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Mr. Know-It-All: Return of the King

11 Nov

from November 14, 2006

Time again for Mr. Know-It-All’s favorite column: Mr. Know-It-All.

Once again, I’ll give advice  to those poor souls stupid enough to pour their pathetic hearts out in a national forum. My one regret is that these are anonymous letters. Otherwise they’d get the public shame and humiliation these tools deserve. (Is Mr. Know-It-All harsh? Of course he is. That’s what makes him charming.)

Let’s start it off with my favorite senile throwback to the good old days, the 1950’s. (You remember the 1950’s: When suburbia meant no black people, Jews were kept out of country clubs, women kept house and wore pearls, and McCarthyism ran wild, but damn if everyone didn’t write thank you notes with beautiful calligraphy.) Take it, Ms. Manners.

Dear Miss Manners:

Every morning, I come into work and the woman in the next office says “Good morning,” and I say “Good morning” back. Actually, I’m just not in the mood for good mornings in the morning, but I don’t want to be rude. So, okay, I’m not a very friendly person first thing in the morning. I admit it. Does this ever reach a point where this woman risks being just a tad rude, or at least passive-aggressive, by continuing to say “Good morning”? I never say “Good morning” first and she must have noticed that.

Mr. Know-It-All has often wondered the same thing. Many’s the time when Mr. K would stumble into the office, half-baked after an evening of peyote and Cleveland Steamers, when some tool would have the nerve to come up to him and say “Good  morning.” This aggressive and obnoxious behavior has, more than once, given Mr. Know-It-All pause. “Should I just kill this turd now, or save it for later, when I can put on a mask and possibly get away with it?” Inevitably, Mr. Know-It-All stumbles to his office, falls asleep behind the bookcase, and awakes long after dark when the offender has already left. One must wonder- who actually pays Mr. Know-it-All for that?

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OK, hopefully this next bit will a tad more helpful. From Harriette Cole’s column.

DEAR HARRIETTE: I have just starting dating again after s-o-o-o-o long that I’ve forgotten the basics (or maybe they’ve changed!). I met a girl I really like her and don’t want to louse things up. The first time we went out I wanted to take her hand but didn’t, because I didn’t know if it was acceptable to do so. We did, however, kiss goodbye.

I am meeting her again tomorrow and would like your advice on whether hand-holding is acceptable, expected, a no-no or whatever on a second date. Thanks in advance.

Lawrence, Greenville, Miss

Dear Lawrence. I have taken the liberty of forwarding your letter to AARP. Here is your response from Mortimer Thaddeus Prescott, a spry young gent of 97.

Hello sonny. Holding hands, eh? Back in my day, 1925, we didn’t hold hands until after the wedding night. Back them we didn’t see any skin of the opposite gender until nigh about the fifth anniversary. Ah, I remember my anniversary well. It was 1932 and I had just married my young sweetie Agatha Philbrick, a comely lass from Nantucket whose father was in the whale-oil trade. She came from fine stock, ah yes, and her skin was of the milkiest white and oh her ankles. Many’s the long winter night I was warmed by the thought of her dainty ankle. It kept me moving during the Great War. Now I’m reminded of a scandal back in 1931, when Ebenezer Krumfeld’s dog accidentally got a hold my aunts’ corset. Oh, what a lark we had, chasing the cur hither and dale through the country-wide. Oh, those youthful days of thistle and thyme.

I hope that helps.

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Next, astrology with Eugenia Last. Before we go on, I cannot say more strongly that I do not make up any letters. This letter was actually published. You can find the link from nydailynews.com. This is a real letter. I pray that the letter writer is not serious. (He’s stolen Mr. Know-It-All’s gimmick.)

