Why, oh why, are you still friends with that bitch Serena after all that shit-excuse my French—that’s gone down Why don’t you hate her?
You Know You Hate HerDear YKYHH,
Oh, I hate her all right. I’ve tried to kill her several times. But like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction or Johnny in The Shining or Michael Myers in Halloween, the bitch just keeps coming back. Our friendship is founded on hate. I wouldn’t even exist if I didn’t hate her so much. It’s like, I hate Serena, therefore I am, and so I have to love her for perpetuating my existence. I love myself—a lot—and without Serena there’d be no me. See? Hate is my middle name. Our enemies are often our best friends. Don’t forget to floss.
P.S. I think this one’s best answered by both of us. S, you bitch—care to chime in?Dear YKYHH,
I don’t hate Blair. I don’t hate anyone. It just happens that sometimes people have to die in order for you to get what you want. Blair will eventually die and then I will be truly happy—with Nate. Until then, I will have to console myself by remembering that I will always be prettier and taller and more mysterious. Blair might have higher SAT scores and a few more pairs of Louboutins, but I have more nuance and je ne sais quoi, even though I’m not sure what that means. I love Blair because not killing her makes me feel like a good person, and Nate will only love me if I am good. Does that make sense? Hate is complicated.
My best friend since we were little kids just stabbed me in the back by telling the entire school that I regularly hook up with my brother. First, gross! Second, it’s her brother that I’m hooking up with. Do I risk destroying the PLA to get back at my ex-best friend, or should I just ignore the gossip and let this sleeping dog lie? With me. Every Tuesday when that bitch goes to swim practice.
Little Angry Princess
It sounds to me like your friend needs to be taught a lesson for spreading trashy incest lies about you around school. Not sure what you had in mind, but I’m thinking rat poison in her swimming cap. Get it in powder form, and spread a nice, thick layer on the inside of the cap. It will leach into her hair follicles. First she’ll lose her hair and then she’ll lose her head, floating in the pool. Don’t you agree? Alternatively, you might order a school of piranhas from one of those exotic fighting fish websites and release them into the pool when she’s in there alone/ The chlorine will kill the fish, but not right away. They’ll be irritated and aggressive as they fight for their lives, and they’ll take it out on your “friend.” What fun—wish I could watch! Of course, it will take forever for the staff to clean up the mess, but isn’t that what they’re there for? Just think: You won’t have to wait until Tuesday to hook up with her brother anymore. I trust you have good taste and he’s worth the trouble. If you decide he’s not and you’ve already purchased the piranhas, just keep them in a tank in your room. They’ll look cool and I’m sure you’ll find a use for them. Come to think of it, you could use the rat poison first and let the piranhas do away with the body.
Good luck!—BDear Serena,
I hate the arts but I’m currently dating a writer-performance artist who drags be to all these boring museums and reads Kerouac aloud all the time. How can I seem cultured and pretend I’m interested without actually going to these annoying performances or reading these depressingly long books about people who never wash their hair?
So Over Art PiecesDear SOAP,
Why are you seeing someone who shares none of the same interests as you? How can you “hate the arts”? I owe my entire career to the arts. Haven’t you seen the film Breakfast at Barneys? Didn’t your artsy boyfriend drag you to the Remi Brothers’ retrospective at the New Museum featuring a close-up portrait of my nethermost region? Do you even attend Fashion Week? That Chanel dress you’re coveting? That’s art. The pictures of me sitting front row? Art. That cut you got this morning which shaving your legs? Art. The dead squirrel you stepped over and thought was gross? Art. In fact, there’s nothing more beautiful than blood—spilled, pooling blood. Why not put on your own performance art piece and get your boyfriend to participate? Take him “hunting” in the park. You’ll be Diana, goddess of the hunt, and he can be a stag. Chase him, and when and if you finally catch him, slit his throat. He sounds like a loser anyway.
P.S. You can order a good sharp hunting knife online at any decent sporting goods store.Dear Serena,
I recently walked in on my 16-year-old twin brother crying over a men’s magazine with Ryan Gosling on the cover. He was perched on the window ledge, maybe about to jump? If he’s having problems, I want him to talk to me but I’m afraid he’ll push me away. And I don’t want my parents to send him away. That already happened once. Help?
Little Edgy and Paranoid?
I feel for you. It sounds like your brother may be in the closet. Like, gay? But I’m not sure. Blair knows more about that stuff because of her gay dad. He used to have a sort of unpredictable temper and would, like, throw completely full wine glasses at walls and stuff. Either that or he’d be all, “Girls, let’s grab some gelato and go shoe shopping!” But now that he’s out he doesn’t do that anymore. He lives with his boyfriend in a chateau in France, where they make their own wine. Blair, care to add anything?
I always have something to add, and I love my gay dad and all gay men, however I wouldn’t jump (excuse the pun) to conclusions quite so fast. If you don’t mind my asking—is your brother ugly? Maybe he was crying because Ryan Gosling has a great body and your brother doesn’t? Who are you anyway and why do you want my advice? I don’t care about you or your brother. I only care about the people I’ve known since preschool, who are like family. Actually, they are family. If you look at a family tree of all the best families on the Upper East Side, you’ll find that we’re all related. Maybe it’s the inbreeding that’s kept us so beautiful. Tell your brother I said hey.
I suspect my minions aren’t really my minions anymore as I just overheard them planning a weekend away together in a hotel suite, without me. How can I get invited, get revenge, and get them to focus on my without sacrificing my esteem?
Been Endlessly Eavesdropping
You have no friends other than your so-called “minions”? How did you get my contact information? Surely you’re beneath me, although it’s not beneath me to respond. Revenge is my specialty. Find out where they’re staying and book two suites next door. Throw a part in one suite and invite the entire hotel. Wait until they’re good and sloshes, turn up the music, and then call security. When they’re panicking and freaking out, rescue them by bringing them to the empty suite. Then, either kill them or leave them to wake up with horrible hangovers, begging for forgiveness. They’ll never forget how you saved them—if you let them live. Me, I’d get new minions. They’re disposable.
Good luck.—BDear Serena,
I think I might have a stalker situation on my hands! This pudgy little freak from hot yoga follows me around all the time, wearing exactly the same coat, bag, shoes and sunglasses I’m wearing. I even saw her the other day walking a ginger-colored teacup shar-poo, which is exactly the dog I own. How do I get rid of her?
Young Original Girl, Inconvenienced
It’s quite simple really. Apply a garrotte to her throat in the changing room after yoga when she’s weak and overheated and can’t fight back, roll her up in a yoga mat, and stuff her in a dumpster. Done.