Thank you all for submitting your Hot Probs! I was totally wearing my glasses when I answered these, just FYI. (I may also have been eating a Hot Pocket and watching Hot Shots! Part Deux, because I like themes.)
They say it's no use to cry over spilled milk. Is it alright to cry over spilled wine?
Love, Where did the wine go?
The reason they say not to cry over spilled milk is that you have to save your tears... for when you're forced to burn your house down because it reeks of vomit, which is what old milk smells like. Seriously, if you ever spill milk on a carpet, just torch that shit. Wine, on the other hand, deserves more than just a sniffle. The correct reaction to spilled wine is to A) Try to lick it up, cat hair be damned; B) pound your fists dramatically on the nearest hard surface; and C) lean back, tilt your head to the sky, and scream "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" (you can throw in a few "Why, God, why"s for flair--totally up to you). Then go get something to cover the wine stain (a pile of laundry, a magazine, a child) and drink the rest straight from the bottle.
Wonder what would you say to a fan who have just 'sharted' reading your funny-as-hell post?
The fact that I can now command human feces is truly mind-blowing; thank you for letting me know. I am drunk with power. I shall use my newfound skill to give Rush Limbaugh explosive diarrhea during his next public appearance, and to constipate Oprah whenever I don't like her Book of the Month Club pick. Also, Ryan Reynolds' poop will heretofore be heart-shaped.
The Man In The Yellow Hat stole the Caramilk secret from right my nose. When I try to confront him, he either flat out ignores me or pulls a hissy fit. Now I don't want the Caramilk secret back, I just want to know why he did it. When he won't talk to me, do I have a chance at ever finding out why? Is there a way I can get him to talk to me about it?
This question is an enigma wrapped in a conundrum sprinkled with mystery and coated with milk chocolate. Is the man in the yellow hat the Gorton's fisherman, or the flamboyantly-dressed dandy who kidnapped Curious George from the jungle? I am not familiar with Caramilk, but Google tells me it is a caramel-filled candy bar. This leads me to suspect that the man in the yellow hat is working for Slugworth, Prodnose, or Fickelgruber and is avoiding you because he is a confectionery spy. If he is in fact the Gorton's fisherman, he probably can't talk to you because he is busy fishing and growing his beard. If he is the dandy illegally sheltering an African primate, he probably cannot talk to you because he is in hiding from the ASPCA.
Is it wrong to adopt a child that you have fostered just to drive them as crazy they have made you over the past few years?
The Looney Mommy
I don't have children, so I consulted my Mr. T talking keychain. He said: "Don't gimme no back talk, sucka!" I'm pretty sure this means that you should proceed with the adoption but also encourage your child to wear a mohawk and as much gold jewelry as their tiny neck can support at all times.
I want to be rich, but not famous. My problem is that I don't want to have a boss or go to a job or really work at all. I have a blog, a hubby, and a kid, but I'm not sure how to parlay these things into a life of leisure. Please help!
I feel you, girl. That is a Hot Prob of mine, too (sans kid). Here's what I suggest: whatever is on your blog now, erase it and start over. Post photos of Jessica Simpson and other celebrities and draw crude penises on their faces. Try to start a Twitter war with John Mayer. Have hubby go on America's Got Talent and eat as many cheeseburgers as he can while falling down drunk--this will impress David Hasselhoff, who can only eat one. Teach the kid to play online poker and voila, you are sitting pretty. All you really need to do when you're not rolling around in your pile of money is practice drawing those penises.
This post is so very. This may seem like a really stupid question... you inherit 5 million dollars the same day aliens land on the earth and say they're going to blow it up in 2 days. What do you do?
Thanks in advance, Patronized Bunny Rabbit
That’s gotta be the most spooky-ass question I ever heard. All right, this is important. After taxes is just the beginning, and then there’s social security, legal fees…I guess I'd just slide that wad over to my father, ‘cause he is like one of the top brokers in the state. Or I’d pay Madonna a million bucks to have her sit on my face and have her ride it like the Kentucky Derby. She should pay me, though. Another option is to go to the zoo and get a lion. And then you put a remote control bomb up its butt and push the button on the bomb, and you and the lion die like one.
P.S. I don't patronize bunny rabbits!
Dear Drunk Auntie Sassy,
I have (as yourself) been passed along the "One Lovely Blog Award" and according to Ashley King we are all so totally making it big now.
Is it proper etiquette to throw myself a reception, get drunk at said reception and make a Courtney Love-esque speech?
All this done in my living room, alone with my bottle of wine in my skivvies, of course.
Thanks, The Drunk Mommy Diary
Dear Drunk Mommy,
Um, yes, totally. The reception should have a pinata filled with fifty dollar bills and your skivvies should have something emblazoned across the ass in rhinestones (mine say "Mrs. Poo Pants"... long story). The ceremony ends with you singing "Nobody Does It Better" to your mirror reflection, using the empty wine bottle as a microphone. I would suggest lighting a torch, Olympic-style, but that can go very wrong, and the fireman won't really understand what your blog has to do with accidentally setting fire to your kitchen, and they WILL refer to you as Mrs. Poo Pants if you forget to put your robe back on. You've been warned.
Boy, do I have a hot prob. My wife is just too goddamn awesome. She's witty, successful, beautiful, and she has gobs of adoring fans. How do I take her down a peg or two?
