PUBLISHED MONTHLY
EST. May 2000 (AD)

 
 

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DEAR MAGS/DAGS: I am going through a painful divorce. I also have the misfortune of being deemed Maid of Honor at my sorority sister Savannah's wedding just south of Geneva (I know what you're thinking, Savannah south of Geneva, how's that for confusing? Too much for this Georgia peach!)

Thing is, I'm not really in party mode lately. I'm so sad that little things make me cry, commercials for feminine hygiene products on television, the way my pinscher Poopsie looks when I come home after a long day. How am I going to party like its 1987 when all I feel like doing is curling up with a pint of Strawberry Surprise?

Georgia Peach is Feeling Creamed

MAGS: I was never in a sorority, because that involves college going! Luckily, I do know a lot about college co-eds because of a string of direct-to-DVD movies I made! These films are so great that you have to ask about them by whispering and then you go behind a secret curtain!

Anyway, I can help you because one of my movies involved going south and also one of the actresses I worked with was named Savannah! There wasn't anybody named Geneva, though, but there was a Delilah and a Misty! The whole film was based in the small town of Shaggingsburg. That's right off the Rock Me Baby Oh Yeah Don't Stop Freeway. I learned a lot about the college years that day!

Oh yes, and if after a long day your Poopsie makes you cry, it's probably because you're not supposed to pinscher for too long. Don't be sad! You've just got hemorrhoids! There, now don't you feel better?

DAGS: Ah, Strawberry Surprise, I know it well. Also, Fudge You, Buddy and Triple Ripple Hodgepodge. My favorite is the Chocolate Homicidal Maniac. It's like death by chocolate, but with more calories. You know what they say, a girl and her calories are soon air lifted through the roof of her home to the nearest medical facility.

Why would you want to come home to a dirty dog after a long day? I guess you could ask me the same thing! Get it? Dirty dog, husband? Believe it or not, I have a lot of admiration for divorcees who still attend weddings, and birthday parties, and supermarket grand openings. Personally, I would crawl into the hole that I dug for my ex-husband (so make sure that hole is pretty big when ya dig it!) What? Fine! I'm supposed to say that I am KIDDING, or else my editors won't treat you to my sparkling sense of humor. I am KIDDING. I mean no HARM. OKAY?

I'm actually in a great mood today, because I just found out that Mags is heading down the matrimonial pole, I mean, aisle. Can you believe it? This will be her last column EVER! 

Oh right, your problem. Just tell your sorority simp that you will only attend her wedding with Poopsie by your side. This way you get a date. Hey, you might even bring home a doggie bag! Get it? HA HA HA! Everything will work out, because the only thing more annoying than overgrown sorority sisters is people who allow furry friends to formal events. Enjoy!

DEAR MAGS/DAGS: Why do we have to R.S.V.P. for parties? Shouldn't the people who throw the party have enough food just in case extra guests want to come? Why should I be defined and forced to commit to attending an event? If I wanted commitment, I would get married!

Cynical Nicole   

MAGS: I am getting married! Do you want to see my ring? So do I! It's going to be waiting for me when I step off the plane. My fiancé Xavie has taken care of everything!

Getting married is hard work! You have to empty your bank account, and when you find out that your bank account is already empty, you have to borrow money from lots of men you've already slept with by offering more sleeping to them! They must really like me! Probably because I don't snore!

Who would have thought that I, Mags would one day marry a rich guy who asked to borrow money from me over the Internet? Dags says that is what they call in Hollywood a "meet cute". I am so lucky to have Dags here to give me advice! She's like an old, chubby sister with crow's feet and frown lines who doesn't look anything like me! Dags, you may be a size twenty-eight (I am guessing…higher? Lower? We had a bathroom scale in the office but Dags hurled it through the lunchroom window) but in my book, you're number one!   

Dags: I am seething with…delight right now, so I'll just say, "Thanks Mags" and proceed to ignore you. In regards to you, Cynical Nicole: the old Dags would take issue with everything you mentioned, idiot. The new Dags doesn't care! The old Dags would say something along the lines of, "If you wanted commitment, you'd look to the nearest loony bin where you belong, creepo!" The new Dags doesn't care if you're a creepo. I mean, you definitely are, and also a pathetic freak and a modern moron to boot. YOU THINK YOU'RE SO COOL, HIPSTER? DO YA? The new Dags is free of anger, free of hate, free of that pesky gag reflex that pops up whenever she reads your insipid questions (I've heard that Mags deals with her gag reflex at the Horn dog Motel, and that's not all that pops up!) Sorry! I mean…I am so happy for my co-columnist. She's leaving! Also, she's getting married! Plus, she's going away!

Who would have thought: after all these years of readers writing in and speculating that Mags would get murdered in our offices, she's most definitely going to get murdered someplace else! Did I mention how HAPPY I am for YOU, MAGS DARLING?

Mags would like to thank you, her dear readers, for allowing her to slip her pearls of wisdom into places one only reads about in an anatomy book. She loves all of you, because Mags has many lovers. Won't you repay her kindness by gifting her on her wedding day? Mags is registered at Offshore Account care of Xavier Von Krunkle and Post Office Box # 69696969, as well as Pottery Barn. Godspeed!

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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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