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What's Up For Today?

Ask Miss Wendy

Miss Wendy's Texas Love Advice
Plus Some Occasional Comments on the
State of the Popular Culture

Ask Miss Wendy
L-R: Michael Mazocco, Wendy R. Williams, Armistead Johnson
Photo: Stephen Mosher

Click here for Miss Wendy's Latest Column

Dear Miss Wendy,

My boyfriend and I plan to visit his family in south Texas in June and I'd hate to repeat the problem we had last year.  His mother lays out complete outfits for me consisting of short shorts, flip flops, and halter tops, all purchased at the local Wal Mart.  She says I'll suffer a heat stroke if I don't honor the local customs by wearing such things.  And why is it that she is the one the most interested in having me show all of that skin and by the way, I could stand to lose ten to fifty.


A Brooklyn Floosie

Dear Floosie,

Finally I have been asked a sensible question about sex and fashion. You don’t have problem dear. Just rub baby oil all over your skin, fill a Styrofoam cooler with Bud and enjoy being part of the newly hip White Trash Culture (think Britney Spears and Ked Fed). And as for his mother being so interested in your booty, hey, that’s just part of the cracker scene – there’s a son, some Mammas, his girlfriend, a couple of kids nobody’s real sure where they came from, and a few hound dogs. Like I said, think Britney and Ked Fed and pass the KFC.

And you can get even. When she comes to New York, you can get her a bunch of black clothes from Goodwill and rub some henna tattoos on her upper arms and just above her butt crack so she can look like she rides the L.

Dear Ms. Wendy,

My wife has recently gotten into cooking to spice up our sex life. A little over a month ago, while I was blindfolded, she poured hot chicken gumbo (she said we were out of chocolate) over me and I had to go to the emergency room. It wasn’t too difficult to explain what happened (we made something up), but now whenever she cooks (for whatever purpose!) I get horrible feelings of panic and terror.


"No thanks, I'm full."

Dear Full,

Please restrict your home to take out (no one really need to learn how to cook anymore) and tell your wife that you are only turned on by food-and-sex fantasies that involve Cool Whip and/or ice cream.

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