This wife of yours sounds too good to be true. Is she a Japanese body pillow? Anyway, if she is human, while she's sleeping, shave a few inches off of the heels of all of her left shoes. That'll taker her down a peg, literally, and make her think she's crazy. Or you can always take away her sweatpants privileges, hide her Sex and the City DVDs, and start referring to her as "Stephen" during lovemaking.
Should I invest in a pair of boobs (like a certain high school friend of mine) and troll for a sugar daddy? It seems like the next logical step. Advise me, great one. Bless me with that ill knowledge.
Dear The Young and The Breastless,
From what I hear, breast augmentation is expensive and painful, and sometimes makes it look like you have dented flesh cantaloupes bolted to your sternum. Sugar Daddys, on the other hand, are affordable and delicious milk caramel pops that will yank the fillings right out of your teeth. The two have absolutely nothing to do with one another! Stop trying to trick me!
Dear Drunken Sot Auntie Sassy,
If dreams are really our subconscience speaking to us, then what was I trying to tell myself about peanut butter and flying monkeys that I didn't already know?
Thanksomuch,Wizard of Jiffy
Was the peanut butter smooth or chunky? Were the monkeys eating the peanut butter or were they flinging it like feces onto the walls? Were the simians by any chance flying out of your butt? I need more information to make an informed analysis, but my instincts tell me that you should stop cutting your own bangs and should probably switch to Fios.
What's your damage, Sassy??
Thank you for asking! Probably a little liver, maybe some lung from the smoking in college. Possibly some brain from the time I fell headfirst from a bunk bed onto a tin dollhouse as a child.
I think perhaps I would like to be you when I grow up. What would be the best way of going about making that happen?
Sincerely, Wanna B. Sassy
Aw, color me flattered! Thank you! It is pretty easy to be me. Here are some of the steps I took:
1. Get conceived, gestate, be born
2. Develop acute fear of having things touch head; step into all clothing from ages 3 to 7 (includes turtlenecks)
3. Grow sweet unibrow
4. Be awkward for entirety of high school
5. Watch National Lampoon's European Vacation and Big Business more times than you might care to mention
6. Adhere to diet of red wine and sketchy fig bars procured from Korean delis
But you can also just steal my identity. My social security number is 265-77-0986.
I've noticed that my ex's kids are alarmingly ugly. This makes me more than a little happy. I want to point and laugh. Am I going straight to hell for this? Because if I am, I may as well make it worth my while and let him know just how ugly I think they are.
Yeah, you are probably going to hell, but I'll be there too someday and we can sneak sips of Cutty Sark when we're not busy getting whipped by hideous imps. You should delight in your ex's kids ugliness, but rather than pointing and laughing, say it with sign language. Unleash your inner ginger bitch.
Dear Sassaligious (or Sassamafrass, your call),
I've been blogging for a couple months now, but I still only have a couple of followers. What should I do to drive up readership to my blog? I've tried to reach out to other bloggers etc, but no avail.
No really, my true question is: How much personal nudity is too much personal nudity? Will it alienate my conservative audience? Should I try to keep it classy or what?
I prefer Sassquatch, thanks! My friend Hipstercrite did a post last week about how to drive traffic to your blog if you want to check it out. But don't worry about followers if you've just started; I blogged for over three years with NO followers. Luckily I didn't even realize there was such a thing as followers so I didn't care. Now, of course, my goal is to have more followers than [insert your favorite cult leader].
As to your true question, there's only one way to find out. Give your audience a little nudity at a time. Start with an elbow, then a collarbone, then a thigh, and then a nipple. If you ease them in they won't even notice. They'll be like, aw, look at this sweet picture of Buckwheat from the Little Rascals that Softy posted. That Buckwheat is such a scamp!
I have this new dog that craps everywhere and rams himself into things... please tell me to get a cat. What should I do?
Dear Pussy Whipped,
I wish I could tell you to get a cat, but a cat will only try to kill you, which makes a little bit of shit and vertigo seem pretty tame, now, doesn't it?
I'm in love with my own ass. It's so awesome that I can't stop thinking about it. My problem is that the rest of my body diminishes the greatness of my ass. It's as though the rest of my body is jealous of how fantastic my ass is, and is in active rebellion against the ass--trying it's hardest to look crappy, and the ass can't carry the hotness load for the whole rest of the body. I end up looking frumpy, dowdy and dumpy. What's a girl to do?
(P.S. my captcha for this comment is 'asesse'--is that a sign from above?)
I think your only option is to make certain your jealous, attention-whorey body can't upstage your best asset. Yes, I think this calls for an assless burkha. And also, yes, the comment verification word was a sign from Allah that this is totally okay.
I am a new reader but quickly fell in love with your blog. I am especially inspired by your brows! Being a fellow uni-brow sufferer, I was the constant butt of jokes in junior high. Since then I have learned the fine art of plucking, but I am so very tired of doing it. Would it be unacceptable to shave my brows off and draw them on chola style? Or perhaps wear eyebrow wigs? Please advise!
Sincerely, All Plucked Out
Technically I only have one brow, but I'm glad she inspires you! I often tire of plucking. Once I tried an eyebrow wig but it ended up kind of defeating the purpose:
I would tell you to shave them and go full chola, but you'll eventually tire of shaving too, plus then you'll have no eyebrows. I say hand your hirsute forehead over to a skilled threader, or just grow your bangs and let your brows reunite as they have wanted to for all these years. It will be like Fievel and his dad at the end of An American Tail.
Got more Hot Probs? Leave 'em in the comments or email me. This is Heather, I mean, Sassy, I mean, TWEETY, signing off.