Q: Dear Eugenia,
Well on Sept 19th my fiancé of 2 years was tragically murdered over a dog that he had nothing to do with. They caught the guy, and charged him with premeditated 1st degree murder. Well after that just last week our next-door neighbor molested my 4-year-old son. I lost my job due to a sickness on Friday. My car broke down and I had to give it back. Is all this going to get better? ????? Am I going to be able to love again? Is my son ever going to forget about this .. Will I be blessed with a job with benefits? I need major help???? Why is this all happening at the same time? Why is this happening to my family and me? Has someone put a curse on us? I DO BELIEVE IN JESUS CHRIST and I do talk to him. I go to church on Sundays. What am I doing wrong????????PLEASE HELP ME???????US???????????
Scorpio

Dear Scorpio. God hates you. You are a loser. You will never be happy. And stop writing to me. Like geez, I get letters like this every damn day! What the hell do you want me to do? Gah! No wonder you have no luck- you are just so damn annoying.

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Well, I’ll give it another shot. It can only get better from here. PET ADVICE!

Name: Melanie Jones
Subject: Anal Sacks
Comments: I have a wonderful dog named Hercules who I adopted from the pound (he is 2.5 years old). We think he is mixed Rottweiler/German Shepard. He is the sweetest dog in the world, but unfortunately has several health problems. Among these are seizures, which are now “under control” thanks to Phenobarbital, and constant tail biting. After taking him to my vet, it was determined that his anal sacks were full and the vet took care of that (ouch!!). One month later, he is not as bad, but I can tell is still very uncomfortable and still bites his tail once or twice per day. It appears that his hind-end may be swollen. The vet suggested that if he continued having problems that they would most likely remove his anal sacks. I was just wondering if anyone knew anything about this problem, the various procedures involved or if anyone has any ideas on how I can make my dog feel better.
Thanks,
Melanie Jones

Heh heh heh- anal sacks! That’s funny! Take it from Mr. Know-It-All, anal sacks are funny. Look at the following example:

“Hi Bob. What’s wrong? You seem a little blue today.”
“Oh, hi Jill. I’m OK. It’s just my darn anal sacks. They feel all swollen again.”
“That’s too bad. I know a dog who had to have his removed.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Say, are we still on for our date tonight?”
“Oh no! I’d never go out with a man with swollen anal sacks!”

And another example:

“Henderson, I need those TPS reports by noon or you’re fired!”
“But sir! I have a doctor’s appointment. I’m having my anal sacks checked.”
“Unless you get those TPS reports done you’ll be out on your anal sacks!”

I could go on forever! Anal sacks! Cracks up Mr. Know-It-All every time!

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Lastly, here is Dear Abbey.

DEAR ABBY: There’s a boy in my class I have known since I was 2. He’s a great athlete, but is a tad bit full of himself. He is always playing mean pranks on me and hitting me up for money, and if I don’t give him money he hits me.

I ask him to stop, but he still does it. Abby, what do you think I should do? — 11 AND FRUSTRATED

I think you should smack him right in the anal sacks.

That’s all. I thank you. And don’t forget- get those anal sacks checked every 6 months. Nothing is more important than your health.

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2068- The End

11 Nov

from January 21, 2007

October 31st, 2067

I don’t know why I do it anymore. Nobody comes up here anyway, and I really may be the only man who even remembers Halloween around here. But I still put the decorations up- that skeleton on the door (and how hard it is to keep it from ripping year after year. It is almost impossible to find a simple decoration these days), the pumpkin cut outs in the windows, the black and orange crepe on the fence.

Back in the 50’s there was another house down the hill, Burt Anderson’s place. He used to decorate for all the old holidays- not the old traditional way, though. He was all high-tech, with holographic Santas (before this “Winter Festival” replaced all the December religious holidays and it was still possible to get enough power to run a holo-net) and shifting sky-cloud reindeer projected from his roof. But he moved on, like they all do. These days there’s just the co-op farm down the slope, and me near the top of  Henshaw’s Hill. New Buffalo is still down below, but the population these days is just a fraction of what it was before 2018. But that’s understandable.

So I’ll stay here a little while longer tonight. Nobody’s coming to trick or treat, but the sky is clear, third day this month. The satellites are still below the horizon, and I can should get enough power to my old mp4 player to listen to some good old ghost stories.

