Dear Captain Obvious: Broke and almost without a pot to piss in I let my aunt convince me that flying 15+ hours to Australia was in the best interest of our company. A company that was once the proud flagship of fashion roadkill until the scathing review of a sole critic sent us circling down the drain of irrelevance. Now, i’ve been dispatched to get low-resolution snapshots of the private wedding of a competitor in hopes of feeding the insatiable appetite of my exactly 522 followers on social media. Not sure how this will help my company turn profit—my whole existence seems pointless at times to be honest. Will my aunt understand that just this one time I had to be a little classy and not piggyback off the popularity of others? Do The Right Thing.
Dear Right Thing: I wouldn’t worry too much about how your aunt is going to react. Poor people tend to be too busy trying not to be poor. So let the chips fall where they may. And speaking of chips you may want to enjoy them with some fish while you’re Down Under, that is to say, while you can still afford to feed yourself.
Dear Captain Obvious: Alone again, naturally! God, how my life has become a shit show, one that feels like I’m trapped inside some kind of hamster wheel furiously spinning away on the edge of nowhere. I’ve lost the love of my life to my brother. I’m defeated. Should I just end this now?
Dear Defeated: Hold on just a minute my woefully inadequate friend. So one woman has no use for you and you just decide it’s over? Wouldn’t it be prudent to secure a more compelling vote first? Why stop at one woman when you can confirm your distressing inadequacy with a resounding chorus of many women? Personally I think it’s the right thing to do. The sweet release of death will be much better served in wrapped in a cocoon of certainty.
Dear Captain Obvious: I despise when people doubt my ability to wear noticeably contrived wedding enables while performing high risk stunts for shock value. That’s why I had to prove them all wrong by zip lining into my wedding ceremony from the roof of the famous Opera House in Sydney, Australia. Ha! The expressions on my wedding guest’s face—eyes round as saucers and mouths agape in surprise—was worth its weight in gold. They’re lucky I nixed the idea for them to shower me and my groom with man o’ war instead of the traditional rice after the ceremony. I was being kind. Didn’t want them to die from excitement before my reception. Baddie Bride.
Dear Baddie: Nicely done! I’ve heard tales that a marriage laced with sparks of insanity can extend it’s longevity way beyond the natural shelf life of a couple years of co-habitation. Kudos to you for crashing into your new life in death-defying style. If this is the sort of thing you’re known for, please do your new husband a favor and always pack a pair of extra pants incase he shits himself from all the excitement you’ve pledged to provide.
Dear Captain Obvious: Worlds of wonder! I never cease to amaze my own damn self with my high tolerance for searing lashes of repeated rejection at the hands of a certain captivating woman who pushed me aside to recycle a doomed relationship with her ex-husband. When I tell you I did everything to make myself available to this woman—even tanking my own marriage and splitting my young son’s life between two households—and this is the way I’m forced to live?! As I type this I’m sitting on a beach watching her fawn over this cretin with envy. I’m also heavily lubricated so as to ensure the sun shines on my muscles in just the right spots, but she won’t even tear her gaze away from that idiot long enough to notice me. I hate being so pathetic but hate losing her even more. Haters Gonna Hate.
Dear Hater: I bet there are days you long for the simple existence of the Paleo man. A man who could simply club the woman of his desires over the head and drag her back to his cave to start a life together. Well, you live in 2017 where woman have rights to marry as many idiots as they choose. Therefore, you shall deal with it.
