Dear Aunt Slugger,
I am running for President of the United States, and I recently put together this really patriotic video in which I outlined the most important issues facing our country today: gay people and Christmas trees in public schools. You fix those two issues, and other, lesser issues like the economy, the unemployment rate, skyrocketing health insurance costs, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and our abysmal public school system will fix themselves.
So I write to you in the hopes of securing your endorsement in my presidential bid. Please let me know if you can be of assistance in this matter.
Sincerely,
Rick Perry
Sir,
Thank you for your letter. I was really impressed by your video; until I saw it, I couldn't think of an easy, fluid way to simultaneously complain about gay people who have put their lives on the line for you AND claim that Christians are systematically oppressed across the nation. Remarkably well done.
But if I may be frank, Adolf, I won't be able to offer you or your video the Coveted Aunt Slugger Seal of Approval (CASSA) because you are OUT OF YOUR MOTHERFUCKING MIND.
Honestly, I am sick and fucking tired of telling stories about my childhood, but it's ONCE AGAIN time to pull up the old rocking chair and gather 'round the fireplace in your footed pajamas to listen to your Aunt Slugger.
In my last column, I mentioned that I grew up celebrating Christmas, but I also mentioned that the Slugger family is not a religious family. I have never been to church. Contrary to popular opinion, this does NOT mean that we sacrifice animals in our spare time or smear blood on our faces during midnight rituals in which we communicate with warlocks. We are actually just a normal family.
However, not being religious was not common in my Midwestern hometown. It was so uncommon, in fact, that we had religious education in the public schools, in the form of "release time." This meant that you were released from school to go pursue religious education...which was parked in a trailer immediately next to school property. If you think this is a joke, you have obviously not been to the Midwest.
Your parents had to sign a consent form for you to go to religious education, and I was one of two students whose parents did not sign the consent form. So the two of us sat in the classroom, doing nothing, while everyone else went to the trailer.
As an adult, looking back on it, the idea of a bunch of kids being trapped in a cramped trailer with some proselytizing creep sounds worse than prison. But as a youth, I felt isolated, ostracized. My classmates routinely told me I was going to hell and that I was a bad person for not believing in Jesus Christ. Some adults (insane adults, but adults nevertheless) said it, too.
(Note: Before I receive 6,887 emails from people trying to convert me: It won't work. Your emails will make me want to convert even less. So stop it before you start it.)
My point here is that even when the school is TECHNICALLY separating church and state ("release time" is legal), kids in the minority religion (or, in my case, the minority non-religion) still feel like shit. THIS IS WHY WE HAVE A SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE. THIS IS WHY YOUR KID CAN'T SING "O HOLY NIGHT" IN A PUBLIC SCHOOL CONCERT. Your kid CAN pray on his or her own time at school. He or she CAN wear a cross to school. He or she CAN wear a "WWJD" bracelet. It's when the school tries to force ALL STUDENTS to do something that is specific to ONE FAITH that we have a HUGE MOTHERFUCKING PROBLEM.
Do you understand what I'm saying, Rick Perry? No one is telling your kid he or she can't celebrate Christmas. We're telling the SCHOOLS that they can't force all students to celebrate Christmas. Because (newsflash) NOT. EVERYONE. IS. LIKE. YOU. People celebrate different shit.
Granted, I'm sure part of the problem is that you hate people who celebrate different shit. Which is fine, because we hate your bigoted ass, too.
Not at all sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Answering life's deepest questions
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Happy Holidays
I was hoping to make it to Thanksgiving without having to issue another
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FROM YOUR AUNT SLUGGER
but it appears that we won't be able to make it that long.
Today, in the baking aisle at Stop & Shop, while I was trying my hardest to find regular gingerbread cake mix instead of that bullshit whole wheat variety, I overheard a man telling a friend that he is going to use the phrase "Merry Christmas" and not this "politically correct 'happy holidays' shit."
That's the spirit.
Now, your Aunt Slugger is not known for being the most sensitive person to grace this mortal coil, but I actually use the phrase "Happy Holidays" in situations where I do not know what a person celebrates. You want to know why? Gather 'round, kids, because Aunt Slugger is going to tell you a story.
The Slugger family is not a religious family, but we are a materialistic family, so we go hard at Christmas. I grew up in a Bible-intensive part of the country, so everyone I knew was also heavy into Christmas.
