Dear Captain Obvious: I drove from Seattle to Wisconsin with my precocious daughter and earthly possessions after getting laid off from work and evicted from my apartment. My crackhead sister told me that Genoa City was the promise land, and that her son, my college student nephew, was adopted by some rich family and living the high life. Boy, she wasn’t kidding, my cup runneth over since the day I landed, unannounced on his doorstep. Couch Surfer.
Dear Couch Surfer: Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the dumbest of them all? I’ll give you a hint: she’s a woman who drove 2000 miles from the West Coast to the Midwest so that she can mooch off of her young nephew when instead she could have used the $3000* she probably spent on gasoline, food and a motel to move into a less expensive apartment and work odd jobs until she got back on her feet. She probably took a few hits from her sister’s crack pipe before she took the trip too.
Dear Captain Obvious: It’s official! I’m a killer! After a year of wearing many hats: I’ve been a slithering blackmailer, a political pundit and a co-CEO turned gold-digging gambler. As luck would have it I can now add murderer to that comprehensive list. Boy, is my wife gonna shit bricks when she finds out. Big Trouble In Little Chow-na.
Dear Big Trouble: So, you’re a murderer, big deal. Show me someone in this town who hasn’t killed or at least tried to kill someone else. I guarantee your wife’s past is not as squeaky clean as you think. Get out your archeology excavation tools and collect some skeleton samples from her closet. Those old bones will come in handy to throw back in her face when she inevitably tells you that you disgust her. Then announce that you’re filing for divorce because it’s beneath you to be with someone who has no moral compass.
Dear Captain Obvious: I went to Indigo, you know “Where the night comes alive”? Except it wasn’t night. It was morning, around 10:30 in the morning as a matter of fact. I’d heard the town crier announce that they were serving breakfast. I thought it was a little strange that a Jazz nightclub would serve eggs benedict and frappaccino so I decided to do some snooping around. Damn if that wasn’t some good eggs and coffee. The problem is I own the only coffee shop in town, which means those Indigo bastards are trying to slice into my caffeine monopoly. What should I do? CoffeePin.
Dear CoffeePin: The only thing you can do my friend—have the club burned down to the ground and its owner hung upside down over a balcony until he begs for mercy. Clearly this breakfast and jazz mishmash embodies everything we Genoans fear: variety. My god, I get cold sweats just thinking about it. Report back once the ashes settle.
Dear Captain Obvious: I simply adore being the bearer of bad news. I saw my boss’s husband gambling away like a rabid dog during my honeymoon in Vegas (I happen to have the inside scoop that he has a little “problem”, if you know what I mean) so I decided to tell my boss about it. When will she thank me for ruining her marriage and how soon can I expect a promotion? Opportunist.
Dear Opportunist: When hell freezes over or when monkey’s fly out of her butt.
Dear Captain Obvious: No stone gathers on my ex-girlfriend’s moss apparently. What’s it been, three weeks and already she’s dating? I thought we had something special; a bond that only a professor and his nubile student can share, but I guess I was wrong. Could you help me extract this dagger plunged into my heart? Loneyville.
Dear Loneyville: You’re now free to have sex with any woman you choose but instead you’re busy pining away for some kid that stroked your ego and God knows what else? How about a 2×4 up and down the side of your head so that I can knock some sense into you? Sweet Lord, if I could stitch a quilt from this town’s stupidity, it would cover the world.
Dear Captain Obvious: After wearing an original design I like to call, ‘Raggedy- Ann On Crack’ into work the other day, my employers helped me realize a life-long dream of becoming a real-life caricature for their webzine. My personal life on the other hand couldn’t be worse as my boyfriend, who is away all summer, barely even contacts me. Since I’m a very needy and insecure person I decided to hook up with an old flame and soil the visitor’s couch at my job with our bodily fluids. What are the chances of me coming back from this? Witless.
Dear Witless: Sluts ahoy, mateys! Two thumbs up for your new position at work. Two thumbs down for your immense idiocy. Honestly, why not end it now? You are a disgrace.
Dear Captain Obvious: I’m a well-paid business executive that still lives at home, which it great because I don’t have to pay rent, but real inconvenient when I’m forbidden to bring women back to my house, especially ones that tried to frame my dad for murder. How am I supposed to get my freak on? Cockblocked.
Dear Cockblocked: Forgive me if I’m having difficulty getting past the fact that you have a girlfriend and yet you don’t have the balls to stand up to your old man. Let me give this one a good think and get back to you.
Dear Captain Obvious: I know for a fact that this girl at work is trying to get me into bed with her even though she friends with my girlfriend. Every time I turn around she’s in my face making every excuse in the book to be alone with me. The thing is I fall for her cheap tricks every time. I can’t explain it. I also can’t explain that while at a 4th of July pool party I munched on a huge plate of broccoli and wore heavy black boots with my khaki’s slacks. Hot Rod.
Dear Hot Rod: The food you eat and your poor fashion sense are things I cannot advise you on, I’m afraid, but I can tell you that it’s futile to refuse this woman’s advances. Just sleep with her already and get it over with. Aren’t you tired? I am.
Dear Captain Obvious: Aaargh! My husband really makes my hair curl. He refuses to agree with me on EVERYTHING. The other day, at work, we had to make a big decision with our other two partners and he totally voted against me. I told him I would enjoy telling him I told you so when his plan blows up in his face. Was I wrong? I’m always right. Know-It-All.
Dear Know-It-All: See, that’s why taking a woman out from her rightful place in front of the stove and putting her behind a desk is so dangerous. You give her the illusion that her opinions matter when they don’t.
Originally published: Jul-5-2008
Author’s note: *calculations based on an average price of gasoline at $4.30 per gallon and Tyra’s car giving about 3 miles to the gallon. Too much time on my hands you say? I know, I know. I’m not exactly proud that I came up with this.
