If you have a problem you can't solve, you could do a number of things. You could call Dr. Laura so she may tell you how wonderful her life is. You could call Jerry Springer, get a free trip to Chicago and get your ass kicked by some low-life with no teeth. You could try to work it out yourself, but that might require some thought. No, no, Mary True is the woman you need. Soothing, caring, loving, humble, and she's got a cute butt, too. Drop her a line and she will make it all better.
See Mary's archives!
Hey Mary,
I know this is a weird question but I'm wondering if you know if Mr.T is dead. There's this conflict at work. . .I heard he died and my co-workers swear I'm crazy. Please set us straight.
Thanks,
Mindy and the Time Warner Team.
Magnificent Mindy,
No, Mr. T is still alive. You must have confused him with Jim Varney (died 2/10/00)-people do that all of the time since they look so much alike. Know what I mean?
Slave to her death watch,
Mary True
Dear Mary,
You have got to help me!!!
I am married to a beautiful woman and I have no complaints except for one. She is very gassy. When we go out to eat, she lets out these belches that vibrate glasses off of the table. When we go to the movies she lets out poots that make the whole row of seats shake, and when everyone looks at us, she turns to me holding her nose and says "Eeewwwww! You're nasty!"
I don't know what to do Mary! You are my only hope!
--Embarrassed in St. Pete
Encrusted Embarrassed,
So what is your problem? She's a honey, right? Get yourself some nose plugs and sit yer ass down. If she is as wonderful as you claim, she is the probably the best you can do. If you really loved her, you would take the blame for her mini-explosions. But hey-if you insist, I know of a certain advice columnist who would take right good care of this robo-babe. Think about it the next time she blows off some steam.
Lady-in-waiting,
Mary True
Dear Virgin Mary,
After 25 years of veganism, I have realized something frightening and whimsical - I LOVE CORN DOGS! So hot and squishy, doused in mustard sauce...MMMmmmmm! I can't get enough of them! All food should be served on a stick, don't you think? Anyway, being a vegan, you can see my problem. But I don't think I can give up my new found true love! What should I do?
- Corn doggin' in California
PS - Do YOU like corn dogs, Mary?
Con Corn,
First off-I gotta mention this. Run "vegan" through a spell checker and you get "Vegas." Ahhh, Vegas-once you go, you never quite come back...ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding...Mommy? I've come home! Mommy???
Mary weeps.
Sweetheart, they DO have veggie corn dogs-just ask my Jane Fondaesque housemate. She proclaims that they taste just like the real thing. Personally, I think she is full of it. As for the real coated tube streaks, yes, corn dogs are indeed a yummy treat. I like 'em best with a heaping dose of melted marshmallow crème poured right on 'em. Now, that's what I call livin'!
As for your little vegan diet, if animals were not meant for eatin' then why the hell do they make 'em with them easy to grab legs and thighs? That vegan crap is for losers who can't run fast enough to catch their prey. No wonder California looks like it's in the middle of a 100 year famine! It's freak diets like that! Start a trend for a change! Be out for blood! MEAT! MEAT! MEAT! If it once had eyes, dig in, I always say.
Now go feast on a pig on a stick or something. And don't forget that marshmallow crème!
Finger lickin',
Mary True
Dear Mary,
I hope you can help me.
I am very good looking and famous.
Whenever I go out in public people stare and sometimes approach me
talk to me and or ask for autographs.
I feel that I have no privacy anymore!
I understand people's fascination, but what about me?
When does it go too far?
Where should I draw the line?
When do I get time just for me?
Please help me Mary!
Sincerely,
WEB BEAR
Bodacious Bear,
Good Lord, don't I know what you mean! Unfortunately, our society is obsessed with the elite, the beautiful, and the rich and famous. Sometimes with deadly consequences (remember Princess Diana?). Perhaps you can wear a disguise, or simply take the Sean Penn route and start beating your assailants to a bloody pulp whenever they come near. That seemed to work very well for him-I mean, where is he now-hello? He has PLENTY of time for himself.
