thus could not allow himself to be photographed. I was skeptical, but the same Trooper intervened, and insisted that she knew for a fact that he was Amish. So, I reluctantly issued his license, without a photo, against my better judgment.

The trouble had just begun. Since then he has run over a dog, two cats, three chicken coops and an outhouse. He's also been involved in two accidents involving pedestrians. The first poor fellow was walking out of the local cemetery, where he'd stopped to pick up a few odds and ends, and our caped Mister Magoo nearly ran him over, striking a tree and sending both himself and his passenger to the local hospital. The second incident occurred when a young man was just standing on the sidewalk, outside a shop. Again, for no apparent reason, Bat Boy jumps the curb and struck him. The poor guy spent more than a week in intensive care, and couldn't even remember his own name.

Abby, this reign of terror must end. What can we do? The local Sheriff won't do anything because the man in question is part of the richest family in town.

Signed,

Whiplashed

PS: Oh, almost forgot. That night when he got his license, he picked up a chair and threw it at the mirror in our office. The Trooper just smiled and volunteered to pay for it herself. Am I missing something here?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Whiplashed,

Regarding your New England Mr. Magoo: He's actually from Pennsylvania and not only is he Amish...he's also the sole heir to Hershey's (that's right! the chocolate people!) I know him. He likes to travel incognito and is known in many circles for doing oddball things.

Knowing him as I do, he certainly paid the state trooper handsomely for being discreet about his magnate status and for looking the other way regarding his lousy driving and camera shyness. You know how money talks.

Incidentally, he's not really camera shy. He likes to take eccentric sejourns to exotic and out-of-the-way places, every now and again, where he feels folks won't recognize him. (I could spill some beans about a trip he and I once took to Monte Carlo, but that would be telling...!)

He smashed the mirror because he also happens to be a TV star and doesn't like to be reminded of his fame while he's on a sejourn. I'm at liberty to tell you his name is Jim (as in Backus). Be kind to him. He's been acting kind of strange since he was stranded on an island with 6 others during a three hour tour.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Once more, I must write and ask for your assistance with a problem. As you've been previously made aware, we in this small New England town are participants in a reality television program which is cleverly disguised as a fictional daytime soap opera. We are not actors, and what viewers see on the program, is actually happening in real life. That's right... Real ghosts, real witches, real vampires, real perverts loitering outside young women's bedroom windows with cardboard cutout bats on sticks while making noises with easel markers. Anyway....

Several fans have written to the network regarding the noises that are often heard in the background, "offstage". I'd like to correct this misconception, and in doing so, discuss the problem at hand. As this is not really a fictional show, there is no "offstage". The program is filmed on location, in our local homes, businesses, cemetery, etc.... It is the most commonly misperceived sound that I'd like to discuss.

For some time now, many viewers and critics of the program have believed the frequently heard squeaking noise heard off camera during many scenes, to be the sound of stage crew sliding furniture across the studio floor in preparation for the next scene. This is incorrect, as there are no scenes to set up or take down / move. Here in lies our family's most terrible secret.

My useless excuse for a brother, with whom I'm certain our fans are quite familiar, returned from Europe a few years ago with a gift for my daughter. It was in a hatbox sized glass case, and at first seemed quite harmless. My brother, who had been in Liechtenstein at a private clinic for treatment of his chronic fern fiddling, thought it would be a good idea to gift his niece with a pet. A dog? No. A cat? No. No, Abby... My brother bought her a pink dwarf elephant.

My daughter couldn't stand the sight of it, and kept it in its enclosure, even covering the case with a dark cloth. Then, the little pachyderm escaped, and that's when the trouble really began. Since then, "Pinky" has been wrecking havoc not only on our estate, but all over town. He even shows up in mausoleums and the local hospital, squealing loudly while our program is being taped. We've tried to capture him several times, but the little fatty (just eleven inches high) is much quicker than he looks.

My cousin, you know, the man in the cape... recently stayed out drinking all night (a frequent occurrence) and when he arose the following evening, the first thing he saw was that pink elephant staring in at him. Imagine the horror, Abby! He was so traumatized, his servant had to call the local fire department to come pry the lid open and coax him out.

This must stop. What can we do? Is perhaps a time travel expedition advisable? If so, maybe we could prevent my brother from buying The Gift in the first place?

Signed,

No fun in the Circus of Horrors

P.S.

