Dear Captain Obvious: My friend’s think I’ve got a few screws loose because my wife insists on living in a pool house behind the ancestral home she and her dead husband use to share and I’m going along with it. Even less to my credit, my wife wants to buy her dead husband’s financially unstable company and I’m sinking millions of my money to get it for her. It’s getting to be a real hassle on game night when the fellas rag on me to amuse themselves. How do I tell them to back off? Love My Wife.
Dear L.M.W.: I suspect your friends are jealous. And who wouldn’t be considering the circumstances; not every man has the chance to piss away millions for no good reason on a daily basis.
Dear Captain Obvious: I find it a little strange that my boyfriend, who owns a nightclub and a private jet in addition to earning a seven-figure salary as CEO of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, is living in a tiny three bedroom wooden box he calls an apartment. He recently asked me to move in with him and I really want to, however, I can’t help but wonder if he’s living under these wretched circumstances in order to hoard and save money. I want to confront him on this issue but have no idea where to begin. Do you have any suggestions? Concerned.
Dear Concerned: Sadly your boyfriend is not alone. There are quiet a few residents of Genoa City who suffer from unfounded money paranoia and choose to exist well below their means. Though I don’t base my findings on any research per se, I do know for a fact that the millionaire population in this town has an affinity for squatting in barns, pool and tree houses in lieu of enjoying their wealth. It’s an epidemic to say the least. If you wish to have a life with your mentally ill boyfriend you’ll just have to grow accustomed to the idea of clipping coupons and reading by candlelight in order to save on the electricity bill. Living in a wooden box may not be as terrible as you imagine. If you don’t believe me ask hamsters.
Dear Captain Obvious: For not being able to hold my liquor I have received the wonderful gift of a pixie-sized sociopathic baby mamma and it’s annoying me to no end. I dream hourly about ending her life, but wouldn’t dare because I’m up to my eyeballs in being an inexperienced CEO of a scandal-ridden cosmetics company. How do I make time in my busy schedule to get rid of her? Fed up.
Dear Fed Up: Making time for anything requires organization. If you’re like most Genoa City residents you probably spend a bulk of your day inexplicably lolling about the college campus coffee shop, Crimson Lights. If you could cut your loitering by at least two hours per day it may free up your time for other activities, say murder for example.
Dear Captain Obvious: My new boyfriend is still not quite over his ex-girlfriend, which is more than a little disconcerting to me considering how many times I’ve tried to distract him with my naked body. My plan to screw him senseless would work if only his bimbo ex would keep her distance. Other than urinating a parameter around him to mark my territory, what else can be done to break the tie that binds these two together? Next Girlfriend.
Dear Next Girlfriend: Sounds like you’re taking the high road. Though I commend you on the progress you’ve made so far, it would behoove you to try a few more things to extricate this pest permanently. First, build a scarecrow and dress it in your skimpiest underwear then hang it over the front door of your man’s home (it’s a little known fact that not only do scarecrows keep birds from disturbing crops but they petrify ex-girlfriends as well). You may also want to try laying down traps in places where your boyfriend frequents. Finally, buy a Taser gun on your next trip to the store. The minute you see the bimbo slinking toward your man let her have it. Be prepared to show no mercy, as these creature’s resilience can make zombies look docile.
Dear Captain Obvious: Faced with the prospect of never setting foot inside another corporate boardroom this side of the galaxy–all because my father couldn’t get over the fact that I betrayed him–I’ve decided to join forces with his arch nemesis to seek revenge. Wait till you hear our brilliant plan: I’m going to help write a scathing article about him and release it to the media! I’m all about danger and intrigue dontchaknow. Begotten Son.
Dear Begotten Son: You’re right, that does sound terrifying. I wouldn’t want to be your dad when he reads that article; everyone knows that words on a paper, especially written by authors with an axe to grind, are THE most dangerous forms of annihilation in existence. Remind me never to get on your bad side.
Dear Captain Obvious: I found a letter my wife wrote to her ex-husband wedged betwixt the moldy seat cushions of my couch. ‘What’s this?’ I wondered, and furrowed by brows to punctuate my displeasure. Later in the day I confronted my wife and again furrowed my very substantial eyebrows; they failed to intimidate her, it seemed, because she claimed innocence contrary to my accusations that she still has feelings for her ex. How do I squeeze the truth out of her? Suspect.
Dear Suspect: When my girlfriend was less forthcoming about her late night telephone calls to unknown persons I built a cell to hold her captive in my basement. At night, while the rest of the house was asleep I crept downstairs to begin the ritual of Chinese water torture. Eventually she admitted that she was planning a surprise birthday party for me. Boy, did I feel like an ass!
Originally published: Sep-22-2008