It would also help for me to know your identity, too, then I can get an idea of how serious this is…wait a sec…aren't you that gorgeous hunk who sings that really sexy song and stars in that kick-ass blow-em-up movie? I think I heard you ask this same question to the interviewer on E! Television! Oh, man! You are a honey! I want to have your babies! I can be anything you want me to be! I will make you happy! Only me! Write me back as soon as you get this, you will fall in love with me! You'll see! I love you!
Undaunted by your heavenly glow,
Mary True
---
Hey,
Did you get my letter yet?
--Mary
---
Sweet Web Bear,
How did you like the flowers?
--Mary
---
Lovely Bear,
So, did those pictures I sent make you change your mind? (wink wink)
--Mary
---
Asshole,
How could you stand me up? I am going to cut you up into little pieces!!
--Mary
---
Sugar Bear,
I forgive you. Do you love me yet?
--Mary
---
Beautiful Bear,
We will be together forever. I love you. I already picked out the names for our kids. How's Benji, Marc, Jessica, and Sylvia?
--Mary
---
Mary, Queen of Dots -
Having returned from an extended tour of (choose from the following destinations: a) Tunisia b) Warsaw c) Warwick, Rhode Island d) Dionne Warwick's psychic friends retreat and house of pancakes), I return and again take up writing to you. I hope that you will find my correspondence worthy of reply and will also enclose any free pamphlets or brochures which you may have about your fine organization. I'm also rather fond of stickers. Thank you.
As you may be aware, there is some discussion since the release of the film "Fight Club" about whether home decor and related concerns are, indeed, emasculating. Sarah Vowell, the writer, addressed these concerns in a recent essay in Salon. However, I found myself wondering after reading her admittedly learned and stylistically limber piece what you, Mary True, in your capacity as scholar of the human psyche, might have to say about this urgent topic. I'm of the opinion that an interest in home decor of the catalogic Ikea variety, while perhaps note maculating, does contribute to a sort of post-deleuzian schizophrenia, wherein the imperatives of home decor and the pressures of capital converge (themselves always already intertwined) to create a critical split in the identity of the subject. This split may manifest itself as a masculine/effeminate dialogism dependent upon the a priori psychological state of the subject prior to the home decor induced splitting (I realize the potential here for infinite theoretical regress, but let's not trifle). I believe my suspicions are borne out by the narrative arch of the film. Ahem.
From this I proceed to my next inquiry: whither "Jane says"? (hi Sam).
When I was young, I knew a girl named Papalinka.
In closing, I'd like to say that I think John Leo had one too many gin and tonics before writing this morning's column.
I remain, your humble servant,
Dr. Samuel Johnson.
Swinging Sam,
I am of the opinion that men generally lack a sense of home décor. Sure, you will find the occasional stray who knows the meaning of good throw pillows and well placed antique sewing machines, but for the most part, it stops at bad paintings or worse yet, the wagon wheel coffee table. Now I did not see the Fight Club, and it does not seem to be a movie I would go see, so I am unsure of your reference. But it is sad that those men who are handy with those antiques are often mistaken for one who walks on the other side of the fence, even though there are no footprints on the other side. Ahhh, ya gotta pay yer dues in life, I spp'ose.
As for your brochures and stickers, Mary True and Pistachio Productions, Inc © don't need such frivolities. We would rather tie ourselves to the precious trees to become the delight of a titillating lick-fest then waste the poor tree on junk mail. Sorry.
(of course, you could always print us out)
And Jane says just about whatever until you knock her out and remove her rear teeth of wisdom with a pair of pliers. Mary pouts.
With swollen jaw,
Mary True
Dear Miss Mary:
My boyfriend and I live in a humongous house, and we love it. We just have one problem,
and it's a doozie.
Behind the house is a small garage apartment where lives a woman we simply call "The
Dirtbag." This woman, in her late 40's, has no job and no phone. She comes and goes
all day long. She invites dirtbag men over to her house who in turn beat her up or steal
her money. She honks her horn at 8 a.m. when she takes The Club off the wheel of her
1978 Toyota Celica.
Here's the thing: she's CONSTANTLY knocking on our door. "Can I use your phone?"