My maid recently found issues of Home and Garden under my brothers mattress. Shall we send him back to the clinic, or ignore it for now?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear No fun in the Circus of Horrors,

I know you find your brother's gift annoying, but there is no ridding yourselves of it. It'll be there for the duration of your show. True, it's only 11 inches but, as you say, it's quick. Its energy is being fueled by David Collins, the Ghost of Sarah Collins and Amy Jennings. (You know how David loves to steal food from the kitchen. Well, he's got the other two doing it now.) The kids on your show have dubbed the little creature "Dumbo".

I would leave it alone as all three children have taken a real fancy to him. You don't want to anger little David. Especially since he's been known to have a rather offbeat sense of humor regarding bleeder valves and locking his governess in a room in your mansion's unused wing. A time travel expedtion would be pointless as Dumbo is an I Ching expert, and his astral self would have loads of fun beating you and your party at your own game.

Don't have your brother sent back to the clinic. He's planning to have a conservatory added onto your mansion. I happen to know that you'll wind up paying the bill for it. He wants roses...roses...roses all year long. As yours is not the ideal yearlong climate for growing roses, you'll also be paying the bill for the heat needed to grow the roses during the colder seasons. You'll scold and threaten him, but you'll wind up paying anyway. So, enjoy the roses!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Help me. I just don't understand how I'm ever going to escape the trouble I'm in. I'm Governess to a young boy on a coastal New England estate, and the desperate fugitive caretaker has taken me prisoner. He murdered one of my employer's friends, and has threatened to do the same to me if I were to ever tell what I know or reveal where he is hiding out.

He has me tied up to a chair behind the wall in a secret room. I just don't understand how I can ever be rescued from here.

Abby, he's not very good at tying knots, so I was able to write this letter to you and walk into town to mail it to you after stopping off at the coffee shop for a quick cup. I'll return to the hiding place shortly so he'll never suspect anything.

I'll come to town every day to look in the local paper to read your reply. Perhaps one of the local Sheriff's Deputies will even be kind enough to give me a ride when they see me on the road, just like today.

Abby, I just don't understand how else I'm going to ever escape from this madman. I anxiously await your advice.

Signed,

Clueless

P.S. Hurry, I really have to pee too!

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Clueless,

You've chosen the right name to call yourself by while writing your SOS letter to me. Since you are being held by a man who doesn't even know how to tie knots correctly...just leave! While he's away from the premises, get out of that room and head for an Amtrak station. Go to NYC and get lost in the crowd. He'll never find you. Especially if you change your name and become a Tony Award winning Broadway star. Or, if you go to Hollywood and become an Academy Award winning actress. Chances are he'll never see your face again. You need to use an ingenius plan like Edmond Dantes or Jean Valjean for clever identity change and evasion. If it was good enough for them, then it should be good enough for you.

There are many ways to avoid a desperate fugitive caretaker if one uses her wits. If you follow my advice, I'm sure you'll succeed. I'm surprised the local sheriff's deputy didn't take time to advise you while devouring his Dunkin' Donuts 12 pack. Geesh, the least he could have done was offer to take you to a ladies' room! Get to the nearest Amtrak station. If it's a whistle stop station, make sure a station worker blows that whistle to stop the train for you. As for peeing, use the ladies' room in the Amtrak station. Those stations normally have an abundance of toilet paper so you can keep it sanitary. The world is your oyster. It's time to pry one open and get yourself a nice big pearl. Bonne chance, fillette!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 9 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Thank you, in advance for your wise advice. I've got a problem that I'm certain only you can help me with.

Following my service in Korea during the war, I returned to the coast of Maine to resume my small-town civilian practice. Though not nearly as fast paced as a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, we do have our crisis from time to time.

Currently, I'm involved in an interesting case of a young woman who keeps wandering in her sleep. Oddly, she has contracted some sort of horrible condition of the blood. As I told someone just the other day, her blood appears to contain "certain impurities." This girl has in fact now gone missing, apparently abducted right out of the hospital. But, that's not really the problem.

Not recognizing the very strange cells that I was seeing in her blood samples, I decided to call upon an old colleague for assistance, hoping that they could identify the disease. I told my associates on the case, the Sheriff and the young woman's father that this "man" was a leading expert on diseases of the blood. I repeatedly referred to this Doctor as "he", "Him" "leading man in his field."

