What are the answers?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I did your quiz and I got stuck on most of them.  Then I lost interest.  But I'm mildly curious and I can’t be bothered reading the whole blog.  What are the answers?

Wow.  I feel as useful and as loved as the current American economy.  Here are your answers - as I cry into my Chardonnay. 

1.  Red or dark red but to be more precise, maroon.

2.  30.

3. Mutton is the meat of an elderly sheep.  It’s like eating your Grandmother*.  Tough and yucky.

4. If you read my tag line, it says ‘What you need is a good kick up the pants. The pants are not provided but the boot is for free’.  So, no, I don’t sell boots on my blog, so stop asking.  If you want real boots, visit http://www.ebay.com/.

5.  An Aunty is the female sibling of one (and hopefully not both) of your parents.

6. The Wiggles.  And no, it doesn’t matter if it was sung by the old or the new yellow Wiggle.

7. Downtrodden and/or heartbroken.  My boyfriend answered this question before I’d finished asking it.  He seemed quite proud of that.  I found it sad that phrase was so deeply etched in his brain.

8. ‘Dead To Me’ button.  And Zuckerberg, if you steal my idea, just send me a cheque.  Let’s not involve the lawyers.

9. False.  The ‘Grapevine’ isn’t the cure for ANYTHING.  Unless it eventually turns in to Chardonnay.

10. ‘Flying The Rack’.  And I have no idea why this catchphrase hasn’t caught on.

11. (a) a chain of strip club convenience stores.  And upon further consideration, I’ve decided the name these stores - ‘Check Out Chicks’.  The chain’s slogan will be ‘Get your milk and your lap-dance at your convenience’. 

12. (c) Constable Perry McWhirter.  And we’ve never become friends.

13. Negative twenty.  And that just shows how unfair the world is.

14. Star spangled banner, the Lords prayer or Jack Nicholson’s monologue from ‘A Few Good Men’.  And if you’re a real smarty-pants, ‘Please, please, please, take me with you.’

15. Speed.  What do you do?

What do you do?  Send me a question is what you do… angryauntis@gmail.com

*Don't eat your Grandmother.  She'll just taste like chicken that's been sitting in the sun for 90 years. If you're really hungry for something old, I'd recommend eating a 90 year old Cheeseburger instead. At least you'll know it'll be as fresh as the day you bought it.

Why don't you include a quiz?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

I think your blog is okay - not great but okay.  What do you think about including an interactive section?  Maybe a quiz? 

Sure, why not.

One point for each correct answer

1. What’s the background colour of Angry Agony Aunt? 

2. How many posts have there been in 2011 (including this one)? 

3. What is mutton?

4. How much do I charge for a boot? 

5. In genealogy, what is an Aunty? 

 

Two points for each correct answer

6. In Should I tell my friends I’ve won Lotto, which group sang “I’m in the money” as a voicemail message?   

7. In How do I get a girl like that, what two traits do men need to have to be considered a real man? 

8. What’s the new Facebook button I created?

9. True or False. In How do I get him to walk properly, the “Grapevine” was a suggested cure. 

10. What skateboard catchphrase did I make up?

Three points for each correct answer

11. In How do I get him to go to school, what was the young boy’s billion dollar idea? (a) an automatic prawn peeler (b) a chain of strip-club convenience stores (c) bendable gutters

12. In Should I have corrected him, who was my arresting officer? (a) Senior Sergeant Tom Croyden  (b) Senior Constable Perry McDonald  (c) Constable Perry McWhirter

13. How many karma points do you get when you smack someone else's child? (a) -20  (b) +3  (c) 500 if the kid is a smartass

14. In What should I write in the card, name one of the things I suggested.

15. In Why do I put smilies in text messages, what movie was I subliminally quoting?

Scoring

1-4 = I think you have the wrong blog.

5–10 = Congratulations you can read.

10–14 = You scored higher than my boyfriend and if you’re like him, you didn’t even try.

15–20 = Congratulations, you scored as many as me.

21–24 = If you read my blog so much, will you pay for a subscription?

25–30 = Stop reading my blog for a while.  Then come back when you get a life.

30+ = I’m sorry but you can’t count.

Now, if you have a question, send it through to me.  angryauntis@gmail.com

How do I get my partner to take out the trash?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

How do I get my partner to take out the trash?

