A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.

By Nina Pajak

Earlier this week we reported on a Princeton mom—that’s a mom who went to Princeton whose children also go to Princeton, as is so often the case — wrote an open letter to the gals of her alma mater with invaluable advice.

It is this, in a nutshell: One mustn’t pursue one’s B.A. or B.S. without also considering just as seriously one’s MRS degree.

As in, find yourself a husband while you’re still on the right side of those esteemed gates, girl, or get thee to a nunnery. Why? Well, the reason is obvious. Once you graduate, you go from a world filled with excellently bred, intelligent young men to one teeming with ape-like morons who are probably poor and inadequate in innumerable other ways, like maybe they only went to Emory or some sort of public institution or even Cornell. Pretty soon you’ll be too old to be desirable or fertile anyway. She married one such non-Princetonian bottom-feeder and boy did she regret it. Fortunately, if you’re a Princeton man, the world is your oyster. You have no “shelf life” and will be desirable to any conceivable pool of women, so get out there and sew your wild, privileged oats.

Incidentally, we hear she also wrote in a follow-up letter that she never understood the endings to the following movies: Pretty in Pink (or really anything by John Hughes), School TiesAnimal House, Old School, the entire Van Wilder oeuvre, and Cinderella.

Equally vomitous news out of Long Island, where an unsuspecting woman who sought only an elegant way to perfume her house was met with a nasty surprise. She purchased a bag of potpourri from a local HomeGoods store and placed the contents into a bowl, whereupon she went about with her life ostensibly feeling good about her domestic good deed. The next day, however, she noticed a couple of pieces of the potpourri had been somehow knocked onto the floor. Curious, and with much better investigative instincts that I could ever muster, she looked back in the back among the remaining potpourri and found—ophidiophobes may want to skip to the next story, and that means you, dear sister-in-law—a nine-inch long piece of shed snakeskin. And, of course, no snake. Here’s the hierarchy of unpleasantness when it comes to finding snakes in ones home:

Best: No evidence of any snake whatsoever
Worse: Half a snake (this mostly pertains to food)
Worst: Whole snake<
Nightmare: Evidence of snake with no actual snake in sight

It stands to reason that the snake had, in fact, been hiding in the bag and poured out into the bowl from which it made its daring escape. Let’s hope it went straight into the garden or down the toilet or something. If I were that lady, I’d hire ten different exterminators and I wouldn’t be able to sleep without the help of heavy sedatives and then I’d probably just put the house on the market.

Finally, moving on from the Tri-State area….

A small town in Georgia passed an ordinance this week requiring all of its citizens to own a gun. However, the ordinance will not be enforced on the following people:

1. Those who object
2. Convicted felons
3. Those with “certain” mental and physical disabilities.

Ah, well. So long as we’re not legally requiring our criminals and mentally unfit people to purchase guns, I suppose we’re fine.

The councilman who proposed the ordinance, Duane Cronic (amazing name), acknowledged that he did not envision the law being enforced and that he was mainly trying to prove some sort of nebulous and ill-conceived point about the 2nd amendment and . . . uh . . . safety.

“‘I likened it to a security sign that people put up in their front yards. Some people have security systems, some people don’t, but they put those signs up . . . I really felt like this ordinance was a security sign for our city,'” he said to the Associated Press.

That’s a good point, really. A town choc-a-bloc with potentially inexperienced and indiscriminate gun owners is a lot like a town filled with people whose houses make loud noises and trigger the police when someone tries to break in. This sounds like the brainchild of a day of one too many beers after target practice with Mr. Cronic’s buddies.

“Screw the government for trying to take away our guns!”
“They can’t say we can’t have guns!”
“What if we said, everyone has to have guns! What about that? Bet they wouldn’t like that.”
“Yeah! That’d be great. The ol’ switcheroo!”
“Duane, you should make that happen.”
“Dude. I’m totally doing it.”
“Yeah! To Duane! To guns! Yeah!”
[Sounds of celebratory gun-shooting and various hoots and hollers]

See, Princeton girls? This is who you have to marry if you don’t get yourself knocked up to entrap find a husband while you’re still in school.

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