Abby, I don't like being made to look like a fool, but it looks like I'll be wearing the belled shoes and funny hat for some time now. When my old friend showed up to assist on the case, imagine my shock when the "Julian" I'd gone through med school with turned out to now be "Julia". Oh, my associates and everyone else I'd talked my friend up to are, of course, silent on the matter... But, trust me, they're all laughing inside at me.

"Julia" is really laying it on thick, with these melodramatic expressions and vocal intonations... As if daring me to say something negative about "her" new identity.

Perhaps I'm being too harsh though. After all, she/he has had a rough time of it in recent years. His (now ex)wife and her daughters forced him to publically embarrass himself on some inane tv show, and his ex-son in law is a coke head sex addict. Maybe this was "her" way of escaping all that craziness?

Anyway, how do I convince the locals that "Julia", man or woman, is still a leading expert?

Signed,

Frank Burns eats worms

PS: Fifteen years later, and I'm STILL forgetting the coleslaw when I order all the way from Chicago for ribs. No question there, just venting.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 9 years ago

Dear Frank Burns eats worms,

My, how the worm has turned! I would just ignore "Julia" when she uses her melodramatic expressions and vocal intonations. She is obviously comfortable as "Julia", but she still embraces her former "butch" self, Julian. She may be looking for a fight and you don't want to hit a lady, do you? I wonder if she self-identifies as a shemale or a t-gal. Either way, be prudent.

You can forcefully convince the locals that "Julia" is still an expert by telling them that she plans on reporting them to the LGBT community if her expertise isn't fully appreciated. Remind them that they don't want the entire LGBT community on their backs. "Julia" is certainly just as smart as Julian was. Be extra vigilant if you find yourself taking peeks up her miniskirts.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Once more, I must swallow some of my highly justified pride, and seek your pop counsel. At least I can do so anonymously.

Mine is a very old and highly respected New England Family. Be that as it may, we are not immune to our own difficulties. Recently, my older sister, the Matriarch of our wealthy family, left our coastal estate for the first time in nearly twenty years. I applauded her daily ventures from the hill, until she announced that she was attending Mime School. I still didn't become too distressed, until she then took off with a known con man. Last we'd heard, they were both arrested in Queens for some sort of scam. Apparently, her con man fiancé was selling grossly overpriced aluminum siding to unsuspecting homeowners. My sister's involvement is still unclear to us, as her one phone call was translated by a police matron while my sister mimed to her. From what we gathered, she was using her "performance art" to attract interest outside the home on which her fiancé's crew were installing the aluminum. The homeowner, a Mr. Binker or Blunkster, or something or other, assumed she was putting some sort of voodoo curse on his house, and called the cops.

Anyway, in an attempt to keep the peace at home, I told my niece that her mother, or all of us for that matter, are "free to live or destroy their life as they see fit." She took it literally, I'm afraid. Next thing we know, she begins hanging out with some hooligans on bicycles, who call themselves The Heck's Cherubs. My niece has become particularly close to their leader, Beep, AKA: The Terror of Tiny Town.

Now, Abby, it is rather upsetting for me to see my niece take up with this creature, but I was willing to overlook the many annoyances. I've ignored that he still uses training wheels; I've overlooked his crying fits; I've tolerated the lollypop wrappers and sticks thrown all over the front foyer, but... last night was absolutely the last straw.

Last night, he and his gang took my niece along with them to go see some sort of concert by a group known as The Bedford Atrocities. Unknown to me at the time, my niece let them use my prized collection of Show Tune Singer bubble gum cards to put in the spokes of their bicycles in order to simulate motorcycle sounds. Imagine my horror when, this morning, I discovered the damage done to my collection. I believe I'll be able to clean up and repair most of them, except my favorite, Peter Allen, which is horribly bent.

Abby, what must I do to end all this horror that has befallen our family?

Signed,

Blue Blooded Uncle

P.S., Any ideas for how to make Peter Allen straight?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Blue Blooded Uncle,

I'm sorry your sister's journey into Marcel Marceau terre didn't work out for her. She needs to lose her shady Bip the Clown amoureux and return to her matriarch duties ASAP. She should act her age...not her shoe size!

It was wrong of your niece to allow Beep & Co to use your Show Tune Singer bubble gum cards to put in the spokes of their bicycles. I suggest you banish her to her bedroom for a weekend with nothing to play with but a toy robot.