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November 15th, 2067

There was a time when this was election day. Now it’s just the day when some select few of us are allowed to assemble and listen to the Senatorum  Assembly. They know that technically I’m not supposed to be there, but I’ve lived on this hill since 2020 and I had voting rights back in Old New York City so they can’t do much to keep me out of the town square. No one takes me seriously anyway.

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November 31st, 2067

Looked all lover but I still can’t find my books. I have all the novels and all the textbooks but my own journals are gone. I think it was the Marshall. He was in here a couple of  weeks ago while I was in the square listening to Assembler Car Beck tell us how “privileged ” we are. The Marshall is always harassing me for going to the square.

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December 11th, 2067

There was a time not long ago when on my birthday I was sure to at least get a call from my brother. I haven’t heard from him in 2 years. Since there is no more cell-net and the military comm-net is unavailable this time of year I’m not expecting one. Birthday. All I’ve done is not die. And that’s quite an accomplishment for someone who’s my age and has lived through what I’ve lived through.

I’ve seen too many of my friends die, and too many others “leave.” There was a time, before The Event, that a funeral would at least give me a chance to connect with some people, but everyone I knew is gone, and the few who almost outlived me weren’t allowed funerals. And there are those about whom I don’t know and aren’t allowed to find out.

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January 1st, 2068.

They announced last night the new Social Numbering System. It’s like they’re restarting the calendar from 2018. They say that today is Union 1 Year 50. “January” is gone. Soon it will have never existed. (And me…….)

The Social Consolidated Naming System tells me that the town below is no longer New Buffalo. It is now (and I’m sure they’ll say always was) Buffalo, no more “New.”  This way they can all just forget what happened in Old Buffalo.

They also announced that the power will slacken by 38% at midnight, and the lights will negate at 1300 hours.

I still have some batteries. The Marshall keeps threatening me but he won’t find them.

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March 5, 2068.

(Progress 5 Year 50)

Many years back, in my youth, I had a stock answer about what I’d like to do with my life. I used to say that I’d live in a big house overlooking a town and have some cats to keep me company. Kind of like I’d be some town’s crazy old man. Well, the cats were outlawed, the town is nearly dead, and the house isn’t so big. But I’m still here. Ninety-eight years old. Had a family once. Had a couple of friends once upon a time.

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June 27th, 2068

(Forward 27 Year 50)

They’ve done more Social Numbering. Twelve months, thirty days each, 360 days. Spread throughout the year will be five “non-days.” On those “non-days” there will be no government services (not that there are many left, other than the co-op farms), no working, and no social interaction, by law. “Non-days” are to be spent in quiet personal reflection, with an emphasis on the greater good.

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September 8th, 2068

(Strength 6 Year 50)

Had a visit from the Marshall yesterday. I was very surprised, considering that yesterday was Non-Day 2. He wanted to know why I always had fresh vegetables throughout the summer, despite the fact that my records show no transactions at the co-op. (If only he knew what other transactions my records don’t show…) Of course I said nothing, and stood upon my Social Rights. I know that infernal book better than he does. He had me on shaky ground and he knew it. Threatened to have me in front of a Magistrates Registrar that very evening. Well, I still have a trick or two in this old head and I pulled out my last, and my best. The Marshall left, but he’ll be back, probably when I’m not around. He’ll manage to find something incriminating here. He’ll put it here himself.

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October 24th, 2068

(Emphasis 22 Year 50)

Received a “friendly” warning from  Car Beck. No Halloween this year. I’m too old to fight.

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November 1st, 2068

(Emphasis 29 Year 50)

Last night would have been Halloween.

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December 27th, 2068

(Persistence 25 Year 50)

Buffalo has been officially designated the Community Center of Northeast 2. This was formerly the tri-state area. Nowadays there’s no one left who can identify those three states. Or even know what a state was. Or would be allowed to find out. It becomes effective the first day of Year 51.

This would not have happened before The Event, but people have short attention spans and fifty years is a long time.

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