Let me tell you a story.  I know nothing about skateboards.  But this didn’t stop me having a conversation with my boyfriend about it.  It’s always good to share some word time with your man and I thought, what better way than to talk to an ex homeboy/homosexual/gangster/whatever about skateboarding.  This is the beginning of the end of the conversation:

Him : … Getting air.

Me : What’s that?

Him : You know, when a skater, skates up the half pipe, hangs in the air and comes down again.  Getting air.

Me: What, like ‘flying the rack?’

Him : What?

Me : Flying the rack.

*Silence.* 

Me : Oh, I just made up a new catchphrase.  That’s awesome.

*Silence*

Me : (Westside fingers)

Him : (through gritted teeth and very slowly) What the hell is a rack?

Me : The skateboard silly.  So when you’re in the air, you’re (Westside fingers)
Him : I hate you and I hope you die.

Me : I’m so cool. (Westside fingers) Flying. (Shake the Westside fingers) The. Rack.

Him : You really don’t care about me do you?

Me : My blog.  That’s it, I’ll put it on my blog.  And, and, and, and.  I’ll start a Facebook page to get it introduced as a new term.  Oh yeah, and I’ll register www.flyingtherack.com.  They’re going to write about me in skateboard folk law. 

After that, my boyfriend never spoke to me again, except for that one time when asked me to return his Big Bang Theory DVD’s. 

So, how do you get your partner to take out the trash?  What are you asking me for?  Ask him.  And if that doesn't work, take out the trash yourself, you whinger.

Have a question?  Email me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Should I have taken the seat?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I was on the train the other day and someone gave up their seat for me because they thought I was pregnant.  The thing is that I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.  Was it wrong to take the seat?

Yes and No.  A bit of a 'Yo'.  Of course it’s wrong to deceive your fellow man.  But as far as you were concerned, a seat space had opened up.  You’d be an idiot to give up an available seat on a packed train so kudos to you for getting that part of the conundrum right.

But for the rest of it, I question your ethics, morals and choice of hair colour.  I mean, you’re fat.  You’ve spent days/months/years sitting down, it’s time for you to start sharing the joy of laziness with others.  So even though not wasting a seat is good, your tuckshop lady arms are bad.  Bad, bad, bad.

But let me be honest.  Your ‘fat’ problem concerns me a lot less than another pressing issue I have with ‘priority seating’.  And my blog isn’t big enough for the both of us.  So move over fatso, I’m going to give another answer.

What happens when you have only one seat available and there’s three people - an old person, a disabled person and a pregnant lady?  Who gets the seat?  Does the disabled person trump an old person, trump a pregnant lady?  Is this how rock, paper, scissors was invented?  And what happens if you have three of a kind getting on the train at the same time?  For example, do all the old people have to get out their seniors cards to prove who’s older and in need of the last seat?  Is it the person who got there first or should it be the person who gets there last?  I mean, if you got there last, doesn’t that mean you’re the one that needs the seat the most?  It’s all very confusing and I’m very confused.

So after all that, I only have one piece of advice for you.  Lose weight.  Fatty.

How can I win at Monopoly?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I play Monopoly with my father religiously every Friday night.  For the past year and a half, I’ve never won a game.  I love my Dad but between the hours of 8pm – 9:30pm every Friday night, he turns into a ruthless property tycoon.  Then after it’s over, he returns to being normal and makes me a conciliatory cup of tea.  Rather than make me tea, wouldn’t it be just as nice to let me win once in a while?

It sounds like you only have one choice.  To cheat.  And I’m not talking about easy cheating.  That’s too easy.  Simple distracting catchphrases like, “Dad, is that Donald Trump behind you?” or “Dad, who’s that guy in the kitchen and why is he kissing Mum?” isn’t going to work.  You need to cheat big time.  You need to think like an intellectual ninja - be swift, silent and accurate right from the first blow.

The first thing to do is visit charity stores and buy as many preloved, manky Monopoly sets as you can.  You’re not looking for good quality boards; you’re looking for in-tact green Monopoly houses and red hotels.  The rest of the set is just collateral damage.  Chuck it out.  Just let it go.  Then when you’re Dad’s at home watering the garden, sneak into your room (I’m guessing you still live at home) and stash them. Then wait.  Come Friday night, it’s elimination time.