It's too bad your Peter Allen card got bent. I'm sure you're looking at it and are saying "I Honestly Love You". But, Don't Cry Out Loud. You can remove the bend with a clothes iron. Then you and The Boy from Oz could go and get caught between the moon and New York City.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I once again must seek your wise advice. As you know, our family lives an idyllic life, here on the rocky New England coast. It's windy, it rains a lot, but we're rich.

In keeping with our aristocratic heritage, I've invited my closest relatives to a Costume party in my home. I am supplying the authentic late-eighteenth century clothing they will wear, but it is BYOB. You just have to draw the line somewhere, right?

Anyway, I am eagerly awaiting their arrival tomorrow evening. My cousin, the family matriarch, will be wearing her ancestor's dress; her brother will be wearing the clothes of the then family patriarch; her daughter will be dressed as the patriarch's wealthy cousin; and I... I will be trading in my cape for the biggest surprise of the evening. I will answer the door dressed as Gumby. Won't they be thrilled?

Abby, should I play it straight, as the original cartoon character? Or, should I smoke a cigar, and be an insufferable prick, like Eddie Murphy's SNL version of Gumby? What would fit the tone of the party best?

Thanks, once again.

Signed,

Belfry dweller

P.S. My servant is reluctant to dress as Pokey. Should I beat him with my cane (I think he actually likes that), or just threaten him with unspecified "consequences"?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Belfry dweller,

You should play it straight for a change. I remember your town and there's just too much camp there in the first place. Your family is no exception! A change of pace, for at least one of you, would be a most welcome little novelty. It should be BYOSD. Your family needs to switch to soft drinks.

Your servant should dress as Pokey. Tell him Abby said so! And, he should get down on all fours for the entire evening. What's more, you should sit on his back all evening. It'll be a nice surprise for your family when you open the door and greet them while riding little Pokey. Happy trails!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I'm writing this letter to you in order to thank some very special people who have helped me.

A few months ago, I was kidnapped. I was held prisoner, but managed to escape. My father, boyfriend and the local "doctor" decided it best to tell everyone I was dead. (I'll explain the purpose of the quotation marks, momentarily). In fact, it was the "doctor"'s idea. He further did not even tell the police. Instead, he sent me off to a private asylum, where an old friend of his treated me. I had been horribly traumatized, and had amnesia regarding any of the events during my captivity.

With the help of my little friend, a ghost, I escaped the asylum, and walked back to my coastal New England town. Thinking me dead, the whole town was shocked.

I started to have what turned out to be false memories of my captivity (eg., being held prisoner by a local gentleman I thought was a vampire, etc...). The wonderful doctor from the asylum, however, helped me to recover my true memory: The gentleman I thought to be vampire, had actually led a tireless effort to find me (even showing up at the hospital at all hours of the night to inquire of my whereabouts and condition); The first "doctor" was actually a former veterinarian who, together with the local bartender, had kidnapped me and held me prisoner; My captors took turns using me as their personal F' Doll, and the bartender insisted on talking to me nonstop... He never shut up.

Abby I agreed not to press charges against those two characters, as they're CIA agents on an important National Security mission. I can't name any names, but I'd like to express my gratitude to the lovely doctor from the asylum who gives me sedatives and lets me play with her medallion; and to the caped crusader (imagine, I'd actually thought him a vampire).

Thanks, Abby

Signed

Drained and Confused

PS, Know anyplace with good deals on mirrors? I'd like to get one as a gift for my Caped Crusader.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Drained and Confused,

You've had your hands full. Kidnapped, held prisoner, private asylum, amnesia, a ghost, and a long hike. It's time for you to get a good agent who can find the right publisher so you can get this important human interest story told.

When your monies start rolling in from your book, you should buy the lovely doctor a gift. A new medallion encrusted with diamonds would be the very thing. I would have suggested Harry Winston's, but it's now The Swatch Group Ltd.

The caped crusader deserves a gift, too. But since men generally have everything, give him something practical like a Linon Home Julia Cheval Storage Mirror from Bed Bath & Beyond. He'll need it to make sure his cape is on right.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Once again, it is nearly Christmas. Once again, our esteemed New England family needs your help with a difficult situation. As you are no doubt fully aware, Santa Claus picks up toys from the Island of Misfit Toys, and distributes them to children throughout the world every Christmas Eve. Our problem began two years ago, when one of these toys came crashing down our drawing room chimney at three thirty in the morning.

