In Email Mishap, L.A. Slipknot Wannabes Hollywood Undead Answer Dear Abby Queries

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Rocks Off has seen some strange stuff in our time, but this ranks pretty high up there. Evidently, a routing error caused several emails intended for longtime syndicated advice columnist Dear Abby to wind up in the inbox of costumed SoCal rap-rockers Hollywood Undead, who appear at Verizon Wireless Theater tonight with Atreyu, Escape the Fate and the Sleeping. Hilarity ensued; those responsible have, of course, been sacked.

Dear Abby,

My husband and I have always had a warm and close relationship with our college-age children. We often host their friends in our home, making certain they're comfortable, well-fed and welcome.

My son brought his girlfriend home for long weekends several times this year. Not once has she said thank you for meals, gifts or entertainment. When I asked her if the standing rib roast I had served was OK - it's my specialty - she said it wasn't cooked the way she likes it.

She shows absolutely no interest in us, our home or the community in which our children grew up. She does offer to clear the table, but that's the extent of it. Upon leaving, she will say, "thanks." With the exception of one brief e-mail, we have never received a written note from her.

We love our son, and he may love her. But we're not eager to clean, shop for, cook and host this young lady again. If our son wants to bring her home for another holiday, what do you suggest we say or do?

- Disgusted In Seattle

Dear DIS,

Wake up, grab beer, grab rear. Shave beard, put on some scene gear. Gotta get drunk before my mom wakes up, break up with my girlfriend so I can bang sluts. I'm undead, unfed, been sleeping on bunk beds since ten. So if I don't booze it, I'm gonna lose it. Everybody get to it, do it, get ruined.

Let's get this party started, let's keep them 40's poppin'. So just get buzzed and stay fucked up, we'll keep them panties droppin'.

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Dear Abby,

My mother-in-law, who is in her 80s, was always an amazing hostess. She is excited and eager to help with the upcoming wedding of a grandchild. Detailed tasks now cause her anxiety, which results in serious physical symptoms.

We suggested that she could help by writing a journal about what she has learned in her own long marriage. She's an excellent writer, but she wasn't interested in the idea.

Can you or your readers suggest any other ways a parent can help - something with low anxiety but that feels meaningful?

- Bride's Mom In Virginia

Dear BMIV,

There's no other place that I'd rather be than Los Angeles. Come on, shake it, baby. Come on, grab a drink; I wanna see you hit the flo'. You've got a fat ass, but you shake it like you ain't a ho.

HAHA! Oh shit! What's really goin' on baby? What's happenin' bad boy, you know who this is! It's the Funny Man, aka King Kong! Oh, yo Dave! Dickey Dave! Fuck you, bitch! You got yo face pimped! Holla! Oh wait, gotta go! Charlie's hittin' me up! Peace, bitch!

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Dear Abby,

My co-worker has the same last name as a deceased porn star. We work in customer service together, and she gets many suggestive comments and laughs from our male customers. She would like to respond with a witty comeback without being offensive or jeopardizing her job. Any suggestions?

- Friend of Lovelace

Dear FOL,

And I can show you how to hump without making love. The way you look at me, I can tell that you're a freak. And I'll be laying in the sun, bottle and a gun. The way you look at me, I can tell that you're a freak.

My clothes are always retro, sexual like I'm hetero. And I play a bitch like Nintendo (ZELDA!). Take her for a ride in my Benzo, funny as fuck, I should do stand-up. Bust caps at the crowd like I don't give a fuck (fuck you).

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Dear Abby,

The other day my kids asked me why I'm always so angry. I didn't know how to respond. I'm angry that they think their dad is "wonderful" because he plays with them all day (he's not working), takes them to get fast food (instead of cooking something healthy), and because he's their coach (he is having an emotional affair with one of the parents).

I assign chores to the kids because things never get done when I ask my husband to do them. If I remind them "It's trash day" or "Don't forget to vacuum the living room," my husband steps in and says, "I'll do it for you, Billy/Jane," which makes me the bad guy. I know if I ask for a divorce, the kids will want to live with him.

How do I explain this to them? And what do I tell my friends when they ask what a pretty, fit, successful woman like me is doing with an overweight, unemployed, lazy man like him? He's more personable than I am, but the stress of being the sole breadwinner has taken its toll on me.

- Needing Answers, Levittown, Pa.

Dear NALP,

Come on down to the city of L.A.,, where we ride with gangstas and the pimpin's easy. You know how we keep it bumpin' everyday, baby. We ride with gangstas and the pimpin's easy.

We're six Caucasians, hell raisin'. Blazin', making zero pay. Can't wait to drink to stop the pain, to call Funny to ride with me. My pants are so low, I'm sippin' on this 4-0, rollin' in the fo' do' - producer, me and four hos. OH NO! The 5-0's rollin' cold, I didn't stop, but tried to smoke.

Container's open, Funny's smokin', I think I'm chokin'. It's time to go (OH). This midnight tale, let's keep it rollin', keep the fuckin and Mad Dog flowin'. Los Angeles, we keep it goin'. Undead is what we're throwin'.

6:30 p.m. tonight, Verizon Wireless Theater, 520 Texas (Bayou Place), 713-230-1600 or www.livenation.com. Don't say we didn't warn you.


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