Ask Aunt Gwenda

Are you blue? Got questions, troubles, inexplicable problems, wonderings on this, and that, and, oh, that? Send them in for our new advice guru, Ms. Gwenda Bond.

Dear Aunt Gwenda: Vol. 3
The Post-Election Depressed, Non-Timely, You'd Better Be Thankful Anyway, Doom & Gloom Edition

Q: As you'll see demonstrated here, Dear Aunt Gwenda makes no promise of providing answers in a time frame that is of help to you, the question-asker. But why does everything always have to be about you anyway? That's what I thought, big britches.

I plan to enter this compendium of advice into one big sacred text, which I will leave somewhere both hidden and handy following the impending economic collapse of the United States. It will be found years from now and people will use it to learn to read again. And to hope.

Q: Dear Aunt Gwenda,
The state in which I live (NY) is thought to be a sure victory for Kerry. That's great, but I feel left out -- how can I do my part to encourage regime change in DC?
Thanks --
Blue State Blues

A: Well, obviously, Blue State Blues, whatever you did, it wasn't enough. But really, this had to happen, in order to bring about the impending doom mentioned above. What you should do now is sharpen your weapons, secure your barricades and buy lots of bottled water.

A: Vegetarianism has many strange permutations. The use of cloned pigs for guilt-free bacon is a perfectly acceptable one. I prefer facon and have it every damn morning when I get up and contemplate how after the apocalypse comes I'll be too busy shooting at interlopers to go to the abandoned grocery store and steal facon. Or perhaps that the fake pigs will be freed by some misguided hippie type and there won't even be facon anymore.

Q: Dear Aunt Gwenda:
My future in-laws would like to present us with a silver cutlery set. Foregoing the easy lycanthropic excuse, how can I persuade them this is not what my future husband and myself would most appreciate?
Lycanthropically Yours
[Name withheld by request]

A: I just got married and I would have loved a silver set. Not to keep, mind you, but there's got to be a place to return it for hard, cold moolah or a black market on which to fence it. You pretend the movers stole it, or your covetous friend from high school who should never have been invited over in the first place. Alternately, embrace the silver set and realize that you'll be able to use it to barter for more practical goods during the post-apocalyptic Road Warrior/28 Days Later/Anna Nicole Smith Show-esque days ahead. You may want to keep certain items as weapons.

Q: Dear Aunt Gwenda,
I held an intimate soiree (cocktails, dinner, a seance) and someone, a friend from long ago happy school days, H., brought someone whom I'd rather not have seen at all -- never mind too much of them too little covered -- in the comforts of mine own compact and bijou home. I'd love to keep my friend H., but would like to ensure my not seeing his partner again. Advice? Plots?

A: Well, this just goes to show that you should never have happy school days to begin with, and certainly never, ever keep in touch with people from them. H. and his baggagey partner are just going to slow you down when you are fleeing the lycanthropes and carpetbaggers after The Great and Final Collapse. You seem to actually perceive that you are in danger of passing the end days with someone you hate. However, since this is the situation in which you find yourself, make the most of it. Once social mores becomes meaningless, you can kill and eat this person. The sweet, sweet taste of human flesh will be far more satisfying than either cloned pig bacon or fake pig facon.

Q: Dear Aunt Gwenda,
The mice are chewing at the corners of my flour sacks. What should I do?

A: I commend you on the foresight of having stocked up on flour. Obviously, you are not someone who needs my advice. But remember: mice skins can be sewn into lovely jackets when fabric becomes hard to get ahold of. Go on with your bunker-dwelling bad self.