First, the toy caught on fire. We managed to extinguish it, but the note attached to it was too badly burned to make much sense out of it. The toy, a little girl doll who talks and is fully animated, was hardly damaged at all... In fact we couldn't determine, at first, why she was even considered a "misfit toy". She seemed so friendly, saying "Hello, how do you do?" From what we could make out of the charred note, it read:

"Her name is Victoria. We cannot take care of her, as she is defective. In truth, she's horribly"

That's all we could decipher; the rest was black ashes.

The only child in the house, my cousin, was delighted to have a new playmate, and the two of them became inseparable from that Christmas morning on. The trouble started almost immediately. She began snooping in everyone's business, and in every locked room. She was rude and insulting to our handyman, although to us she would really lay on the politeness act... you know, the Eddie Haskell "oh, yes sir/mam" routine.

Then, we noticed that not only was she wetting the bed, she was abusing small animals and blaming it on my cousin. When my aunt arrived, she started several fires, and tried to blame them on her! In fact, my Aunt died in a mysterious fire in a fishing shack. Want to guess who was the only witness? That's right: Victoria. She's a total slut too. She ran off with our handyman, and was living with him in the Old House on the far side of our estate for over a week. When we caught up with them, he was dead and she was playing some sort of sick bondage game with rope and a gag in her mouth. She claimed he'd kidnapped her and had died of fright when he saw a ghost. I mean really, Abby.

My older Cousin, you know, the man in the cape, he finally caught on to her and tried to kill her by wrecking the car into a tree, but she just won't die! It did provide him, at last, with relief of his debilitating sunshine allergy. We've tried calling a witch hunter to tie her to tree and burn her, then try to hang her - nothing works. There have been several murders around here since she's been here, too. The handyman; the manager of our fishing fleet; her own boyfriend (I just know she tampered with that plane); and, most recently, the kindly manager of the local hotel. He was brutally butchered right in his own hotel, and she made it look like a werewolf did it. Oh, and the first month she was here, she tampered with the brakes on my Uncle's car. He was nearly killed. The missing car part was found in her possession, but my cousin took the blame. That doll is a monster, Abby.

The last straw was this afternoon. She took my cousin exploring in the abandoned wing of our family mansion. She's taken him there before to smoke and do who knows what (I suspect she may even be extorting "favors" from him, the little sicko). Anyway, they found an old-time telephone from the late 1800's, and were making obscene phone calls for over an hour before our housekeeper busted them.

Abby, she's got to go. What can we do? Should we mail her Postage Due to Fidel Castro, or what?

Signed,

Dolly Dilemma

P.S., Can we sue Santa over all this? How would we go about that? I mean we'd hate the thought of putting any elves out of work, but somebody's responsible.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Dolly Dilemma,

Let's face it...you got stuck with a real stinker for Xmas. I'm not talkin' a loud polka dot necktie or the dreaded bottle of Old Spice. I'm talkin' worse than a stocking full of coal!

Don't send her to Cuba. With relations mended between Cuba and the US, she'll be back in the US in no time. You need to locate that aspiring dentist Hermey and that red-nosed reindeer Rudolph for this job.

They need to return her to the Island of Misfit Toys via iceberg by December 24th. I know Yukon Cornelius has asked for an assistant prospector for his Xmas gift. Victoria needs to be wrapped so she can be his gift on the 25th.

Joyeuses Fétes.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Once again, we in this sleepy little town on the coast of Maine must ask for your wise advise. Recently, my family and associates talked me into running for Mayor of our little town. After some reflection, I decided that I would do so, if for no other reason than to ensure that the position didn't fall into the control of someone unworthy, corrupt or incompetent.

All was going well in the campaign until... HE showed up. He moved into town, and bullied (and some suspect, blackmailed) the town council into placing his name on the ballot. Next, he started holding these strange rallies, where innocent bystanders were attacked and so forth. Our debates, if one can call them that, consist of myself answering every question in a forthright and honest manner, while he never actually answers the question asked and lies through his teeth.

Abby, this person I'm running against is a former friend of my servant, and we both really wish there were something we could do about him before it's too late. Believe it or not, he's actually leading in the polls, despite all this nonsense. The man is a crook, a liar, a fraudster and a bully... But the local electorate thinks he's charming.

I'm just afraid that if he wins, he'll take this town for everything it has. What can we do to ensure this doesn't happen?