At age 17, your Aunt Slugger headed to college in a suburb of Boston. Your Aunt Slugger experienced extreme culture shock that year, because the school was 60% Jewish. Even though my paternal grandfather was Jewish, and my father was raised Jewish, the closest I came to experiencing Judaism growing up in my house was sprinkling kosher salt on an Easter ham.
As it turned out, attending a school with so many Jewish students had significant benefits to a non-religious person like myself, including days off for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Shmini Atzeret, and Passover. (Hannukah, it happens, is not considered a major holiday in the Jewish faith, and the very religious Jews don't give large gifts for Hannukah. You're supposed to give practical gifts, like an umbrella or a protractor. It sounds like a terrible holiday. "Go big or go home" is my motto.)
At this school, non-Jews were in the minority. Not being an especially sensitive person, I didn't really care if someone assumed I was Jewish or assumed I was celebrating a Jewish holiday. Because, well, if you really think about it, we should all just be grateful when a stranger is wishing us well instead of trying to gun us down with an automatic weapon. But the same people who piss and moan about the trend toward saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" would probably launch a hand grenade at the first person to wish them a Happy Yom Kippur. (Not that there's anything happy about that morbid fucking holiday.)
So keep that in mind: If you wouldn't want someone to wish you a Happy Sukkot because you are not part of a religion that builds a temporary outdoor hut and eats all your meals in it for a week*, then don't assume people want you to wish them a Merry Christmas. It's that simple.
*This holiday usually falls in mid-October. Your Aunt Slugger tried to reconnect with her latent Judaism by eating in this hut a few times during college. Fuck my latent Judaism; the hut was cold.
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FROM YOUR AUNT SLUGGER
but it appears that we won't be able to make it that long.
Today, in the baking aisle at Stop & Shop, while I was trying my hardest to find regular gingerbread cake mix instead of that bullshit whole wheat variety, I overheard a man telling a friend that he is going to use the phrase "Merry Christmas" and not this "politically correct 'happy holidays' shit."
That's the spirit.
Now, your Aunt Slugger is not known for being the most sensitive person to grace this mortal coil, but I actually use the phrase "Happy Holidays" in situations where I do not know what a person celebrates. You want to know why? Gather 'round, kids, because Aunt Slugger is going to tell you a story.
The Slugger family is not a religious family, but we are a materialistic family, so we go hard at Christmas. I grew up in a Bible-intensive part of the country, so everyone I knew was also heavy into Christmas.
At age 17, your Aunt Slugger headed to college in a suburb of Boston. Your Aunt Slugger experienced extreme culture shock that year, because the school was 60% Jewish. Even though my paternal grandfather was Jewish, and my father was raised Jewish, the closest I came to experiencing Judaism growing up in my house was sprinkling kosher salt on an Easter ham.
As it turned out, attending a school with so many Jewish students had significant benefits to a non-religious person like myself, including days off for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Shmini Atzeret, and Passover. (Hannukah, it happens, is not considered a major holiday in the Jewish faith, and the very religious Jews don't give large gifts for Hannukah. You're supposed to give practical gifts, like an umbrella or a protractor. It sounds like a terrible holiday. "Go big or go home" is my motto.)
At this school, non-Jews were in the minority. Not being an especially sensitive person, I didn't really care if someone assumed I was Jewish or assumed I was celebrating a Jewish holiday. Because, well, if you really think about it, we should all just be grateful when a stranger is wishing us well instead of trying to gun us down with an automatic weapon. But the same people who piss and moan about the trend toward saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" would probably launch a hand grenade at the first person to wish them a Happy Yom Kippur. (Not that there's anything happy about that morbid fucking holiday.)
So keep that in mind: If you wouldn't want someone to wish you a Happy Sukkot because you are not part of a religion that builds a temporary outdoor hut and eats all your meals in it for a week*, then don't assume people want you to wish them a Merry Christmas. It's that simple.
*This holiday usually falls in mid-October. Your Aunt Slugger tried to reconnect with her latent Judaism by eating in this hut a few times during college. Fuck my latent Judaism; the hut was cold.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Facebook Status Updates
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FROM AUNT SLUGGER
I know it's been a while since your Aunt Slugger has posted, and I owe you all an apology for that, but there are more pressing matters at hand. I saw something today that I just couldn't let go.
