UnNews:Dear Ayn Rand

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This article is part of UnNews UnNews Logo Potato1 Every time you think, you weaken the nation —Moe Howard

25 December 2007


AynRand
Ayn Rand cares little about you, but will answer your questions.

Child Psychologist Ayn Rand is indifferent to your questions regarding the development of the product of your sperm and egg union with another person. To contact Ms. Rand, write to Dear Ayn Rand, c/o UnNews, 60 UnNews Plaza, New Londonyork, 60609. Be sure to include your name, address and phone number.


Dear Ayn Rand,

Our daughter has become fixated on one toy and one toy only – a doll that her late grandfather gave her. She has many nice toys to play with; however “Chrissy” is the only toy that interests her, and must accompany her everywhere. What we should do? Signed Dominique Rourke, London.

Dear Ms. Rourke,

Your daughter has become an addict and the Chrissy doll (even the name is disgusting to me) is her crutch. I also suspect that your daughter's self image is very weak - no doubt from inferior genes - if she allowed this to happen to herself.

Life is about death. Those who do not understand loss will grow up with childish dreams of consistency in life. You must destroy the doll by smashing her to the ground in front of your daughter. By destroying your daughters most beloved object you will have unlocked the objectivism within her. A.R.


Dear Ayn Rand,

My son “Kevin” (not his real name) is thirteen (13) years old and still wets the bed. We’ve tried everything, including visits to the Mayo Clinic. Nothing seems to work. The problem keeps Kevin from going on scouting sleepovers and summer camp. What would your recommend for us to do to help our son with his problem. Signed, A Concerned Parent.

Dear Concerned,

The first step to helping your son is to drop this charade of anonymity that you insist on perpetuating, shall we Janice Stephenson of Wellesley, Massachusetts? I see you son’s problem as that of an identity crisis, in part because you are ashamed to call him by his full name of John Thomas Stephenson.

Secondly you need to stop covering for your son’s actions. The next time he urinates in his bed then you must hang his sheets from the window for all to see. Invite his friends, to see who sticks by this bed wetter and who mocks him for what he is, weak! At the same time you must encourage your son to announce to the world that yes, “I John Thomas Stephenson wet the bed for all to see in protest of those who dare to mock the individual for being truthful of who they are.”

If he refuses, then cast him out of your house and deny his birthright. He is weak and is feeding on your own valuable self worth. You must destroy him, and not look back, in order to reclaim your own esteem. A.R.


Dear Ayn Rand,

Our daughter entered into our bedroom while my wife and I were in the act of making love. She is now telling all her little friends that she saw “Mommy and Daddy in bed hurting each other.” How do we get her stop talking about the event? Signed, Perplexed in Plymouth.

Dear Mr. Arnold Farquar of Plymouth,

To break your daughter of the act of gossip, you must now have coitus in front of her until she loses interest in the act. Only then will you have unleashed the objectivism within her to accept the fact that even for her mother and father, that ones father will invade the motherland for the pleasure of both parents. A.R.

Dear Ayn Rand,

My husband and I disagree with the correct pronunciation of your name. Is it "Ain" or is "Ann"? Laura Bush, Washington DC.

Dear Ms. Bush,

To you and your husband it is "Ms. Rand." And please tell your weakling husband that the proper pronuncation of the word "Nuclear" is "nu-Clee-AR." A.R.


Dear Ayn Rand,

Your likeness is being parodied in BioShock? How do you respond to that? --NXWave 01:34, 27 December 2007 (UTC)

Dear NxWave, aka John Thomas Stephenson,

When I suggested that you be proclaim your weak bladder muscles to the world, I meant "real world" not within the conformist pseudo world of BioShock. Now excuse me, but I must return to Rapture. A.R.

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