(And it's never just that, it's a five-hour story before she gets to her friggin'
point, which is, can she use my phone.) She pounds on our door at 9:30 on a Saturday
morning to use our phone and to tell us her latest John has stolen her last 35 bucks
"I bring the predators out of the woodwork!" is her favorite line this morning.
(My boyfriend works until 3 a.m., and I like to sleep in on weekends. So much for that!)
Not only do we not want to get involved in whatever twisted, torrid activities
this freak is taking part in, but we don't want her knocking on our door, ever!
She has no shame, no regard, and no respect. How can I get her to leave us alone?
Why can I not spend time in my own home without being accosted!?
Please help me, Mary!
--Fuming in Fort Lauderdale
Fumy Fuming,
You may have two ways of fixing this problem:
1) The next time the Dirtbag knocks on your door, try to be polite, but tell her that
your boyfriend works late, you work all week and like to sleep in, and you really can’t
have her coming over this early again. Give her some ridiculously late time--say 4 PM, when
you usually wake up. Then point her in the direction of the nearest
payphone. If she comes to your door in the same manner again, you then have the right
to say, “Look you crazy assed bitch, I asked you nicely never to come over this friggin’
early! The pay phone is that way!” Then throw some broken beer bottles at her as she
darts away.
(in other words, be polite but adamant the first time, and vicious and firm the second)
(or you can invest in a “Do Not Disturb” door-hang and a doormat that says “Go Away”
and hope that she takes the hint-this is, of course banking on the fact that the Dirtbag
can read.)
2) Before she comes over on that lovely Saturday morning, get up, paint your face
ghostly white and get some realistic vampire teeth. When she pounds on the door, go to it
and open it with a smile-making sure she sees the teeth and pale complexion. As soon as
you open the door, look towards the sun and let rip a blood-curdling scream.
Fall on to the floor and start writhing and shaking. During your epileptic fit,
manage to kick the door shut. Scream for about ten more minutes. Fry up some bacon
for sound effects.
Dirtbag will not be coming to your door anymore after that act of freakishness.
Yours in Sleepiness,
Mary True
I am a single father trying to send my oldest daughter to college. I am hopeful that she
can eventually succeed in life and provide for her children unlike I have been able to.
I do not have a college education and am currently working two jobs and about to start
a third in an attempt to keep a roof over her head and have nothing left over for a
college fund. Any help you might be able to provide will be appreciated. If you can
spare even $1 God would smile on you.
Please send to: College for Bluebonnet PO BOX XXXXXX Irving TX XXXXX
PS: Thank you and God bless.
Blushing Bluebonnet,
Why don’t you tell your daughter to get a job and work through college like the rest
of us? Also, student loans are available to all who wants them. If our President has
done anything (other than you-know-what), he has made sure of that!!
Happily Graduated and Proud She Did It Herself,
Mary True
Dear Mary...
Overall, who was your favorite President.
I happen to be a McKinley fan.
Just curious.
Jim Polk
Dear Jim,
Actually....you. How pleasent that you write me from the grave. Thank you!!
To show my appreciation, here's an homage for ya...
JAMES K. POLK
In eighteen forty-four the Democrats were split
The three nominees for the Presidential candidate
were Martin Van Buren, a former president and an Abolitionist,
James Buchanen, a moderate,
Lewis Cass, a general and expansionist.
From Nashville came a dark horse riding up
He was James K. Polk, Napoleon of the stump.
Austere, severe, he held few people dear.
His oratory filled his foes with fear
The factions soon agreed: "He's just the man we need
to bring about victory, fulfill our Manifest Destiny,
and annex the land the Mexicans command"
and when the vote was cast the winner was
Mister James K. Polk, Napoleon of the stump.
In four short years he met his every goal
He siezed the whole southwest from Mexico
made sure the tariffs fell, and made the English sell
the Oregon territory.
He built an independant treasury.
Having done all this, he sought no second term.
But precious few have mourned the passing of
Mister James K Polk, our eleventh president,
Young Hickory, Napoleon of the stump.
Written by They Might Be Giants. All lyrics © 1990 TMBG
Music, admin. Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp.(BMI).
Love,
Mary True
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