Tag Archives: bad advice

Kid’s Letters To Santa. Mr. Know-It-All Responds (Classic Repost)

21 Dec

December 21, 2011

Here’s an oldie but a goodie. A scary, scary goodie. I’ve dug deep in the holiday archives for this one. Say hi to an old friend.

from December 8, 2007

Hi kids! Your drunken pal Mr. Know-It-All here. Somebody told me that Christmas is coming. It was that tattoo guy down on 13th street, under the train, in the old box next to the dumpster. He does great work, but I can’t remember why I had to take my pants off for an arm tattoo and why do I have these strange tattoos on my cock? They kind of look like teeth marks. Shit that crystal meth fucks you up.

But in the spirit of Christmas, I’ve got some letters to Santa I found in my office last week. Funny, I don’t remember having a big oak desk in my office, and who were all those strange people in the pictures on the wall? I must have also hired a new secretary because this one didn’t recognize me at all. For some reason I also don’t remember my office being all blurry and headachy. Mr. Know-It-All hasn’t gotten a paycheck in a while either.

Anyway, it is my pleasure to answer these questions. I love Christmas. For a long time they called me Mr. Mistletoe Pants. (The trick is to hang it off your belt right above your crotch.)

So here is letter numero uno:

Dear Santa,
This is from Marisa, Victoria and Katie. Please bring us something nice for Christmas. Please bring Mommy and Daddy something nice too!!
Have a safe trip and a Merry Christmas.

We love you,
The Wager’s Girls

Hey girls, no problem. Tell Daddy those divorce papers went through and tell Mommy that her test was positive for Chlamydia. And write back when you grow up to be the Wager’s Women. 36D and above, please.

————————————————————————-

I’ll try to bring more seasonal sunshine to the next poor kid.

Dear Mrs Claus,
Please tell Santa that we would like to ask for a Sony Playstation and the following games – Colin McCrae Rally, and Command and Conquer Retaliation. We have been good boys and have been doing our homework. It would be nice to get a couple of surprises too.

Gareth and Andrew Gone

Who the fuck do you think you are, dickshine? Who the fuck writes to MRS. Claus? That bitch better be in the kitchen making dinner for Santa and practicing her deep knee bends. When Mr. K-I-A was married he had his wife barefoot and pregnant on her wedding day. The only word she said was “more.” Then she bought a gun and the rest you can look up in the New York Times.

Anyway kid, you got a look of friggin’ nerve asking for- Hey? Your name is “Gareth?” “Gareth Gone?” I take it back kid, you better have great big balls the way your family fucked you.

——————————————–

Dear Santa:
Hi. My name is Ryan Smith, I’m 15 months old. I have tried my best to be a good boy. But I have an older sister and we sometimes don’t get along. I don’t like to share. My Mommy is helping me to e-mail you. I would like a Lights and Sounds Ernie and a surprise gift for Christmas. I like suprises. I hope that all is well in the North Pole and I guess you are all really busy getting ready for Christmas Eve. Mommy, my sister and I are going to leave you some cookies and milk. Hope you can find our home in Pugwash, Nova Scotia. Have a jolly trip on Christmas Eve.

Love, Ryan

OK, ok, alright, 15 month old kid. Let me talk to your Mom, the mastermind here.

Listen lady, what the Hell do you think you are doing writing to Santa? The kid can’t read- his mind can’t even process how the poop got in his pants. So what the fuck are you doing writing to Santa? Let me come over to “Pugwash” and give you some “Pudwash” from my “North Pole” and then you’ll give that kid a Christmas memory he’ll never forget. And no cookies and milk. I want booze and blow.

Shit yeah Mr. Know-It-All talks a good game! Too bad I can’t even take a leak without pissing my left leg.

———————————————-

Dear Santa:
I know I might not have been good this year, but could you pleas! I would be so happy! If I could have a Pocket Pickachu so happy I would not need anything else. Have a Happy Yuletide

From, Wolf

Yeah, I got a pocket Pickachu too. You’re growing up right.

———————————————–

Dear Santa:
I liked the things you gave me last year I hope you can make my wishes come true again all I want is some money so I can Buy what I want. I love you Heaps

kellie hogan

Look me up when you turn fifteen kid. Man, will you make some good whore.

I was a fifteen year old whore too. I called myself Monique and, umm, on to the next letter. Fast.

———————————————-

Dear Santa:
I want a New Born Baby. Are the raindeer redy for the trip? Weel Goodbye

REBECCA ASHLEY RUSH

There’s a few easy steps for that.

1-     Tell me where your Mom lives.

2-     When is she alone?

3-     Leave a big bottle of Viagra for me and a bottle of Quaaludes for her.

4-     Wait nine months.

5-     Bail me out of jail for non-payment of child support.

And screw the reindeer.

———————————————–

That’s it. I can’t take these greedy brats any more. Where are the hot MILF’s letters to Santa? I want to write back to them. They have the coolest wishes and the best pills. And desperate MILFs will do anything, even if the board of health has condemned your cock and you have needle marks all over your balls and your apartment is really just a filthy alley behind a pizzeria.

As you can see, Christmas brings out the best in Mr. Know-It-All.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Mr. Know-It-All: I’m OK, You’re an Ass

17 Jun

June 17, 2011

Mr. Know-It-All is rated D for “disgusting.”  And usually “drunk.”

Jeez, what is wrong with you people? Are you really so stupid that you need to write to some half-hobo a-hole on the internet or in the freakin’newspaper for help with your shitty lives? I mean, yeah, idiots like you keep me working, and that’s good because any day I make it in to work is a day I’m not getting fellated by a moose in the gutter.

So before all these pills I just dry-swallowed take me down let’s get to some letters.