Today on Facebook, multiple people posted the following status update, word for word:
I know it's been a while since your Aunt Slugger has posted, and I owe you all an apology for that, but there are more pressing matters at hand. I saw something today that I just couldn't let go.
Today on Facebook, multiple people posted the following status update, word for word:
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Relocating
Dear Loyal Aunt Slugger Readers:
As some of you may have already heard, the Dear Aunt Slugger Headquarters will be moving from Cambridge, Massachusetts, to Melrose, Massachusetts, effective August 11, 2011. Please do not be alarmed; this move will not affect your subscription to Dear Aunt Slugger. You will continue to receive the same unpredictable posts and non-existent service that you have come to expect over the past few years.
Your Aunt Slugger has received a number of questions about the move, which I will attempt to answer here, in this Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ). If you have any additional questions, please take them up with your Congressional Representative.
Q: Why is the Dear Aunt Slugger HQ moving?
A: For the same reason that anyone leaves Cambridge: one too many hipster bicyclists stuck in my wheel well.
Q: Where is Melrose?
A: This is a good question; your Aunt Slugger had never heard of Melrose until deciding to move there. Insofar as I can tell, based on the drive there to look at apartments, it is located here:
But it could be further out; I am not sure. Also, please adjust your browser settings to receive updates to this website via Morse Code and smoke signals.
Q: Do you have any tips for moving or packing?
A: Yes, only pack what your cat or other domesticated mammal can carry on his or her back. Also, stop decorating your house now in case you have to move someday. It's those decorations that will haunt your dreams at night. Closets seem as though they should be the worst because you realize exactly how many sweaters you own (38) versus how many you wear (7), but clothes are easy to either throw in a box or accidentally leave in the oven at 350 degrees.
It's the knick-knacks, like the plastic vampire chicken McNugget toy that you've been hauling from apartment to apartment since you went away to college and have been carefully putting on a shelf and periodically dusting off and admiring over the years. Like, you don't want to leave that in the oven with your pit-stained L.L. Bean t-shirts, but what do you do with it? So it gets packed. Again. And again. Until you either grow some balls and throw it out or someone firebombs your house.
Q: Are you getting rid of anything that I could have?
A: Two used napkins, a Target receipt from 2009, and an expired can of chick peas. I will be posting them on Craigslist.
As some of you may have already heard, the Dear Aunt Slugger Headquarters will be moving from Cambridge, Massachusetts, to Melrose, Massachusetts, effective August 11, 2011. Please do not be alarmed; this move will not affect your subscription to Dear Aunt Slugger. You will continue to receive the same unpredictable posts and non-existent service that you have come to expect over the past few years.
Your Aunt Slugger has received a number of questions about the move, which I will attempt to answer here, in this Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ). If you have any additional questions, please take them up with your Congressional Representative.
Q: Why is the Dear Aunt Slugger HQ moving?
A: For the same reason that anyone leaves Cambridge: one too many hipster bicyclists stuck in my wheel well.
Q: Where is Melrose?
A: This is a good question; your Aunt Slugger had never heard of Melrose until deciding to move there. Insofar as I can tell, based on the drive there to look at apartments, it is located here:
But it could be further out; I am not sure. Also, please adjust your browser settings to receive updates to this website via Morse Code and smoke signals.Q: Do you have any tips for moving or packing?
A: Yes, only pack what your cat or other domesticated mammal can carry on his or her back. Also, stop decorating your house now in case you have to move someday. It's those decorations that will haunt your dreams at night. Closets seem as though they should be the worst because you realize exactly how many sweaters you own (38) versus how many you wear (7), but clothes are easy to either throw in a box or accidentally leave in the oven at 350 degrees.
It's the knick-knacks, like the plastic vampire chicken McNugget toy that you've been hauling from apartment to apartment since you went away to college and have been carefully putting on a shelf and periodically dusting off and admiring over the years. Like, you don't want to leave that in the oven with your pit-stained L.L. Bean t-shirts, but what do you do with it? So it gets packed. Again. And again. Until you either grow some balls and throw it out or someone firebombs your house.
Q: Are you getting rid of anything that I could have?
A: Two used napkins, a Target receipt from 2009, and an expired can of chick peas. I will be posting them on Craigslist.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
This One's For You, Eden
A few months ago, I saw a post on Facebook that the first five friends to randomly appear in your friend list will be on your team in the event of a zombie apocalypse. I looked, and one of my five friends was an old friend of mine, Eden.
