Agony Aunt

Well, I have made the decision. I want to be an Agony Aunt. Below are my first Q and A's. Still feeling my way, so to speak......

Dear Aunt Scrote
I am worried that my hubby no longer seems interested in me, you know, that way. What can I do to revive his passion?
Worried Jane
Dear Worried Jane Put the egg in a pan of cold water and bring it to the boil - about seven minutes. Then turn down the heat and cook the egg for a further three minutes. Serve with bread and butter. If that doesn't revive his passion, kill him.

Dear Aunt Scrote
I find some women attractive, you know, physically. Does this mean I am, you know, a l......... ?
Anne from Norwich
Dear Anne Put the egg in a pan of cold water and bring it to the boil - about seven minutes. Then turn down the heat and cook the egg for a further three minutes. Serve with bread and butter. If you still find women attractive, email me privately....

Dear Auntie Scrote
I am only twelve but I already have, you know, feelings. I just worry that I might not be normal. Please help me.
Worried Brown-eyes
Dear Worried Brown-eyes Put the egg in a pan of cold water and bring it to the boil - about seven minutes. Then turn down the heat and cook the egg for a further three minutes. Serve with bread and butter. If this doesn't work, you are definitely not normal. Tough luck, kid.

Dear Abby

I am thinking of starting a new career as an Agony Aunt. I think I am well qualified for the job: lots of experience, a caring nature, a warm bosom (quite an achievement for a man) and an endless obsession with affairs of the heart and other organs. Here is a selection of cris de coeur which I am sure I could deal with if Abby can't:
Dear Abby,
A couple of women moved in across the hall from me. One is a middle-aged gym teacher and the other is a social worker in her mid twenties. These two women go everywhere together and I've never seen a man go into or leave their apartment. Do you think they could be Lebanese?
Dear Abby,
What can I do about all the Sex, Nudity, Foul Language and Violence on my VCR?
Dear Abby,
I have a man I can't trust. He cheats so much, I'm not even sure the baby I'm carrying is his.
Dear Abby,
I am a twenty-three year old liberated woman who has been on the pill for two years. It's getting expensive and I think my boy friend should share half the cost, but I don't know him well enough to discuss money with him.
Dear Abby,
I've suspected that my husband has been fooling around, and when confronted with the evidence, he denied everything and said it would never happen again.
Dear Abby,
Our son writes that he is taking Judo. Why would a boy who was in a good Christian home turn against his own?
Dear Abby,
My forty year old son has been paying a psychiatrist $50.00 an hour every week for two and a half years. He must be crazy.
Dear Abby,
I was married to Bill for three months and I didn't know he drank until one night he came home sober.
Dear Abby,
You told some woman whose husband had lost all interest in sex to send him to a doctor. Well, my husband lost all interest in sex and he is a doctor. Now what do I do?

On second thoughts, maybe I will stick to moths.

A definition of bravery

[With apologies to my sapphic readers, bless you each and every one]

A blind man enters a lesbian bar by mistake. After finding his way to the barstool, he orders a drink, then yells to the bartender:
"Hey! you wanna hear a blonde joke?"
A deathly silence descends on the bar.
In a deep husky menacing voice, the woman sitting next to him says:
"Hey, before you tell that joke, you should know something. The bartender: she is a blonde. The bouncer: she is a blonde. I am 200lb and I am a blonde with a black belt in karate. What's more, the woman next to me is a blonde and she`s a weightlifter and the woman on your right is a blonde and she's a professional wrestler. Do you still wanna tell that joke?"
The blind man pauses, thinks and then replies:
"Nah, not if I`m gonna have to explain it five times."

Mrs T spaced out

I knew she wouldn't be far behind.....
Dear William Shatner, she writes, what an interesting piece that was about magic mushrooms! I guess you had a lot of magic experiences while visiting other worlds in your famous TV series, The Sky at Night. Personally, I always avoided the drug scene, with the exception of aspirin, but if you and that one with the pointy ears did stuff, far be it from me to judge, although the way your good looks have collapsed lately might be the price you are now paying for your youthful indulgences.
My late husband, Mr Trellis, always said "If you can't do it without artificial stimulation, don't do it". A sage counsel, I thought, although I noticed he always took a stiff one before approaching the marital bed. Mind you, approach it was all he ever managed, bless him, martyr as he was to premature evacuation.
Anyway, it's good to see that you have made a new career playing funny fat men, but I guess you must miss the magic of space travel and that black woman Uhuhu and her muscular thighs. A propos her, Mr Trellis could never watch her without a bag of walnuts and a pair of nutcrackers in his lap. You men!
Yours
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, etc.

Magic Jewish Mushrooms

Tonight, the Conservation Society talk was about fungi. Sorry you missed it. A most entertaining speaker, who introduced us to edible mushrooms, dangerous mushrooms, pretty and harmless mushrooms. And psychedelic mushrooms. He told us that it is not only a criminal offence to pick or possess these "magic" mushrooms. but that a landowner who has them growing on his property is liable to prosecution too. Is it just my paranoia, or has the world gone totally mad?
Another touch to invoke my grump: there is a fungus which has always been known popularly as "Jew's Ear" (apparently because it grows on a species of tree on which Judas is said to have been hanged). The speaker mentioned its vernacular name in a whisper but said that he was no longer "allowed" to use that name. Is it just my paranoia, or has the world gone totally mad?
Anyway, be that is it may, my ambition now is to pick a handful of magic mushrooms, dry and crush them to make an infusion and beg my Jewish friends to come round and share the experience. I hope they are prepared to lend an ear to my plea.

Noblesse oblige? You bet!

Defer, peasants! You might be dealing here with a scion of the landed gentry.
I always suspected that my thin wrists and ankles betokened aristocratic ancestry, and it seems that there is a chance I am right: I just came across a reference to one Sir Henry Allsop of Alsop-en-le-Dale in Derbyshire (reputedly the fons et origo of the whole clan, regardless of the number of l's and p's in the name). If there's a Sir Henry, no reason why there shouldn't be a Sir OldScrote Allsop, entitled to a coat of arms, a Manor to be Lord of, and all that flows therefrom.
The bit of flow therefrom that I particularly want to explore is the droit de seigneur known as Ius Primae Noctis, whereby the Lord of the Manor has the right, and indeed the duty, to roger every bride on her first night in order to satisfy himself that she is a virgin. You know me, I would take such a responsibility seriously: as we aristos say, noblesse oblige.
Now, as to my escutcheon: I guess I will go for something with an animal on it, a camelopard or a hippogriff maybe, but whatever it is, it will definitely be rampant.

Trellis sets her cap

I find it hard to believe that Mrs Trellis would set her cap at another man, but wonders never cease.
Cher President Sarkozy, she writes, may I first of all congratify you on becoming President of France and what's left of her Dominicans. But my main reason for putting pen to wordprocessor is to say how much I admire your love of beans. The late Mr Trellis shared your enthusiasm, despite the flatulence. Well, more, because of it. Being a deft harmonium player, he realised the musical potential of the humble bean, and could give a convincing rendition of Men of Harlech, or at least of the first stanza before Nature intervened, so to speak.
You know, mon cher monsieur president, the French and the Welsh have SO much in common: singing, the arts, lakes and mountains, good food, sympathy for small farmers, distrust of the English, and now beans.
If you are ever in North Wales, call in, and I can promise you an experience with cassoulet beans and celery that will make you forget you are a married man, heaven forbid.
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, Retired.