Dear Dr. Tracy,
Age: 29 marital status: single, never married
Hello, was hoping to get some advice. I met a guy in college when I was 20. We talked a little bit here and there. I like him alot more than just a friend. I can’t seem to forget him. even though it has been almost 10 years. Since then I dropped out of college. I dont want to be with anyone else. I am convinced I am going to marry him one day and that he is the love of my life. He is now happily married to another girl now. I emailed him in February 2010. He said he didn’t think we should talk becuase he is married now and doesn’t live in this area anymore. What should I do about this situation? should I try to find someone else? I love him though.

Hello backatcha, turd.
Jeez, you give up too damn easy. Can’t you take a hint? He’s married and can’t sneak away, so you have to go to him. Yeah. Look, he can’t up and drive a couple of hours to see you without his wife getting wind of it so you need to do the heavy lifting. Drive out to him, get a hotel room, send him a key. Then find out where he works, show up there. If he says something like he can’t see you because he’s busy, wait in the parking lot by his car. Crouch down so he doesn’t see you until he’s right there. Don’t worry if he calls security, that’s just his cover so none of his coworkers catch on. Call him at home. If his wife picks up, hang up. Keep calling and hanging up until he answers the phone. He sounds like he needs a little confidence boost. Send him clumps of your hair. That’ll prove to him how much he means to you. Tell him you can’t live without him, then that you won’t live without him. Show up at his door, pretend to be from FedEx, give his wife a box of dead roses. She’ll see how serious you are too. Trust your friend Mr. Know-It All, this’ll work out just fine.

Call me when you get out of jail.

——————————————

Dear Mrs. Web,
My father and mother just asked me to take care of their dog, again. Toodles is a nasty, yappy, nippy small dog who I cannot stand. They even call this dog my “baby sister”. How can I get out of caring for Toodles?

Easy. Kill the dog. Toss it under a truck, call it an accident, problem solved. Fuck, even wasted as I am and shitting my pants as I type I figured that one out, what’s your excuse?

——————————————

Dear Mrs. Web,
I want to send flowers to a woman that I have recently met. What special day should I choose to do so, Easter or Mother’s Day? I am not sending for each occasion.

You’re a real Prince charming, you cheap jackoff. Is she your mother? Read my crusted lips- you send your M-O-T-H-whatever-R flowers on Mother’s Day. Unless you are some kind of freaky adult baby fetish asshole who wants this woman to diaper you don’t send them on Mother’s Day. You MUST send them on Easter, ‘cause Easter is the most romantic day of the year.

And by the way, trust Mr. Know-It-All when it comes to diapers: Fetish now, necessity later. I’ve been crapping into diapers since I lost half of my colon in Viet Nam. (That was 1998.)

——————————————

DEAR ABBY: I’m running out of energy to compassionately relate with all the addicts and mentally ill people in my family. My mother is an alcoholic. My aunt is bipolar and schizophrenic. She is addicted to and abusing prescription painkillers and anti-anxiety medicines. My husband is an alcoholic in denial who lies about his alcohol consumption, and my stepmother is mentally abusive and, I strongly suspect, also bipolar. These people are all retired, while I work a physically and mentally demanding full time job. I’m usually the one who is blamed when things don’t go right. Mother asked me to remove all alcohol from her home so
she could stop drinking. When I didn’t find it all, it was my fault she drank. I escorted my aunt on a cruise during which she abused drugs to the point she could barely walk, and I had to find her wheelchairs at every stop. Now I hear she is blaming me for her illness. When my husband drinks, he runs up our credit card to the tune of $20,000. My job with medical benefits allowed him to retire from his job. My stepmother no longer communicates with my brother and me and seems to be alienating my father from his family. I’m exhausted! I don’t think I can take much more. I know you’ll tell me to see a counselor, but I’m the one who has the full-time job and little vacation/sick time I can use. Short of “divorcing” all of them and starting a new life in an undisclosed location, what advice can you offer? — NEARLY SUCKED DRY

Alice? Is that you? How many times do I have to tell you that I DRINK BECAUSE OF YOU????? And keep my mother out of this! If I told you all the times I woke up with the crabs I got from your mother you’d be doing peyote too. God dammit, always the same old thing. You knew I was addicted to addiction when we got married, so shut up and …and ….. oh, oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Alice, please… please don’t leave me…. I need you. The liquor store won’t cash my checks anymore.

———————————————

DEAR ABBY: What is the protocol when someone is asking to see his mother’s will while she is still in good health? — PONDERING IN PENNSYLVANIA

Heh heh heh, Mr. Know-It-All knows your game. He’s played it before. The protocol is to meet me at Broadway and Seventh at 3pm with an envelope full of unmarked bills. I’ll take care of it for you.

———————————————

DEAR ABBY: In our golfing circle there’s a single, 47-year-old professional woman with two children. We thought we knew her. Come to find out, she has been involved for the last five years with a married man who has a child. We’re uncomfortable having her around us now. None of us is perfect, but a woman who would take another’s man and wreck a home is one thing most women can’t stand. What, if anything, should we do? — TEE’D OFF IN ALABAMA

DEAR TEE’D OFF: Before deciding what to do, talk privately with the woman, tell her what you have learned and hear what she has to say about it. After that, you’ll know what (or what not) to do.

Wrong again, Dear Scabby! You know what they should do? NOTHING. It is none of their fucking business. Shut up and golf, Tiger Woods.

So, Alabama, huh? 47, professional, sleeps around. Bet she’s got a nice rack too. I need pictures, an address, and some ED pills. Get on it, would you toots? And hurry up while my syphilis is in remission.

Anyway, I’m done. Your pal Mr. Know-It-All just saw the cops pull up.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →