Miss Manners: Your daughter pooping in the microwave might affect your taxes

By Judith Martin
Reader Weekly

Dear Miss Manners,
My daughter has general anxiety, social anxiety, double secret probation anxiety, bipolar disorder, Tourette syndrome and a labia that extends to her knees. She also poops her pants whenever I use the microwave. With this information in mind, should I itemize my taxes or just take the standard deduction?

If Miss Manners has made sure of one thing in her 137 years of writing this column, it’s that she never cleans up diarrhea unless she’s getting paid for it. So definitely itemize your taxes.

Dear Miss Manners,
My 18-year-old son only wants to get high and play video games all day. What should I do?

Miss Manners doesn’t believe you’re giving her the full story. She’s pretty sure your son also spends an unreasonable amount of time pleasuring himself to Game of Thrones episodes. Regardless, it’s important that you kill your son. This is the only way to show him that what he’s doing is unhealthy. Once he’s dead, he’ll realize that he wasted his life and the problem will solve itself. At his funeral, make sure to use his open casket as an ashtray to ensure the point gets driven home.

Dear Miss Manners,
You’ve often said that using the word “please” is a simple way to soften a demand. Yet your suggested technique failed horribly when I politely asked my boyfriend to please get a vasectomy. He has now dumped me and is planning to have a baby with a Salvadoran prostitute. Please explain your horrible advice.

The only thing Miss Manners loves more than talking in the third person is warm, tasty pupusas. Have you ever considered that your boyfriend isn’t “dumping you” so much as trading up for someone who can make delicious Salvadorian food? It happens all the time. Tyga left Kylie Jenner for the same reason: Not enough pupusas.

Dear Miss Manners,
Have the etiquette standards changed regarding correct use of the butter knife?

No. As long as it’s not plunged deep into your spouse’s eye socket, you’re using it correctly. If it does end up lodged in a loved one, politely apologize and offer to buy dessert as compensation.

Dear Miss Manners,
What is the proper timeframe to send out thank you notes after a children’s birthday party?

Why on Earth would you want to throw a party for a child? They can’t even drink alcohol, for Christ’s sake. Raising spoiled children will only risk condoning thanklessness in yet another generation. Instead, lock your children in the garage and break out a bottle of Glenfiddich to have a real party by yourself.

Dear Miss Manners,
My wife passed away a few days ago. I received advice from another etiquette expert who said I should remove my wedding band within one month. Is this correct?

Who is this other “etiquette expert”? Are you cheating on Miss Manners with other columnists? Of all the fucking nerve! After all these years of slaving away at this shitty newspaper desk, listening to you hapless goons whine about your insignificant problems! Tell me their name! Is it Dear Abby? That bitch wouldn’t know which side of the plate the salad fork went on if you wanked the instructions onto her face. Fine, stay quiet. Miss Manners has ways of finding out these things, you ungrateful little advice tampon. You will see Miss Manners in your nightmares.

Dear Miss Manners,
While watching certain judge TV shows, I’ve noticed that when a plaintiff or defendant is given a tissue, there is never a “thank you’’ offered to the giver. Is not thanking a person for this small favor considered somehow improper?

Honestly, who cares? While Miss Manners has made quite a small fortune writing these columns, even she knows proper manners are as dead as typewriters, printed pornography or misogynistic Judd Apatow bromance comedies. Just do whatever you want all the time, and if anyone calls you rude, get up in their face and shout them down until they apologize to you out of fear. If that fails, wrestle them to the ground right there in the aisle at Walmart and wail on them unmercifully while various onlookers film you with their phones. Years later, when your children ask you about your brief internet fame, tell them “No one has manners anymore” and that you needed to teach that bitch a lesson.