PUBLISHED MONTHLY
EST. May 2000 (AD)

 
 

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DEAR MAGS/DAGS: I consider myself to be a virtuous and respectable young woman. Recently, I was asked to be a member of the wedding party, ultimately partaking in bridal activities. Although I was quick to refuse the sex-crazed siren song of the bachelorette party, I thought it appropriate to attend the wedding shower.

Now I was not personally acquainted with this particular bride prior to her bridal shower. She is the intended wife of my cousin Douglas (Please let’s not get started on Douglas! Although he is a sweet boy, Douglas is a bit on the dumb side. He tends to gravitate toward the side of evil, as opposed to my side, the good side.)

Imagine my shock when I walked into that h-e-double la-la hole where the aforementioned sin shower was taking place, only to witness a PREGNANT BRIDE! My cousin Douglas is marrying a woman who is not a virgin bride by any stretch of the imagination (and most likely with the stretch marks to prove it!) This will scandalize our family! How could that dimwit be so foolish?

                              

Offended Odette, Third Cousin, Once Removed

MAGS: One time something offended me and I had it removed. It was this mole, really icky and gross. Actually, it was super cute: it looked like a really tan Smurf. Do you know the Smurfs? I don’t mean personally. You’re not supposed to date other species.

I’m just the kind of girl who likes my moles cute (I named it Wally) and my bachelorette parties kinky. That’s the best part of knowing people who will one day get bored and married! You missed the best part! That’s like drinking milk without the rum!

Pregnant Bride? Yawners! Snorey! Who cares? When I was at the convenience store buying an iced tea for my gin, I saw a newspaper article about a giraffzeebman (that’s a giraffe with zebra and man parts, for those not in the know) who might be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Now that’s news! I wonder what kind of groupies a giraffzeebman has? I’m curious. I don’t mean personally! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DATE OTHER SPECIES!

One thing we have in common, girlfriend, is that I love me a good sin shower! It reminds me of the time I was in Miami…or was that Rotterdam? Duluth? Arbys? Anyway, you shouldn’t be judging your cousin or his preggie bride when you’re the dirty birdie! It’s true! I read it with my own two eyes plus the silver monocle that Sir Dunston Winklebaum gave me for sitting on his lap! I too have had h-es double in regards to my la-la hole, but this is a FAMILY PUBLICATION! What will Sir Dunston Winklebaum think when he wakes up?

 

DAGS: Ewwwwwwwwwwwww- there just aren’t enough ‘w’s for this one. Seriously! Although this whole letter reeks of filth, I noticed that you call Douglas a dimwit. That’s rich, considering you’re the moron who agreed to be a bridesmaid for a girl you’d never met! Third Cousin, Once Removed…I mean, REALLY. You got a pass at third cousin, not to mention once removed, as in…remove me from this stupid situation.

I promised myself I’d be more peaceful and nurturing in 2012, but you whiny wenches really push me to the limit! So much for that resolution! Now all I have to left is to work on my vision board! Oh, and clean out my underwear drawer. Thongs are uncomfortable and so last year (or the year before that, it’s been a while). 2012 is the year of the granny panty, so wear them with pride! Viva La Old Lady Undies! Ooh, I know exactly which Garfield comic strip to add to my vision board! So at least today isn’t a total bust.

Just be like me: work on your crafts and focus on some Me Time. Girls night out was invented for those self-hating women who are afraid to be alone. Ooh look at us! Clinking pink drinks and playing the same Shakira song on the jukebox four times in a row! Don’t they know that’s excessive? Calling each other “girlfriend” and “BFF”. Saying things like “vacay” and “lo cal”. UGH! I know what BFF really stands for: Boring Fun Fest! There, I said it! Also, Bitchy Friend Factory! Bermuda Flocking Fools! That’s for those girls who waste their time and money going on trips together. Like that would be fun? To have friends to do things with? Next you’ll be telling me it’s a good thing for a grown woman to have a sister she’s close with, or a mother to talk to! HA! HA! HA! When I listen to Shakira, I’m locked in a room all by myself, thank you very much!

I don’t have time for this nonsense. My colonial kitchen scale model is almost complete, and this miniature butter churn isn’t going to glue itself together.

DEAR MAGS/DAGS: I was at a wedding and slept with the DJ. Not a big deal…I do this all the time. Now my fiancé isn’t talking to me. What gives?

Mags Who Likes her Shags  

MAGS: WHAAAAT? Are you me? Did I write this? Am I engaged? Because this sounds like me…but it isn’t written on hotel stationary…hmm. Sometimes I forget that I write words or say words, which makes this the perfect job for me. I write it and forget it, so then I don’t have to think about it! Is this a trap? Are you a spy? A sexy spy? Are you from the future? Do you know things? Like, important things? What are the sheets like in the future? Is there a higher thread count there? Does gravity still exist? I hate gravity! Also, marshmallows shaped like animals. Sometimes they frighten me, because I don’t know if I just bit the head off of a real rabbit or a pretend rabbit. But then I taste the marshmallow and think, “Boo! Marshmallow is not my favorite!”

I know you’re not me because I keep pinching myself. Quick thinking, Mags! But don’t scare me like that, or steal my super cool nickname. Mags Who Likes her Shags. I was given that name by the Vice President of Atlantic City. I met him on the boardwalk and he told me to help with official government business. Then we shared a rabbit in the moonlight, but I couldn’t go through with it. I was tricked again! Marshmallows!  

DAGS: It’s true: 2012 is the end of the world! I didn’t think it would end like this. The Mags are multiplying! I can’t believe this…unless it’s some kind of sick joke courtesy of our editors! Oh nice one! Listen, I know you’re trying to oust me to make room for a kinder, gentler columnist, but you can just FORGET ABOUT IT! I am here to STAY!

Don’t think that driving me toward a nervous breakdown is the answer you’ve been looking for, because I will crash and burn and rise again! I am DAGMAR HEWLITT! I have nerves of steel! So mark my words, any breakdown I have will certainly not be the nervous kind!

It’s a new year, and Mags has a new pamphlet!  “Here Comes The Mag-pocalypse!” will double as a 2012 keepsake calendar. If we survive this thing, you can give it to your grandchildren one day. If not, you can set fire to it and wave it around menacingly to ward off zombies.

 

This pamphlet costs $89.99, because your money’s no good in a post-apocalyptic future.

 

 

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Mags is Maggie "Wild" Childes:  Mags has never been married. She has however, dated married men, some prior to their nuptials. Thus, she knows a lot about the wedding planning process.

 

Dags is Dagmar Hewlett: Dags had her own wedding three years ago, but that's not going to prevent her from planning yours.

©2012 Christina Delia
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