Here at Stevieslaw, breakfast with the morning paper is still a mainstay of our existence. Our local paper, the CDT is not much. And since we are not an optimistic bunch in Central PA, it is not surprising that all the articles which pass for news, are set up either as things are bad—but they will get worse, or things are good—but that can’t last.
We always have the comics, the suduko and the sometimes intelligible bridge column by the former star player. But the best items for me, for as long as I can remember, are the horoscope and Dear Abby. I love sharing a fortune with 30 million or so of my fellow countryman, especially one that advises me that being kind today will be helpful, or that I will spend some time with someone special. Thirty million of us spending the day being kind—that’s good, but of course it will get worse. And while Dear Abby, no matter which Abby is currently writing the column, is often lame, it is sometimes funny as hell. Last week, we had a husband write in who had found a hickey on his wife’s chest, after she returned from an out-of-town business trip. His wife agreed to take a lie detector test and the guy wanted to know how to arrange it. I was thinking that maybe he could get a coupon for multiple sessions? Say once a week, forever. But my favorite was a letter from a “religious” woman who was sure she would go to heaven, but dreaded having to spend eternity with her parents and family members. I can imagine snippets from her after life experience…Flight to heaven delayed for several days now, had to camp out on plastic chairs and eat lukewarm pizza: flight is awful—turbulence, an overweight woman sitting next to me who can’t stop talking about tunnels and bright lights and they don’t even serve peanuts on the trip: whew, no relatives here except for my uncle Tommy—the one who used to torture cats: and, the last entry—sure is hot here in heaven.
John Prine did a song for Abby years ago. It is just as funny today as it was then. Here it is:
Dear abby, dear abby …
My feet are too long
My hair’s falling out and my rights are all wrong
My friends they all tell me that I’ve no friends at all
Won’t you write me a letter, won’t you give me a call
Signed bewildered

Bewildered, bewildered…

Chorus:
You have no complaint
You are what your are and you ain’t what you ain’t
So listen up buster, and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/j/john+prine/dear+abby_20074810.html ]
Dear abby, dear abby…
My fountain pen leaks
My wife hollers at me and my kids are all freaks
Every side I get up on is the wrong side of bed
If it weren’t so expensive I’d wish I were dead
Signed unhappy

Unhappy, unhappy…

Repeat chorus

Dear abby, dear abby…
You won’t believe this
But my stomach makes noises whenever I kiss
My girlfriend tells me it’s all in my head
But my stomach tells me to write you instead
Signed noise-maker

Noise-maker, noise-maker

Repeat chorus

Dear abby, dear abby…
Well I never thought
That me and my girlfriend would ever get caught
We were sitting in the back seat just shooting the breeze
With her hair up in curlers and her pants to her knees
Signed just married

Just married, just married…

Repeat chorus