Signed,

Nocturnal Candidate

P.S. Do you think that if I ditched the cape, voters might find me more appealing?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Nocturnal Canditate,

Politics...politics...politics. It's a dirty business, albeit a necessary one. You need to dig up (pun intended) a scandal about him. Anything your servant could think of that might help you smear his no good campaign goings-on? There has to be something! Or, if possible, resort to black magic. There might be at least one person in your town who dabbles in the occult and who could voodoo doll this creep into dropping out of the election.

If not, try the current Clinton Dynasty (wannabes?) for some political advice. They got through a heck of a lot during his years in office. Instead of being Billary, they'd become Millary (thanks to a chick named Monica!) They were able to get out of that one unscathed and I see they are going strong as a "solo" husband and wife team who seem to be headed into that White House again.

You know, some years ago, I was invited to sing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" to a president ten days before his forty-fifth birthday at a celebration. I was involved with Arthur Miller at the time and things were so hot and heavy between us that I'd totally forgot this celebration. Needless to say, they grabbed some blond bimbo, at the last moment, to sing in my place. I've forgotten her name, but I'll never forgive her for stealing my spotlight! Ugh!

P.S. Don't lose the cape. During campaigning it can protect your finer clothes from outbursts of messy mudslinging. So, leave it on!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I do so hope that you can help me. I just don't know who else I could possibly turn to for sound advice with a most desperate situation.

I've recently moved back to this country after several years in the Caribbean, where I'd been living under an assumed identity (No, the false identity is not really part of the problem). I am the personal maid for a wealthy French family, who have owned a large sugar plantation on our island for many years. Some time ago a man from New England came to the island to conduct business with the patriarch of the family for whom I work. While he was there he kept making unwanted advances toward me... All the while, becoming engaged to the daughter of my employer. Now, we've come to New England for their wedding, and are staying in their household.

My employer's sister, the Countess, and myself arrived a couple of days before the others, and sure enough... Mister grabby paws was all over me within minutes of my arrival. No matter how I resist and protest, he insists I'm to be his little F Doll on the side. On no, I'm not!

Oh, wait... It gets worse. When he found out I'm a witch, he decided he would use me for his evil schemes. He somehow snuck into my room and stole my magic modeling wax. No big deal? He used it to turn his own father into a cat for two days, just because he wanted to hang around the house and annoy me instead of doing his job at the shipyard. Next, he forced me to cast a love spell on his Uncle and his Fiancé, so he could back out of the marriage without looking to be at fault. He even went so far as to then challenge his Uncle to a duel, and he shot him dead... All to avoid his wedding, again so he could chase me.

His most recent scheme is the worst though. His younger sister recently took ill, and seeing an opportunity to ensure he'd be the sole heir to the family fortune, he tried to force me to make a poison tea that would kill her. I double-crossed him though, and instead made one that would cure her fever. He was furious, demanded that I marry him within two days, and gave the innocent child a second cup of tea with rat poison in it. The girl died.

Abby, enough is enough. This reign of terror must end. I have it within my power to simply snap my fingers and drop him dead. However, I think this situation calls for a far more creative and lasting punishment. Really, the blood-sucking cad has really gone completely batty, and deserves a fitting curse, wouldn't you say? But, what? Is there an obvious answer I'm just not seeing here? I'm sure it's as plain as the sunrise, but I'm just not seeing it.

Signed,

Innocent sorceress, I swear

P.S. Any advice on how to get mud stains out of one's wedding dress after getting thrown into a grave by a disobedient zombie? Could happen to anyone, right?

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Innocent sorceress, I swear,

Well, sexual harassment is sexual harassment no matter how you look at it. You probably have that French oo la la je ne sais pas which makes this highly-sexed perve think you're his personal French upstairs maid. He needs to be corrected! And, I have a wonderful solution for you.

Take some of your modeling wax and make a figure of him. Make one of his father, too. You know the old saying...Like father, like son. Turn pop into Pansy Fey #1 and sonny into Pansy Fey #2. They can join the sewing circle and leave you to your maidly duties in peace.

Yes, getting mud out of one's wedding dress due to a disobedient zombie could happen to anyone (and often does). Just take it to a nearby creek. Once wet, bang it with a rock and scrub it clean on a washboard. You'll notice the difference after just a few hours of rewarding hard work.

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Once again, we on the large estate on top of the hill in coastal New England, must ask for your assistance with a problem. Don't you feel at times we're the only ones reading your column?

As you've no doubt heard rumored, we here on the estate have never had television... Until recently, that is. We've always gotten by with reading, drinking and skullduggery; no real need for modern entertainment. We have a television now, but rarely watch anything but the news.

