By popular request (Dave, down the pub last night) & utilising my immense experience (Dave, down the pub last night), skill (it’s amazing what you pick up from Leslie’s Turkey Bowling), & qualifications (Degree of Stupidity, University of Ougadougou, Offshore College) – and in the spirit of Blatant Plagiarism (thanks, The Bloggess & Um…What??) – I have decided to start up (drum roll, please):
My Very Own Agony Column!
And since no-one has really asked my advice about anything ever yet (apart from Dave, down the pub last night – & he just had this sort of skin rash thingy that you REALLY don’t want to know about), I don’t have too many to start with; in fact I may need to resort to that trusty friend of writers everywhere, Mr Making Shit Up.
Anyway, as they say, from little acorns (or in Dave’s case, pustules) mighty things grow,so in what I hope will be the first of many thousands of posts, can I take the first question please:
Dear Aunty Drolgerg
May I say how lovely you’re looking today (thank you dear – Aunty Drolgerg); your eyes are sparkling like precious diamonds (ooh how lovely dear, I’m flattered – Aunty Drolgerg); your rosey cheeks are like sweet little yummy apples (ooh, you’re getting me all hot & bothered now sweetie – Aunty Drolgerg); your lips are ripe & ready for a big smoochy wet kiss (Oh my!- Aunty Drolgerg) with tongues (OOH! … I’ve just come – Aunty Drolgerg); your… (yes all right, get on with it, I’m bored now – Aunty Drolgerg)…
Oh, right then:
I’m a rich bloke who gets his jollies from buying good old family firms, splitting them up, selling them off & making shedloads on the profits. I hired a hooker for the night, but I think I’ve fallen in love with her: I’m in danger of becoming a nice guy. This can’t happen, I could lose everything: how do you think I got rich in the first place? What should I do?
Dear Jarvis dear,
Whatever you do DON”T pranny about climbing up some bloody tenement fire escape with a poncy bunch of flowers trying to woo her. You’ll just look like prat. She likes you for your money, obviously, so just give her some more. Anyway, if it wasn’t for George from Seinfeld she wouldn’t have left you in the first place. So kill him. Simple!
Oi, Shitface! (Now that’s not very nice, is it dear? – Aunty Drolgerg)
Your last question was just a rehash of the plot of my film ‘Pretty Woman’, & I don’t like the advice you gave – my ending was perfect: it made me cry &, more importantly, got me laid. Get some real questions & stop nicking my stuff, you bastard!
A P Doff Wrighter*
Now you haven’t read the rest of this post, have you dear? I hate it when that happens. Please see earlier under ‘Blatant Plagiarism’.
A P Doff Wrighter:
A pox on you, you stole your story from me in the first place, you cad!
G B Shaw (nah nah nah nah nah, AP – Aunty Drolgerg)
Μπορείτε τόσο έκλεψε την ιστορία από μένα, οπότε σκάσε (trans.: “You all stole the story from me anyway, so shut up the lot of you”)
γAn αρχαία ελληνική (“An Ancient Greek”)*
This is getting very confusing, next question please:
Dear Aunty Drolgerg
I got bitten on the arm by this weird monkey at the zoo, & I got this nasty throbbing hurty rash, then I fell asleep for a bit then when I came to my skin started peeling off & bits are falling off me. I also have a headache.
Dave: First of all, I asked you not to come on here, didn’t I? Second, that’s the plot of Peter Jackson’s ‘Braindead’, & that means you’re a zombie. Get a lawnmower or a large food mixer. Use on self: problem solved.
I thought that went well! That’s all for now, my lovelies: if I do this again it may even be slightly more original. But I’m making no promises. Tata for now!
* I couldn’t be bothered looking up his name