The older ones among us doubtless remember. Back in the day, people would write in to advice columnists who would answer those questions in newspapers around the country. The most famous of them all, I am quite certain, was Dear Abby. People would write to her with short questions, and she would reply with pithy and often acerbic answers.
From time to time, I very much feel that vibe. And so, I present to you edition two of “Dear Crabby,” where the pastor/advice columnist answers questions that may or may not have been asked.
“Dear Crabby, I learned from a famous podcaster that Erika Kirk is a Jewish asset and possible half-human cyborg who groomed Charlie Kirk into marriage so she could have him killed and wreck TPUSA from the inside out at the behest of MK Ultra and gain access to kids to traffic because the Freemasons told her to. What should I do about it? Thanks, Lou from Needham.”
“Dear LouNee, since full-frontal lobotomies are no longer permitted in our society, I would recommend, at the bare minimum, regular, heavy sedation, and perhaps a tight white coat that fastens in the back. In lieu of that, you could read the entire book of Proverbs, paying particular attention to all the parts about the fool.”
“Dear Crabby, my wife spends nearly my entire paycheck on her hair, nails, makeup, clothes, essential oils, and trips to Hobby Lobby. Got any advice? Thanks, Les Cash.”
“Dear CashLess, this is Mrs. Crabby; I fail to see the problem.”
“Dear Crabby, our church has kids running everywhere; dirty, noisy, disruptive little kids. The deacons and I are going to have to speak to the pastor about it; what should we say? Emmit from Balmond.”
“Dear EmBalmed: Thank you.”
“Dear Crabby, I believe that God has sovereignly decreed and ordained everything in the entire history of the universe, right down to everything we ever do, say, or think. A preacher across town says that is heresy; would you be willing to give me any advice? Thanks, Calvin Spurgeon.”
“Dear Cal, do I have a choice?”
“Dear Crabby, I am a pastor, and I use AI to write my books and my sermons; I kind of think I should feel guilty about that; should I? Thanks, Bum in Butterfield.”
“Dear lazy, plagiarizing, cheating, falsifying, Bum; whatever gave you an idea like that?”
“Dear Crabby, I have discovered that I have the gift of healing, and I want to let the world know about it, so I am planning to hold a big crusade. Would you like to come be a part of it? I am enclosing a poster for you. Sincerely, Benny Bentley.”
“Dear Ben Ben, tell you what, meet me down at the children’s hospital instead. And on a side note, I love your glasses.”
“Dear Crabby, how can you bring yourself to love the Jews? Two thousand years ago, they killed Jesus! Bubba from Bolivar.”
“Dear Bubloviator, didn’t you write me last week telling me that Americans of today should not be held responsible for slavery?”
“Dear Crabby, I want to help you get your breakthrough from God; if you will send me a large monetary gift, I will get God to bless you a hundredfold. Let me help you. Sincerely, Paula Creflo Copeland.
“Dear Paula, let me help you instead. I am sending you a letter and enclosing a job application for a local factory. It isn’t much, but it is at least honest work, which is something you will come to enjoy if you ever try it.”
“Dear Crabby, I agree with the Pope that there should be no walls and gates. Do you? Wondering in Willmont.”
“Dear Wondering, next time I go to Rome, I will enter the gated walls of the Vatican and ask him to explain his thinking on the subject.”
“Dear Crabby, my church caught me having one or two little affairs, and now they are acting all weird and expecting me to step down from the ministry. How can I best explain grace to them? Sincerely, A reverend with feet of clay.”
“Dear Irreverend, first off, your feet are not the body part with the problem. Second, you misspelled ‘serial adulterer.’ Third, by grace, I think you meant “sweeping things under the rug.” Fourth, why are you even writing? We both know you are not ever going to leave your cushy situation, even if it means starting over a few blocks down the road with any gullible people who will follow you. Now, pardon me while I go wash my eyes with soap; your letter made them feel strangely slimy.”
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