This was a reassuring thought to me, because Eden and I had been very good friends back in the day, when we were fellow Pirates at Memorial Park Middle School in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Even more reassuring was the fact that Eden had attended Harvard Law School and passed the Florida Bar Exam, two accomplishments that make a zombie apocalypse look like amateur hour.
At the time, I had this image in my head of pulling my car into Eden's driveway in Florida. She'd answer the door holding a sawed-off shotgun, with a grenade strapped to her chest, give me a hug, and commence a detailed strategy meeting for how we were going to tackle this pesky zombie issue.
Don't judge me; this is why I am an advice columnist and not a novelist.
As it happens, Eden is tackling a different zombie right now, which you can read about here.
Eden Essex Banks, Fellow Pirate, Lead General Counsel of Zombie Apocalypse Team X, Friend:
Fight on, comrade, fight on.
This was a reassuring thought to me, because Eden and I had been very good friends back in the day, when we were fellow Pirates at Memorial Park Middle School in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Even more reassuring was the fact that Eden had attended Harvard Law School and passed the Florida Bar Exam, two accomplishments that make a zombie apocalypse look like amateur hour.
At the time, I had this image in my head of pulling my car into Eden's driveway in Florida. She'd answer the door holding a sawed-off shotgun, with a grenade strapped to her chest, give me a hug, and commence a detailed strategy meeting for how we were going to tackle this pesky zombie issue.
Don't judge me; this is why I am an advice columnist and not a novelist.
As it happens, Eden is tackling a different zombie right now, which you can read about here.
Eden Essex Banks, Fellow Pirate, Lead General Counsel of Zombie Apocalypse Team X, Friend:
Fight on, comrade, fight on.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Rahm Emanuel
Many of you saw this clip from cnn.com in which Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel walked out of an interview after he was asked whether he would send his children to the Chicago public schools. Your Aunt Slugger has decided to weigh in on this topic, since I don't really have anything better to do.
You should watch the clip, but in case you miss it, here are the highlights:
1.) A reporter asks Rahm Emanuel if he will send his kids to the public schools.
2.) His response is something snide like, "Oh [name of reporter]? Let me break the news to you: My children are not in a public position. The mayor is."
3.) He walks out.
Oh, Rahm Emanuel? Let me break the news to you: No one is saying your children are in a public position. But we are saying that your decision about where to send your kids sends a message to your constituents about your confidence (or lack thereof) in the Chicago public school system. So we have a right to know ("we" meaning the citizens of Chicago and me, their unofficial mouthpiece operating out of an apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts).
And furthermore, don't try to twist this into a "the media is attacking my poor, innocent family" situation. Fuck you, Rahm Emanuel. A.) As mentioned above, stop crying wolf, you big sissy, and answer the question. And B.) You're the mayor of Chicago. You brought them into this. Responsible journalists will give them some degree of distance, but you knew when you signed up for this shit that there are all sorts of crazy fucks out there, including (but not limited to) your own big fat fucking mouth, which seems to operate on its own terms.
As an aside, in case anyone is wondering, yes, your Aunt Slugger did attend public school from elementary through high school, and yes, I ate the public school food and wore the public school-provided gym clothes. I still have polyester burns on my thighs, but I'm a better person for it.
You should watch the clip, but in case you miss it, here are the highlights:
1.) A reporter asks Rahm Emanuel if he will send his kids to the public schools.
2.) His response is something snide like, "Oh [name of reporter]? Let me break the news to you: My children are not in a public position. The mayor is."
3.) He walks out.
Oh, Rahm Emanuel? Let me break the news to you: No one is saying your children are in a public position. But we are saying that your decision about where to send your kids sends a message to your constituents about your confidence (or lack thereof) in the Chicago public school system. So we have a right to know ("we" meaning the citizens of Chicago and me, their unofficial mouthpiece operating out of an apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts).
And furthermore, don't try to twist this into a "the media is attacking my poor, innocent family" situation. Fuck you, Rahm Emanuel. A.) As mentioned above, stop crying wolf, you big sissy, and answer the question. And B.) You're the mayor of Chicago. You brought them into this. Responsible journalists will give them some degree of distance, but you knew when you signed up for this shit that there are all sorts of crazy fucks out there, including (but not limited to) your own big fat fucking mouth, which seems to operate on its own terms.