Our Cousin, (the one in the cape) even has gone without electricity. Thank heaven we're not that primitive here in the big house. Anyway, wishing to modernize (and save on his monthly candle expenses), he recently had his manservant install a generator at the old house on the other end of the estate. That was fine, until...

Well, our cousin decided it was time to try television too, and went out and bought one. Still alright, until... He and his servant discovered Hee Haw. First, they started playing banjos till dawn; then, they kept shouting "what's for supper" every time they'd see our housekeeper. Yesterday morning, Abby, was really the last straw: our cousin has hauled in a bunch of junk cars, and opened a used car lot on his side of the estate. Oh, it's worse: He's airing commercials on the local TV station, dressed in overalls (and, his cape) and speaking in the worst faux hillbilly accent you'd ever not want to hear.

Abby, should we get a court order, having them both committed or what? Help!

Signed,

Insulted Yankee

P.S., Any ideas for getting rid of the hound dogs, scantily clad belles and moonshine drinking rustics now constantly lounging about in front of our home? If I hear one more chorus of "Gloom, Despair and Agony on Me"... I swear, I'm going to call the Sheriff.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Insulted Yankee,

I guess it would seem like you're the only ones reading my column. However, I do receive an enormous amount of letters from the feuding Ricardo and Mertz families. They live at 623 E. 68th Street in Manhattan. However, that street only goes up to 600 which would mean they live somewhere in the Hudson River. Their handwritten letters always arrive so soggy. I have to have my assistant dry them with a clothes iron before I even read the darn things.

You really DO have problems with your cousin and his servant. "Hee Haw"? Ugh! Find a TV station that is airing "The Beverly Hillbillies" and get them turned on to that. Let them keep their banjos as long as they promise to sing only "The Beverly Hillbillies" theme song while strumming away. If they need to dress like hillbillies, get them dressed like Jed and Jethro. And have them search the grounds for some Texas tea. (I know how much your family love money!)

Regarding the riffraff lounging about in front of your home...there are many possibilities for them. They can be used in one of your town's endless storylines. Magda can bring them back in time so they can figure prominently in a bygone age. Or, someone could have them banished to Hooterville where the folks of "Petticoat Junction" and "Green Acres" can deal with them. Poor Arnold!

Best,

Abby

[–] WinstonNephron 8 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

As you are well aware, our distinguished New England family has been beset by all manner of curses and supernatural goings on for the better part of two centuries. Personally, I think it has something to do with the likelihood that the creature currently occupying the position of Devil in Chief (or whatever they call it down there) is from poor breeding, and is chronically envious of our fine family. My sister, the present Matriarch, thinks that assumes too much, but... Oh, well... anyway... Alright, Abby, once more, we must ask for your assistance with a dilemma.

As stated before, we've dealt with supernatural goings on many times before, but this is just too much. The halls of our incestral home are running red! How did this happen? I'm not really sure, but I can only assume it has much to do with that man. That man, a self-styled "Count" who claims to be a Wizard, must have placed a curse on us... Again.

It all started a few nights ago, when my sister was having her palms read by a Gypsy woman. The Count, who stopped by uninvited, was furious. He was furious at the very sight of her, or any Gypsy for that matter. He hates all Gypsies. The woman left in a huff, having been insulted. The Count, still angry that we would have "such a creature" in our home, threatened a curse that would "make the halls of this great house run red." We laughed, and kicked him out. He exited in such a hurry, he left behind his prosthetic hand. I threw it in an old, smelly cigar box, and am holding it ransom until he apologizes for his unseemly behavior.

Abby, we didn't take his threatened curse seriously until yesterday morning. Yesterday, on my way down to the drawing room for my morning sherry, I slipped in the upstairs hallway. What was it? It was red, and it was liquid. That's right, Abby, it was Taco Sauce. What had the Count done? He's made good on his curse: there are now Gypsy Taco Wagons in every single corner of every one of the 87 rooms in the house! Our Housekeeper is now on crutches, having slipped and broken her ankle, thanks to the horses that draw the wagons. I'll not go into further detail on that particular point, as I think you'll understand.

Now, this raises a whole other dilemma: we are not in the habit of locking our front door. We never have, and we don't want to start now. Ordinarily, this isn't much of a problem, but now the zombies from the local cemeteries, are now roaming freely about the place. You see, Abby, they just love Tacos. Don't ask me why. Yes, we've had witches, warlocks, vampires and even werewolves in the house before, but... as our late-nineteenth century Matriarch stated: We can't have any of THOSE in the house.

