Dear Tim

Dear Tim,
I’m flying home to see my family over Thanksgiving and I’m bringing my boyfriend with me. The problem, is my family is thoroughly embarrassing (think Margo’s real family in Royal Tenenbaums) and, if my boyfriend meets them, I know he’ll freak. How can I get my family to act like normal people for just a few days.
Signed,
Family Feud

FF,
That’s quite a predicament you are in. Frankly, I don’t care. I don’t think you really know what a dysfunctional family is until you’ve spent Turkey Day at my crib. For example, I would bet your aunt doesn't drink a box of Franzia then pop in the B52’s for karaoke. I also bet your grandpops doesn’t eat his dinner in stained whitie-tighties because “ma damn belt keeps me from finishi n this here third helpin’!” The only reasonable option at a big family swinefest is to get drunker then everyone else (a difficult task at my place). Once you’ve achieved that, the only thing left to do is tell them you’ve already made plans for Christmas at his place. Then you take the Green Tortoise bus to Mex, have sex on the beach and blow off the rest of the lame holidays.

Dear Tim,
I’m still in shock about that war-mongering hick getting re-elected to office. What should I do?
Signed,
Lucy Liberal

Lucy,
I get at least two of these letters a week, and for the (short) life of me, I don’t know what to do either! If there is a god (most likely Buddha) he’ll order more hurricanes to Florida and the rest of the South next year. I’m afraid we’re pretty much stuck with the little madman at the controls for now. Personally, I’ve found that drinking heavily, hiding out at community college for four years, and putting my head inside my guitar amp at volume 11 has helped. For the record, I would just like to say that if GW let me punch him once, just once in the face, I would feel whole lot better about four more years. Okay, maybe not.

Dear Tim,
Why are there so many typos in your column? Don't you know how to use spell check?
Signed,
Grammar Matters

Gramma(r) Matters,
Firsz off, i don’d macke xcusez 4r mi “tyepos”. Everything I do has a porpoise (yes, as in the gregarious toothed whale). I’m afraid you’re just too stoopid to understand the subtlety of my writing. Secondly, when you drink a fifth of Jack before checking your email, what do you expect? Besides, checking my eBay account to see if I’ve won, say, a Hello Kitty wallet chain, has priority over you. Moreover, I’ve blackmailed our staff with a collection of compromising photos so I answer to no one until I’m fired (oh yeah, that was yesterday).

Dear Tim,
How come you never give advice in your so-called advice column.
Signed,
Dear Abbey

Abbs,
Rad! Dear Abbey is writing ME of all people!!! I don’t know how you got my lowly e-mail address, but I’ve had this reoccurring dream of us getting it on. Or was this reality? Could that have been you at 3 a.m. last night getting out of my bed? I thought you looked a bit old, creaking over to find your things. Sorry I was too tired to find the light for you or get you a glass of water or a towel or something. And if it was you, I think we need to have a conference call with Doctor Ruth. Our bedroom issues should be cleared up before we disseminate any further advice to these impressionable youth.