As an aside, in case anyone is wondering, yes, your Aunt Slugger did attend public school from elementary through high school, and yes, I ate the public school food and wore the public school-provided gym clothes. I still have polyester burns on my thighs, but I'm a better person for it.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Yet Another Important Life Tip from Your Aunt Slugger
Today's topic is:
Are you fucking kidding me?
It's been a slow day here at Aunt Slugger headquarters, now that I'm done offering advice to that SEAL team in Pakistan, so I've had the chance to catch up on my news. My day started out well with the piece about the baby aardvark in Tampa, but was ruined by this bullshit article.
For those of you who aren't able to access CNN, the article is about a kid in Virginia who organized a massive rock concert in his hometown featuring major names in rock music. Awesome. Nicely done, kid. I love stories like that: Young kid, taking on the world, defying the odds, etc. But then he just goes and fucks it up by saying this:
“I was just so fired up for Christ coming home from that camp I said, ‘All right God, what’s my purpose?'”
And it somehow gets worse.
"He went to a small local Christian rock festival, and then it hit him. He said he felt God’s call to be a rock promoter – right now."
Folks - here's an important life tip. Read this very carefully:
If you believe in a god who wants you to use what are apparently incredible organizational skills to put together a rock concert rather than work toward ending the unfathomable amount of human suffering in this world, then your god is an asshole.
I realize that this is a controversial life tip. I really don't care. I am not saying that putting together a huge rock concert isn't fun, rewarding, or impressive. I am not saying not to do it. I am saying that if there is a god out there, and this is where his/her priorities are, then he can kiss my fucking ass.
On that note, back to the photos of the hairless baby aardvark.
Are you fucking kidding me?
It's been a slow day here at Aunt Slugger headquarters, now that I'm done offering advice to that SEAL team in Pakistan, so I've had the chance to catch up on my news. My day started out well with the piece about the baby aardvark in Tampa, but was ruined by this bullshit article.
For those of you who aren't able to access CNN, the article is about a kid in Virginia who organized a massive rock concert in his hometown featuring major names in rock music. Awesome. Nicely done, kid. I love stories like that: Young kid, taking on the world, defying the odds, etc. But then he just goes and fucks it up by saying this:
“I was just so fired up for Christ coming home from that camp I said, ‘All right God, what’s my purpose?'”
And it somehow gets worse.
"He went to a small local Christian rock festival, and then it hit him. He said he felt God’s call to be a rock promoter – right now."
Folks - here's an important life tip. Read this very carefully:
If you believe in a god who wants you to use what are apparently incredible organizational skills to put together a rock concert rather than work toward ending the unfathomable amount of human suffering in this world, then your god is an asshole.
I realize that this is a controversial life tip. I really don't care. I am not saying that putting together a huge rock concert isn't fun, rewarding, or impressive. I am not saying not to do it. I am saying that if there is a god out there, and this is where his/her priorities are, then he can kiss my fucking ass.
On that note, back to the photos of the hairless baby aardvark.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
An Open Letter to the United States Congress
To the Representatives and Senators of the United States Congress:
I am relieved that we have freedom of speech in this country because if we didn't, I would've been hauled in front of the firing squad a long time ago, and because I really need to get this off my chest right now:
You fuckers are a disgrace.
Now, before you get upset, let me just say that I do have a great deal of appreciation for you people. The world would be a tragic and depressing place without the brand of humor that you have provided us for hundreds of years. I mean, the Larry Craig thing happened in 2007, and I am still getting mileage out of it. So I really do cherish your existence.
In fact, it's a little weird that I feel compelled to write to you now, at this point, given that I have become so accustomed to the comedy of errors that occurs in the Capitol each day. And just last weekend I was at a Whole Foods in Cambridge, Massachusetts, so I honestly thought I had seen the depths of human depravity.
But here we are. Somehow, against all odds, you motherfuckers still manage to shock me.
So I am going to provide you with some key points to bear in mind as you continue to fuck around with the budget.
First, stop acting like fucking babies. I realize this is asking a lot, but make the effort.
Second, stop trying to toss unrelated shit into the budget proposals. If you want to make it illegal to eat olive loaf on Wednesdays, THEN BRING IT UP LATER. Write another proposal. Stop trying to sneak it in there with the budget because it's NOT RELATED.