At 7:55pm on Friday, take all the houses and hotels and shoved them in every polite orifice.  Bra/pants/pockets/gstring/the underpart of your man boobs.  Open the game with a polite , "Good evening Dad, ready for another game?" then sit down.  Spend the first ten minutes or so, moving your horsey around the board a couple of times until that glorious moment when you get your first set of properties.  It doesn’t matter if you get crappy Old Kent Road and Whitechapel Road, this is your time to pounce.  

While he’s not looking, get all the houses and hotels off your person and place as many buildings as you can on your newly acquired properties.  Jam fifty on the one spot if you have to.  Don’t even wait for council approval.

Dad will argue.  He’ll protest.  There’ll be spit around his mouth when he yells down your face.  He’ll call you a liar, a cheat and a ball-less bastard.  It’s at this moment he’ll realise that, alas, with all these personality traits, you’re the ultimate property developer.  Believe me, from then on, he’ll let you win a few games in the future.  And let’s never speak of the ‘Incident of 2011’.

What should I write in the card?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

My workmates bullied me in to signing a farewell card for someone I hardly know.  They’ve all written monologues of farewell wishes.  I’m afraid if I keep it short and sweet it makes me look like a bastard.  But I can’t conjure up a long winded farewell wish because I don’t have that many feelings about the person. What should I write?

Just see this as another job your boss gets you to do that's outside the scope of your job description.  Sure, you interviewed as the new mailroom boy, but after three weeks on the job, you’re already knee deep in strategy plans and negotiations with Unions – all for no extra pay. 

But you’ll notice it wasn’t just lumped all on you in one go – no, it was done very sneaky like. 

It all started when they gave you a few extra non-lifting tasks – easy - nothing too taxing.  Then after a week, you were given a chair and the use of someone elses end-desk.  This was great – you got to sit down for a bit…  And let’s face it, it’s always great to sit down for a bit... 

But then after a week, you were given a phone, phone extension, a pen, someone else’s notepad and fire wardens hat.  It’s all very suspicious but nothing to panic about at this stage.  After all, the fire alarm isn't going off...

Then before you could say ‘thanks for the seat’, you found out the Receptionist had been fired and all the phones were diverted to you.  It wasn’t until the CEO/Helpdesk/Cleaner (who shares your desk) turned to you and told you there was an expectation that you to turned up on time, worked extra hours, and were nice to people when you talked to them.  This all very contradictory to your brief and very specific job description - deliver the mail.

So just see this card signing business as just another job you have to do with no extra pay.  Who cares what you write in it?  You could write the Star Spangled Banner, Lords Prayer or Jack Nicholson’s monologue from “A Few Good Men”.  It's all the same really. 

But if you still want to write something heartfelt, try this on for size and accuracy ... ‘Please, please, please, take me with you…’.

Do you think Russell Brand and Katy Perry will last?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

Do you think Russell Brand and Katy Perry will last?

My, what a big nose you have.  It’s almost as big as that black hole in your life.  So Part One of my advice is swift and loud.  Get a life!  Seriously.  Get a life.  Put those trashy magazines down! 

Second to alcohol, trashy magazines are the worst offender when it comes to brain rot.  It’s a serious condition called the ‘flip, fall and forget’ syndrome.  You flip the pages of trashy magazines and all the vital information you need to function day-to-day falls out of your brain to make way for the useless ‘celebrity’ mush you’re being fed.  Then one day, you’ll be standing in the shower minding your own business when all of a sudden, you’ll start wondering how you can get so much water from such a little shower nozzle…

The worst offenders are magazines that have the words, 'betrayed!', 'breakup', 'celebrity cellulite' or 'orgasm' on the front cover.  Also, if you see a magazine cover with these words written in fluorescent yellow or fluorescent orange, call a Doctor immediately.  Then sit down.  Brain rot I tell you.  Brain rot.

But back to Russell and Katy.

Why do you care what I think of them?  In fact why do you care full stop?  Russell and Katy and are very nice pretty people.  Katy can hold a tune and Russell can hold himself upright.  She’s gorgeous and he’s mildly bearable to look at.  Katy can defy the laws of physics by having fireworks come out of her boobs and Russell has, one more than one occasion, defied the laws wonder by staying alive.  Leave them alone.  Pick on someone your own financial size.

So, Part Two of my adivce is as equally as simple and loud.  Consult a plastic surgeon!  With a nose that big, you need expensive and painful intervention.  No wonder you don't have a boyfriend.

