Dear Sansa, You Soulless Ginger Hooker

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(This contains nothing but Spoilers for Game Of  Thrones)

  Dear Sansa,

The first rule of Stark club is that you do not talk about Stark club. The second rule: if your brother has been murdered and then zombified trying to free you from a rape castle, and is currently throwing his life away trying to liberate your ancestral home, don’t withhold key tactical information and takes sides with the slug that arranged your fathers murder, threw your aunt down a hole, and friend-zone stalked your mother her whole life. Specific and lengthy, but powerful. Now you could argue that Jon is a bastard so that rule doesn’t apply, and I could argue that you were born with Cinderella’s beauty, the ugly step sister’s temperament, and the pumpkins intellect, character, and hair.

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Letter Day: Shadows of the Past

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I used to run another site. We had a regular feature where readers would sends us letters and I would answer them publicly. These are some of my favorites.

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I’m a big fan of dog racing but can never pick the right dog. Do you have having any tips for picking a sure winner?

Davin,

Respero, AZ

 If Bugs Bunny has taught me anything (and it has taught me many thing) it is this: that the race will unfold in the fashion which allows for the most amusing name interactions. I picture the call going as such.

Announcer: Drunken mother stumbles out of the gate…Grandfathers Hug is within an inch of Bad Touch and keeping close… Repressed Memory pushing hard for the lead.

Announcer: Baldspot giving way to Daddies New CameroIll-conceived making a pass on School Girls Folly on the rail… Eloquent Stranger driving  Drunken Mother hard into the wall…Peeping Neighbor comes out of nowhere to inject some drama into the race.

Announcer: Baldspot is receding…Daddies New Camero is running out of gas late…Schools Girls Folly is overtaken by Bad Touch in an aggressive move…Statutory forcing his way through the pack…Oh my lord, Grandfathers Hug has just exploded past Repressed Memory to take the win.

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Terrible Monsters:The Sphinx

Overview

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 The Sphinx was borne from the union of the no account snake torso-ed Goddess, Echidna,  and the deadbeat father of all monsters Typhon. Due to the eclectic genetics of her  parents her lovely human face was perched atop the body of a winged and ample bosomed lion, with a decorative snake tail on the back end. Note that she did not have a snakes tail, her tail was an entire Snake, attached to her lion butt.

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The Sphinx’s early life is murky, but at some point she flew from her homeland of Ethiopia to take up residence on the coast near Athens, on a big rock by the road. Shunned by cliquish lions and smug people bodied humans the Sphinx grew embittered with the politics of her new home. Hungry and alone the Sphinx decided to channel the pain of her isolation into a cruel game of riddles that she would spring on passers by. The prize: go about your day. The punishment: Strangulation and then consumption. The historical records are unclear if she strangled them with her lions paws and ate them with her human mouth, or if she constricted the snake around their throats so it could then swallow them upwards into the Lion Butt. I imagine this being a source of contention for both ends.

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She ran this grift for an unspecified period of time until Oedipus sauntered by and solved her riddle. Yes, that Oedipus. The Sphinx took it poorly and committed suicide by hurling herself off of the side off of the rock. Oedipus went on to have a terrible day. The end.

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Ask Sam: Terrorism lessons from Tim, the kindergarten jerk

Daily Prompt: SNAP

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Of late I have been growing more and more furious over the western media’s denigration of my religious icons and fundamental belief structures. I feel this growing fury that needs release, what would you say is the best course of action?

 Irate Sympathizer In Lockdown

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I’ve been there, Ira.

When I was in kindergarten there was this kid Tim that was always on my ass; taking my toys, telling the teacher I was swearing, bad mouthing Spider-man. And then one day, this ignorant mother fucker draws an unflattering picture of me and sticks it on the play kitchen wall. Where all the kids can see it.

Now. I had a few options, try and guess the appropriate one:

  • a) Tell the teacher like a little snitch and get Tim in trouble?
  • b) Take his lunch that he might starve in keeping with his artistic pretensions?
  • c) Draw an unflattering picture of him?
  • d) Organize a campaign to exclude him from recess activities?
  • e) Strap an improvised explosive device to the class gerbil when it’s Tim’s turn to take it home, in hopes that it will destroy him and the pig-dog family that birthed him?

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My Kids Stupid Questions: Monsters under the bed

(In response to daily prompt: Bedtime )

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I am a childless man in my late thirties with unlimited wisdom and a suspicious amount of free time. My closest friends are exhausted, over- burdened, and filthy with children clamoring for answers. While I am a bad person, I am a good friend, so I’ve agreed to handle the overflow questions, provided my friends read my answer to their children, in full, without editorial interference.

 

Let us begin.

 

Dad used to check under my bed for monsters but now he says that there are no monsters. But I think that there are. Is there monsters under my bed?

  Jimmy, Age 5

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