And third, start thinking about someone other than yourselves. Again, I realize this is asking a lot. But perhaps give some thought to the fact that if you can't get your shit together, there are people--real people, not crackpot narcissists like yourselves--who will experience real and painful suffering. People who need their paychecks. People who have devoted themselves to public service or the defense of our nation (which, tragically, includes you). Have some fucking respect for those people.
If you have any questions, I honestly don't give a shit.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I am relieved that we have freedom of speech in this country because if we didn't, I would've been hauled in front of the firing squad a long time ago, and because I really need to get this off my chest right now:
You fuckers are a disgrace.
Now, before you get upset, let me just say that I do have a great deal of appreciation for you people. The world would be a tragic and depressing place without the brand of humor that you have provided us for hundreds of years. I mean, the Larry Craig thing happened in 2007, and I am still getting mileage out of it. So I really do cherish your existence.
In fact, it's a little weird that I feel compelled to write to you now, at this point, given that I have become so accustomed to the comedy of errors that occurs in the Capitol each day. And just last weekend I was at a Whole Foods in Cambridge, Massachusetts, so I honestly thought I had seen the depths of human depravity.
But here we are. Somehow, against all odds, you motherfuckers still manage to shock me.
So I am going to provide you with some key points to bear in mind as you continue to fuck around with the budget.
First, stop acting like fucking babies. I realize this is asking a lot, but make the effort.
Second, stop trying to toss unrelated shit into the budget proposals. If you want to make it illegal to eat olive loaf on Wednesdays, THEN BRING IT UP LATER. Write another proposal. Stop trying to sneak it in there with the budget because it's NOT RELATED.
And third, start thinking about someone other than yourselves. Again, I realize this is asking a lot. But perhaps give some thought to the fact that if you can't get your shit together, there are people--real people, not crackpot narcissists like yourselves--who will experience real and painful suffering. People who need their paychecks. People who have devoted themselves to public service or the defense of our nation (which, tragically, includes you). Have some fucking respect for those people.
If you have any questions, I honestly don't give a shit.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Important Life Tip from Your Aunt Slugger
Today's topic is: Weird people.
So a few months ago, the following music video was brought to my attention:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atBg9zLI2bA
This song made your Aunt Slugger realize that perhaps organized religion does indeed have something to offer.
Anyway, to make a long story short, a few days ago, I clicked that I "liked" the singer's page on Facebook. This is a stronger gesture than it may seem, since the last band that your Aunt Slugger professed to like enough to see in concert was the BeeGees, most of whom had died by that point anyway.
The singer seems to update his status a lot, which I would complain about, but I can't bitch about his status updates without first devoting an entire column to the people who post their treadmill activity on Facebook. (Yes, I'm coming for you.) So I clicked on one of these status updates today, and I was struck not by the update itself but by the comments. Each update had no fewer than thirty comments, all from women, and all containing either little hearts or phrases like, "Hugs and kisses!"
Take a moment to read that last sentence again.
Folks, here is a tip for you, and I cannot emphasize this enough. Posting little hearts or so-called cute comments on the page of a famous person that you don't know personally is the QUICKEST and MOST EFFICIENT WAY to make yourself look like a deranged stalker. So CUT THAT SHIT OUT.
Thank you.
Aunt Slugger
So a few months ago, the following music video was brought to my attention:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atBg9zLI2bA
This song made your Aunt Slugger realize that perhaps organized religion does indeed have something to offer.
Anyway, to make a long story short, a few days ago, I clicked that I "liked" the singer's page on Facebook. This is a stronger gesture than it may seem, since the last band that your Aunt Slugger professed to like enough to see in concert was the BeeGees, most of whom had died by that point anyway.
The singer seems to update his status a lot, which I would complain about, but I can't bitch about his status updates without first devoting an entire column to the people who post their treadmill activity on Facebook. (Yes, I'm coming for you.) So I clicked on one of these status updates today, and I was struck not by the update itself but by the comments. Each update had no fewer than thirty comments, all from women, and all containing either little hearts or phrases like, "Hugs and kisses!"
Take a moment to read that last sentence again.
Folks, here is a tip for you, and I cannot emphasize this enough. Posting little hearts or so-called cute comments on the page of a famous person that you don't know personally is the QUICKEST and MOST EFFICIENT WAY to make yourself look like a deranged stalker. So CUT THAT SHIT OUT.
Thank you.
Aunt Slugger
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