Dear Dr. Duh,
I got this packet of smoothie, exept when I opened it to drink my smoothie, it was powder! Is it possible that I have found the world's oldest smoothie???
Signed,
Smoothie Lover
Dear Mr. Lover,
It is possible, yes, in the sense that anything is possible, but it's far more likely that you are just an idiot. Go soak your head.
Dear Doctor Duh,
Why is it not socially acceptable to wear white after Labor Day? Is it a mere prejustice toward white that some fashion guru had and decided to make the garbeditness of white to be frowned upon after this day?
Or was it an unappreciation of Labor Day that led somebody to start something that would bring this holiday more publicity? By saying "Gasp!! You can not wear white after Labor Day," somebody has brought more attention to this under recognized day.
Or was it those dreaded fashion experts, that have no lives but to criticize what other people wear, when they themselves resemble fools in their giant peacock hats, their stinking shirts with one sleeve like Thor and Ilga of 300,000 BC. And their 8 1/2 feet length leather jackets, and their blues in the spring, browns in the winter, reds in the fall, lights in the summer mentalities. I suppose "white matches snow" is their thinking. Well, screw you stupid, rule maker upper, low lifes, who buy garments for public image rather than for comfort and/or thriftiness. Screw you people who invented this godawful non- sensical "rule" so that at least every "fashion victim" on the planet can maybe, maybe better themselves for the sake of fashion?
I hope you can help me with this inquiry, Dr. Duh. But I would appreciate you not ripping the good President Bush any longer or I may have to boycott your wonderful article.
Sincerely yours,
Wears White In Autumn Proudly
Dear Wears White in Autumn Proudly,
HEATHEN!!!!!
Have you no respect for the rainforests, 1,000 acres of which were cut down, as you sat and wrote that very letter?
Have you no respect for all the people who've suffered and died, yes died, by shaking Pepsi bottles really, really hard and then pointing them at their faces and opening them?
Have you no respect for all the babies, yes babies, who were forced to wear ridiculous animal costumes, yes costumes, and pose for calendars, yes calendars, with one full-color glossy photo for each month, yes month, for moms to buy and coo over?
If I ever seeing you on the street, Mr. White in Autumn, your white ass better be running all the way to winter.
Can you help me I'm a villian I can't stop being bad
Dear Mr. Villain,
Bad at what--punctuation? Whoa, what's this? What is this thing I'm putting at the end of my sentences? This weird little squiggly thing? With a dot? I'm a stupid villain, can someone change my diaper for me? Hello! It's called a question mark. If you're not asking me a question, I can't give you answer. Maybe you can think about that next time Superman boots your grammatically-incorrect ass to jail.
Dear Dr. Duh,
HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA
the nice psycopath alien
Dear Nice (yeah right) Psychopath (that's for sure) Alien,
I'm never sending you naked pictures of myself again.
Dear Dr. Duh,
I want to be a grilled cheese sandwich when I grow up. How might I accomplish this? -High Hopes
Dear Ms. Hopes,
Spread two pieces of bread with butter. Top one piece of bread with 2 slices cheese and 1 serving of yourself, cover with the other piece. Heat 1 tablespoon butter in a heavy skillet until foam subsides, and add the sandwich. Cook, pressing down gently with a spatula, until lightly browned and the cheese has begun to ooze. Remove from the heat, cut in half and serve.
Dear Dr Duh,
I'm confused as to what nationality I may or may not be. I do not know who my parents are. I was born from an egg. My egg was being shipped over international waters when the plane crashed. Being an egg, I floated harmlessly to the surface. I hatched while in the ocean. Eventually I was rescued by a passing ship. They were German and didn't like me, so they threw me overboard. Another Itailian ship saved me, but it sank two minutes later. I washed up on an uncharted island where I grew into a normal person. The island sank after this. My small raft then landed in Africa, but they didn't like me either and exported me to Mexico. There I spent three days before being thrown into Texas. Texas thought I was the antichrist and sent me to Pennsylvannia where I live today. So, what nationality am I?
Confused,
Mr. Man E. Chicken
Dear Mr. Chicken,
I cannot assign you a nationality, but I can assign you a state. And that would be the State of Being an Idiot. Stop wasting my time.
dude, where's my car
"Dude," when you let me borrow it, you never said you wanted it back. Stop asking.
Dude, seriously, where's my car?
Your sexual advances towards me are disconcerting. It is not uncommon for a patient to become emotionally attached to their therapist, but allowing these relationships to go beyond professional boundaries is always discouraged. I must strongly advise you to drop this line of behavior, as it is hindering my ability to help you with your real problems--not your car (which is now mine), or your homoerotic fantasies.
DUDE. WTF. I KNOW YOU HAVE MY CAR. GIVE IT BACK.
Perhaps this 'car' is an unconscious metaphor for something else? A car's hard, metallic properties, and its function--to transport, to propel human bodies--life, as it were--to fertilize, if i may, their destinations with passengers, smacks of phallic symbolism. It belies your stated concerns, unmasking your true desire to have intercourse with other men. I know this is very hard for you to hear--your unwillingness to face your sexual desires is what has suppressed them, and the more you displace them with these hostile rantings about your car, the more passionately we know you burn for rock hard cock.
OK, THAT'S IT. YOURE DEAD.
Murder fantasies are not uncommon either. The truth about your unconscious desires creates a dissonance with your self-image that is apparently so distasteful to you that you are reacting with hatred to the object you truly long for. Your delusions have become so severe, what with your raving about a "car" that is supposedly "yours," that I supposedly "borrowed" to drive to my "brother-in-law's" last week in "Cincinnati," and that you expected me to "return" the next day, even though you never explicity said you wanted it "back," because I guess you think I can "read" people's "minds" (which is another delusion altogether)--that I think it would be dangerous for you to even operate a car. As a doctor, I now feel morally obligated to keep your car, for the safety of yourself and others. Thank you sharing.
E-mail Dr. Duh for help: drduh@swingmachine.org. Cause man, could you use it.
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