Your weekly Unethicist dose...

In light of a recent, ahem, "scare" at the 33rd St. palace, this seems highly apropos. And hilarious.

Last summer, I visited friends at their chateau in France -- good company, excellent food, but a lumpy mattress full of bedbugs. Badly bitten, I said nothing, but I know I'll be invited back. How can I politely tell them about their infestation? Or more politely, must I remain silent and simply decline the invitation? -- Joan Shore, Fort Lauderdale, Fla.

I forgot about the part in the Princess and the Pea where the Princess turned out to be a total twat. Ooh la-la, yearly visits to your friends' chateau in France. You know, even in spite of your gauche I'm-not-just-an-asshole-I'm-an-international-asshole thing, the fact that you got bed bugs would normally have put me firmly on your side because that is some bullshit (nice chateau, Scabies Depardieu), but that you can't even talk about it without the bourgeois complaint that the infected mattress was "lumpy"? Go le fuck your le self.

If I was in charge, we would chain you up and force feed you until your liver turned into human foie gras, like some kind of set piece from Saw VIII: Jigsaw Prends Paris.

Je hate you.