Advice Jackers: BIG SISTER IN OKLAHOMA

Every week, countless people write in to various advice columns in various publications. We can only make the educated guess (a hypotenuse, as it is often referred to by people with glasses) that the only reason these advice columns still exist is because enough people aren’t aware of the fact that The Guide is more than qualified to answer any and all questions.

Instead, people write to columnists like “Dear Abby,” whom I feel is professionally under-qualified because she doesn’t have the courtesy to use her full name. Since the beginning I have always used both my last and first name (Jones and Mr., respectively), and I’m incredibly intelligent; I know things that only few know. Stuff like the longest side of a triangle is called the hypothesis.

Not to mention I’m pretty sure Leon is descended from Russian royalty.

You hear that everyone? All the obstacles in your life could be remedied by a Czar.

But we have adapted. If people aren’t going to come to us for advice, we’re going to just have to take their inquires. Leon has bred a hyper-aggressive flock of carrier pigeons trained to intercept mail in the hopes we manage to land a letter to an advice column. So far the success ratio isn’t that impressive, but on the plus side the pigeons have came back with all kinds of goodies, including a copy of Maxim, a flyer for the March of Dimes, and a postman’s eyeball.

This morning, however, one of our pigeons brought back a letter seeking advice just as we eventually hoped they would when Leon started creating these filthy, red-eyed abominations. You should see these fucking birds. They’re an absolute affront to God.

Turns out, it was a letter addressed to “Abby.” It reads:

DEAR ABBY: I am 19 years old and have known a girl I'll call Emma for a couple of years. She's 14 and like a member of my family -- a little sister. My parents joke that Emma is their second daughter.

Emma is an only child and lives with her mother. Her dad is an alcoholic who is currently serving time in prison. Lately Emma has been hanging out with a group of 18- and 19-year-old boys who let her drink and smoke pot with them. People say she's just "doing what all teens do," but I have never smoked or had a drink in my life.

Should I tell Emma's mother what's going on and risk losing our relationship, or should I wait to see if it's just a phase? I feel responsible, but don't know what to do. -- BIG SISTER IN OKLAHOMA

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Dear BIG SISTER IN OKLAHOMA: I am calling bullshit on your story. No one named Emma is that cool. Just like naming your kid Jeeves pretty much ensures he’ll become a butler, naming your daughter Emma ensures she’ll spend her adult wife knitting sweaters for no one until arthritis sets in and she is forced to give up her one joy in life and just begs for the sweet, forgiving embrace of death.

Unless Emma isn’t her real name, and you’re just using a pseudonym to protect her identity but I find this even more troublesome. Out of all the names in the world you picked Emma? Where the fuck do you get off? And, more importantly, were you really worried she was going to read Dear Abby and think “Oh shit, is that me?” No! She’s too busy being a victim of statutory rape and smoking pot to read!

It appears to me that “Emma” here has grown up. BIG SISTER IN OKLAHOMA, I suggest you do the same.

Best of luck,
Mr. Jones