Dear Mandy….Vol. 1


So I have had some folks send me emails asking for sarcastic advice per my personality issues. Keep in mind, this advice is purely sarcastic. I cannot give real advice for the following reasons:

  • I is not qualified. Really and for realsies. Closest thing I am to a therapist is a bartender. A drunk one.
  • I make mistakes every 2.2 seconds. Big ones. Like, if people knew, I would be in jail. Big ones.
  • I’m from New Jersey.
  • I don’t think like most rational humans. I’m a real prick most times.
  • My degree is quite useless in the advice department.
  • I drink way too much and have  tendency to say wrong things at even wronger times.

See? Sarcasm only. So today we have three entries, all from friends of friends. Let’s see what we have kids.

Dear Mandy,

I hate my family. I have to go home at least once a month or my parents freak out and think I’m ungrateful, or so they tell me. When I do go home, it’s a chastise fest, with them always telling me that I should apply myself more. I know they love me, but I can’t wait to relocate to the other coast to get rid of my obligation to see them. What sarcastic advice do you have for this one?

–Parents Really are Aliens

Dear Parents,

Not knowing what your childhood was like, it’s tricky for me to formulate the right curse words for you to use the next time you go home. Really, the more cunty you sound to them, the less they will care if you come back. Is there anyone you know that would give them a good “talking to?” Like, a certain person of Italian ethnicity with large connections to abandoned warehouses and gun type, things? I mean, a good threat always works.

If nothing like that seems appealing, then I would simply suggest growing a pair and telling them to f*** off.  That, or next time your there, take a big dump in the living area. Guaranteed to get some of that space you require, I gather.

Good luck with the aliens.

Love and kisses,



Dear Mandy,

I’m confused. I work in a nice office, and I dress up per the dress code everyday. Today I was called into the bosses office and was asked to dress more appropriately. For the record, I generally wear nice leggings, shirts and boots. I’m a larger girl and I’m not comfortable in dresses.., I tried explaining this, but because we get customers coming in, we have to look “professional” which apparently, I don’t. I thought I was doing well. But now I feel self conscious. What should I do?

Yours Truly,

No More Leggings

Dear No More,

Hey.  I get it. I’m a bigger girl too, and I love my lularoes. But I hate to tell you, if I worked in an office, (We know if I did, that wouldn’t last long), I wouldn’t think that would be okay to wear. If it was casual friday every day and your boss was 8, I imagine the flying pigs on my last pair of leggings would be a big hit. Alas, your boss is probably a cunt. So.

Did he/she ask you to wear dresses? I would just go get some dressy looking leggings. You know, the ones that say “These are my fancy leggings.” You know, like a play on the old “This is my costume” Halloween shirts.  If they have the word fancy on them, would it make it better?

If you can’t win, go literal.

P.S. I think they sell them at Wal-Mart. Along with the ones that say “Classy bitch” in the ass area. Maybe that’s good for Mondays? Start the week off right!

Best of luck with the cunty boss.



And for the final one,

Dear Mandy,

My kids are awful lately. I don’t know if it’s because they are almost teenagers or what, but the back talk is killing me. All I want to do is run away. I’ve given up the good fight and just take it most of the time. I’m at a loss. I didn’t expect this to be this hard. Help!



Dear Mom,

I have a news flash for you. Kids are awful at pretty much any age. Whoever looks at you and says “I love this age!” Is either high, or a stupid, clueless twat.

THEY are the teenagers. Let them run away. You’ve earned your stay. I thought adults paid the bills and owned the homes? But my history may be fuzzy.

Isn’t that what they do, anyway? Run away?

Or has this ungrateful generation been tainted by an equally more pussy fed generation that has no sack?

For fuck sake.

This is what I would offer up as general advice:

Here, kid, take this bag on a stick, and head east towards the ocean. Just don’t get into vans, okay? No matter the “fleek” color or sound system. And don’t let people touch you in the pee- pee places. (Unless you’re in Vegas. That’s kinda what they do there.)

It’s that simple. Be smart when you’re crossing the street and make sure the truck drivers that pick you up don’t make you explain why you think it’s okay to be a cunty fuck and leave a nice, free, uncomplicated bed. Because that’s when they kill you and hide you under thier creepy, Gacy shrine, like house for being a total and complete pussy.

And did I read that right?

“I didn’t expect this to be so hard.”


I read that right.

Wow. Where have you been living? This is hard all the god damn time. I’m sorry you pushed 2 assholes from your pooter and they turned out to be a little douchy, but seriously. Take your life back. And kick those fuckers into the basement. You know, the place they will end up living with thier stripper girlfriend if you don’t SHUTTHEFUCKUP.

Hope this helps!




Need advice?

Email: and be featured in my next blog. (Names are changed to protect the stupid)


Published by Mandy Greenfield

Writer. Studio Artist. Lover of animals. Sarcastic mama. Hiker. Visual thinker. Kilts and coffee. Funny person. Having fun doing anything inappropriate. Likes medium roller coasters.

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