Ask Professor Classypants: Classy Justice Edition

There were three things I did not anticipate when I got into the faux online advice columnist game.  First:  by the time you realize that you loathe answering  anything–surveys, the phone, simple questions, letters from a bunch of strangers–it’s too late.  Next:  people think it’s super-fancy to close their letters with “please advise.”  It’s not.  It’s douchetastic.  And finally:  people who write to fake online advice columnists have a lot of legal woes.  A.  Lot.

The Professor can play judge, too

So I’m devoting today’s column to those of you desperately seeking legal advice.  Please note that I am not an attorney nor am I qualified in any way to offer you sound legal counsel.  But assuming you are one of those people who orders the series of hastily recorded “Understanding Bankruptcy” cassette tapes in the mail (and our Google analytics show that at least half of Act Classy readers are), you’re in no position to turn your nose up at free advice.

I get all my legal advice from Maxell tapes. Then I flip them over and tape my favorite song off the radio.


Dear Professor:

Just so we’re clear, anything I ask you is covered under attorney-client privileges, right?

Assuming the answer is yes, where would be the best place to store 600 cases of rare Indonesian Macaws so they won’t die while I lay low?

To commemorate your letter, I made you this pillow.

Dear Birdman:

Anything you ask me is most certainly privileged, in the sense that it is a terrific privilege for you to fire up your computer only to find me on the other end answering your silly questions.  However, please be advised that I will totally be putting your bird-trafficking self on blast for the world to see.  I hope that’s okay.

In the interest of giving you the best advice possible, I consulted my friendly neighborhood professional organizer.  She asked me to please leave and couldn’t I read because clearly the sign said “Restrooms Are For Employees Of The Container Store ONLY.”

As my husband, Mr. Professor Classypants, once said, “Do they sell nothing to contain my excitement?”

Since the professional organizer was no help, I tried a little experiment.  I am here to report that you should not store rare Indonesian Macaws in sandwich bags.   As for your allergy, might I suggest you turn to alternative medicine:  drinking Robitussin and calling your mother to confront her about not breastfeeding you long enough.  – P.C.

Dear Professor Classypants:

I have a friend who has a really unfortunate laugh. It seriously sounds like a noisy flock of geese flying through a tunnel whenever she lets loose. I love spending time with her, but her laugh makes me want to puncture my eardrums. How do I handle it?


Dear Belinda:

How fortunate that I happen to know someone looking to unload 600 rare Indonesia Macaws.  If you bring them with you whenever you two meet, you’ll scarcely notice your friend’s honking chortle.

And in keeping with the theme of today’s column, might I offer some unsolicited legal advice:  you should totally sue your friend for scaring the bejeezus out of your pet Macaws. – P.C.

You will occasionally encounter a Goose who is unafraid of macaws.


Dear Professor:

I am in a Turkish prison.  It’s as bad as they say.  Can you bail me out?

-Prisoner 24601

Dear 24601:

It would appear from your signature that you are in a much bigger prison than the literal jail of which you speak.  You are trapped by your love of musical theater or, perhaps, French literature.  Either way, until you stop putting on airs and acting like a pretentious whatnot, you will continue to get the crap kicked out of you, in prison or out of it.

On second thought, your letter may also be a clever way to show us how much you know about very important films (yes, yes, we get it…Midnight Express and movies haven’t been good since the 70′s and blah di blah).  It could also just be an unfortunate attempt to advance stereotypes about the good people of Turkey.  Pretentious film buff or Turk hater, I hope someone locks you away for a good, long time. – P.C.

What is really, really surprised?


Dear Professor C:

My dogs won’t stop peeing on the floor.  I’ve tried reasoning with them, but it doesn’t appear to be working.  HELP!!!


Dear Steve:

Seriously?  “Professor C?”  Okay, Arthur Fonzarelli, I’m sorry you don’t have time to type my entire name.  You certainly had enough energy to add all of those extra exclamation points at the end of your note.

But, no matter: the Professor is a dog lover so your letter went straight to the top of the pile.  I appreciate that you first tried to reason with your beloved pets.  After all, our dogs are not merely canine companions.  They are family members and best friends.  You wouldn’t scream at your child for peeing on your carpet.  You might yell at your best friend for doing it but if things had deteriorated so already, yelling wouldn’t fix anything.  So why yell at your poor, well-meaning, beloved dog  and expect to get positive results?

You know what gets results?  Litigation.  See you in court, Spot. – P.C.

Perhaps when the creator of this meme sues me, I can praise him or her for their outstanding work.


Dear Professor:

I feel like you are stretching this week’s theme a bit.


Your Act Classy Editor-in-Chief

Dear Editor:

Well, I feel like there’s an awful lot of space elsewhere on this website devoted to David Caruso fan fic.  So.  There. – P.C.

This is my china pattern. Fact.

Happy writing! Thanks for stopping by to live, love, and learn. Be sure to join us next week.And remember: Act Classy and you will be classy. Ish.

Have a question for Professor Classypants? Feel free to use our magical form that lets you enter information into rectangles. When you hit SUBMIT, the form sends electronic mail to Professor Classypants with your message. Great… now we’ve over-explained things.

Molly Martin

Professor Darla Von Classypants is actually Molly G. Martin. Because Ann Landers and Dear Abby and Dear Prudence haven't used real names in 67 years so why should she? And if you're thinking this reminds you of an old Dave Barry schtick: when you grow up and get your own blog, THEN you can have opinions.

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