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I guess you heard that the advice columnist addressed as “Dear Abby” died this week. Somebody has to pick up the slack. So, I’m digging into the mail bag to take a shot at it.

Let’s see:

“Dear DA Dude:

I have to go to court next week and I’m wondering what to wear. I’m 22 years old and quite attractive. At least that’s what all my husbands have told me. My brother says I should wear the tank top—you know, the one with the “F word” written across it. He says the judge will find that attractive and I will get a break. I’m wondering what you think?

Sincerely,

Strutting in Seattle”

Well, Strutting, that depends upon how cute you think you would look in an orange jumpsuit.

“Dear DA Dude:

For some reason people avoid me and I don’t understand why and they seem to get tired of listening to me and they even run away when they see me coming and it’s gotten so bad that I’ve gone to a doctor and he’s put me on lots of medicine and it makes me sleepy and when I sleep I have the craziest dreams and my doctor tells me that dreams are just the things that you think about but that can’t be true because I dream the craziest things.

Dizzy in Detroit”

Seriously, Diz?

“Dear DA Dude:

There is a woman that I would very much like to date. She’s beautiful. She’s smart. We share many of the same interests. There’s only one problem. We’re cousins. Would there be any problem with us getting married and having kids?

Toothless in Kentucky”

You know what? I’ve got criminals to prosecute. Is Abby’s sister, Ann, still around? Doesn’t matter. Somebody else can have the advice column business. I’m outta here.