So, Master of Problem Resolution, what do we do about this? An exterminator? An Exorcist? Please advise.

Signed,

Surrounded by undesirables

P.S., I just discovered my pillow is stuffed with shredded lettuce and cheese... Extra sharp cheddar, I believe. Oh, great! Now, there's a decayed eyeball floating in my denture bath. Please do hurry in your reply.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 8 years ago

Dear Surrounded by undesirables,

You need to move to Mayberry, Brooklyn Heights, Petticoat Junction, Fernwood or 623 East 68th Street in Manhattan (bring goggles for that address). But since your home has been turned into one heck of a big Taco Bell Mansion, you should capitalize on it and use your 87 room home as a Mexican-themed resort/showplace. A sort of a Mexico away from the heart of Mexico City. Instead of those unappealing gypsy tamborine dances, offer nightly Mexican Hat Dances. After downing many of those delicious Margaritas, you can all join in for last call(s) while belting out "La Cucaracha". Sounds festive, doesn't it?

Zombies...hmmm...that's a difficult one. I'd give them Margaritas (and plenty of them) to keep them tranquil. Of course, once they're feeling nice, you can stuff them with tacos. To get them into a terpsichorean mood, you might have to play "Monster Mash" to loosen up their joints and make them start to limber. Once they're into the groove, you can work them slowly into the Mexican Hat Dance. It sounds like so much fun, I think I might take a trip back to your town for it. I'm in the mood for a Joe Haskell (or whatever the heck he's calling himself in this storyline) quickie! BTW, I make scrumptious tamales.

Best Abby,

P.S. If you can find Adam (somewhere in this storyline) give him that denture bath and tell him to beat it by Cinco de Mayo which is when I plan on blowing into town for a sojourn.

[–] WinstonNephron 7 years ago

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I'm told that you are pretty good at solving problems. We'll see.

I recently arrived in this boring little New England town, to pay a long-overdue visit to my estranged Husband. Hubby dearest, hasn't been sending me any money to Baltimore as he'd promised, so I decided to drop in on him. He gave me some story about working a con on some unsuspecting rich girl, and that when they are married, he'd bump her off and split the loot with me. Okay, fine... I'm always up for a good scam, and I decided to check this pigeon out, while also appraising my, um... Soon to be assets.

Well, Abby, what a shock. Upon arriving at the 'Big Mansion on The Hill', I soon discovered these stuffy people weren't nearly as rich as my Hus... Um, Brother let on. In fact, everything about them is fake. The grass on their front lawn is cheap carpet that's not even glued down; the tombstones in their family plot are made of cardboard, and fall over if you bump into them; and, worst of all... None of the rooms in their 'Big Mansion on The Hill' has more than two walls (and, the walls are made of, you guessed it: cardboard). I think it's my Husband/Brother that's been had here. These peasants are no doubt after his Naval pension.

Abby, I think I have a solution. I've discovered that one of these 'rich' people is a vampire. I'm gonna go to his house on the other side of the estate, just after sundown, and put the screws to him. If these people have any assets, they're sure to cough it up to keep this news out of public circulation, right? I mean, what could possibly go wrong? This is a great plan, right?

Thanks for your help.

P.S. Isn't it supposed to snow a lot in New England? It's February, and the leaves (green no less) are still on the trees. Weird.

[–] DoctorJuliaHoffman 7 years ago

Dear...I'll call you "Material Girl",

You and Hubby dearest do seem like a dastardly dynamic duo. I guess one can't blame others for having a lust for money. However, the place you've come to seems like a series of low-budget sets in a cramped TV studio. You poor dear! Perhaps your gold-digging will amount to nil. I mean...cardboard?! Really?!!!

Regarding the one you've discovered to be a vampire...I'd be careful. He might suki (oops...I mean suck) your neck. Or worse, find a way to cut off your oxygen. My advice to you is to scram out of there plenty fast. If you do, you might be a gold-digging hussy with an "All's Welles that ends Welles" future.

Yes, it's supposed to snow a lot in New England in February. I should know. I've spent many memorable (and slightly licentious) winters in New England at the Collinsport Inn in a town called Collinsport. Ah, those winters with Joel Haskell and Buzz Hackett. Individually. Les bonvivants...grace à mon argent.

Best,

Abby