Well howdy-dowdy-doodle-all-day! Goodness, it's been a LONG time since I, America's most socially irresponsible advice columnist , sat down at my formica-and-naugahyde "house beautiful" dinette set, seasonably festooned with a turquoise and mauve butter-churn-and-cornucopia-themed table cloth. You've missed me desperately.
Truth be told, I spent the better part of the summer indisposed due to an unfortunate procedural hiccup in our broken legal system. It all started when my communist homosexual neighbors Lance and Bruce threw a distasteful "come dressed as Farrah" game night. To hear them tell it, after a rousing Scattergories match, the party moved to the front lawn for a spirited round of badminton. I needn't tell you how alarming it is to glance out one's picture window to see a dozen middle aged men in blond Jill Munro wigs swatting at a shuttlecock. From my vantage point it looked exactly like a satanic human sacrifice ritual, so I did what any responsible citizen would do. I got behind the wheel of my Chevrolet Impala, crashed through the dividing fence, floored the accelerator and mowed through the assembled coven of demonic succubi. When I realized my mistake, I tried to make peace with the surviving cross-dressers by offering a delectable batch of left-over ferret sausage (note to self: call your niece Jeannie).
It was all to no avail, and despite more than adequate legal representation by my ex brother-in-law Fingers Romano, the Jesus-hating Judge Schlomo Lipschitz found it necessary to send yours truly to a drab upstate women's facility for sixty days. My incarceration was uneventful, save for one unpleasant incident where your own Aunt Betsy had to shank a ho for ridiculing my needlepoint depiction of Jesus gunning down an abortionist with a double action semi-automatic ruger.
Since my release two weeks ago, I've scarcely had time to catch my breath! I just returned from the Grand National Team Yahtzee Tournament held in dazzling Craters-of-the-Moon Idaho. It was a real nail-biter this year; it came down to our own team (the Greater Headcheese Holy Rollers) against the formidable Tuscaloosa Pit Vipers. Wouldn't you just know it? Lorna Fink (a Pit Viper) rolled an unlikely all-sixes four of a kind, necessitating a rather brutal Yahtzee tournament rules tie-breaking knife fight. The Holy Rollers were victorious (as we always are), and Lorna Fink should be back on solids by spring.
All this has gotten Aunt Betsy to thinking: since at least one in ten of the letters I receive from desperate advice seekers is Yahtzee-related, I've decided it's high time to devote another column to all things Yahtzee. So let's dive right on in, shall we?
Dear Aunt Betsy: Last week I had some friends over for a friendly game of strip Yahtzee. Long story short, I lost. And after my fifth jello shot I ended up being ravaged by the victors in a sordid three-way. Well, my boyfriend found out so I decided to falsely claim I was raped. Now I'm facing jail time! I'm afraid of jail! I hear those hardened lesbian jail birds play Yahtzee the hard way! How do prison Yahtzee rules differ from regulation Yahtzee rules? Signed All My Boyfriends Endure Rashes
Dear AMBER: Prison-rules Yahtzee differs from regulation Yahtzee only in its attitudes towards the unholy practice of lesbian strap-on sex. While regulation Yahtzee frowns upon engaging in lesbian strap-on sex every time someone rolls a Yahtzee, prison-rules Yahtzee is significantly more lax in that regard.
Dear Aunt Betsy: I was playing Yahtzee with friends and I rolled three Yahtzees in a row. When I claimed I could use my additional Yahtzees as jokers in the upper section, my friend Mark started acting all shouty and my husband Reuben told him to hush. Long story short, Reuben got stabbed to death. The stabby guy has a point, however. In my new Yahtzee set, the rules state plainly that additional Yahtzees can be used as upper section jokers, while older versions expressly forbid this practice as a vile desecration of all things Yahtzee. What is your position on the issue? Signed Why Is Dice Obsession Weird
Dear WIDOW: It pushes the boundaries of good taste to roll more than two Yahtzees in a given game. It suggests the presence of witchcraft, frankly, and last time a member of my Yahtzee league (Mavis Bile) rolled three Yahtzees in a row I quickly recited my favorite passage from Deuteronomy and doused her with some Raspberry Snapple (the closest thing to holy water on-hand), causing the beelzebub-worshiping strumpet to sprout bat wings and fly around my living room until we beat her to death with a fire poker and a swiffer handle. Suffice it to say, had you refrained from excessive yahtzee-rolling, your husband would currently be on the couch instead of in an urn on the mantle.
Dear Aunt Betsy: Me and my biker buddies are havin' our third annual anti-domestic-violence Yahtzee run! What do you say you park your fanny on my bitch seat and ride my hog to Yahtzee bliss? Signed Sit In Super Sidecar, Y'hear?
Dear SISSY: Your poor wife. She sits at home eating cheezits and watching Lost whilst you fart about on your motorbike playing Yahtzee! To my mind, domestic violence is highly under-rated these days. Families do so few activities together as it is. Save your marriage. Ride your hog home slap the missus around until she rolls a Yahtzee.
Dear Aunt Betsy: Every time you say "Yahtzee" it cracks me up cause that's what I say every time I spank my pants worm until it spits sin batter at the ceiling. Signed OH REALLY, EVEN I'D LIKE LICKING YOU
Dear OREILLY: My late husband Cecil used to scream "Yahtzee" during coital climax. He met an unfortunate and not-entirely-unrelated end in a peculiar bath-time incident involving a blender set to "puree"
Aunt Betsy sez: "Prison-rules Yahtzee and this blog's feed have many things in common, not the least of which is a spectacularly imprudent lack of decency."