Have a question? Email angryauntis@gmail.com

I've been 'unfriended'. What do I do?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

While doing a routine cleanup of my Facebook page, I discovered that a couple of people I know from work have removed me at some stage.  I thought I was pretty tight with these people so I am a little upset about it.  Do you think I should do or say anything about it? Do I approach them about it and as what’s going on or do I just try and add them again ask if nothing has happened?

Desperate & friendless

Well, well, well, the slasher becomes the slashed.  What an irony.  Let me remind you it was YOU who was ready and willing to use ruthless ‘unfriend’ button.  You.  So don’t go all sooky on me now because a frenemy has given you the e-boot.  This is karma working at it's sparkling best.  But, wait a second, a frenemy?  Yes, a frenemy.  One part friend, one part enemy.  This is where people are all nicey, nicey to your face but all stabby, stabby behind your back.  Welcome to the real world hot shot.

But before I go further, here’s some self indulgent editorial.  Isn’t Facebook great?  I can’t think of anywhere in the world where my current boyfriend, ex-boyfriend and my future boyfriend can happily co-exist.  Wow, what a new and wonderful world we live in.  Now, if only I could get my mother to stop sending me friend requests and start sending me more money, I think my life would be perfect.

Someone asked me the other day if it was rude to ‘unfriend’ a dead friend.  Of course the answer yes but it got me thinking.  What Facebook needs is a button to simultaneously deal with dead friends and friends you no longer want to be friends with but are too weak to tell them.  And I have just the click for it.  It’s called a ‘dead to me’ button.  This way, your dead friends can rest in peace and you can rest in peace knowing the people you hate will never know you hate them.  Don't worry, your 'dead to me friends' can still post useless updates and get their pathetic little Farmville achievement ribbons but you no longer have to read about it.  Why?  Because they're dead to you.  This is genius stuff Mark Zuckerberg and yes, you heard it here first.

PS - Should you approach the people who have unfriended you?  No, don't make a fuss.  You work in the company’s I.T. department.  You know what to do.

How do I tell my boss I want a pay increase?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

How do I tell my boss I want a pay increase?

Turning up for work is always a good start.  I know that remembering directions each and every work day is confusing and exhausting.  I mean, there’s streets and cars and people and crossing signals…  Look left, look right and those strange zebra like markings on the road… Also, how do you REALLY know if the green man or the red man your friend?  And what about this business about north, east, south, west?  If the sun’s to your right, is it morning or afternoon???  Whew.  It’s hot and sweaty work…

And just to cap it off, public transport presents a whole different range of problems.  Is the train travelling in the right direction?  Is this the bus stop?  (The sign is a give away).  How do ferry’s float?  Sometimes even your map, GPS and timetable doesn’t help you out.  And forget asking strangers for directions to work.  You’d be better off asking them for a dollar than asking them ‘where's that place I was at yesterday during business hours?’

Then finally, if you’re lucky enough to make it to work (what a stroke of luck!) you have to remember what floor you work on.  There’s only five to chose from and after level hopping, you’ve found an area that looks familiar to you - but you can’t be quite sure if it’s where you work.  It’s not until you see the sign ‘Your desk is here Tracey’ do you realise you’ve made it.  How you haven’t got that pay rise is just mind boggling.

So my advice is quite simple.  Go ahead and tell your boss you want a pay increase.  I'm sure they'd find it the funniest part of their day.  However, be prepared for your boss to fire you and frogmarch you out of the building.  And do you know the worst part of that is?  You’ve now gotta remember how to get home…

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

How do I get him to walk properly?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

My boyfriend has, what can only be described as an ‘odd strut’.  Physically, there’s nothing wrong with him but when he walks down the street, he leans so far back, it’s like he’s constantly practicing his limbo.  How do I get him to walk properly?

Boy, you really are an ungrateful bitch aren’t you?  I’m sure your boyfriend buys you flowers, rubs your back at ‘that time of the month’ and puts up with you in general.  But no, that’s not good enough for our little Precious McPrecious - no - you have to rag on him about his walking style.  You should be ashamed at yourself and have a good hard look in the mirror (if you haven’t already broken it), before you go judging other people.

Your boyfriend is ‘walking’.  Full stop.  It’s nice to think that life is all about the journey, but let’s face it, life is all about the destination.  This couldn’t be more true when it comes to talking about walking from work to the pub - from the pub to another pub - and from your chair at the pub to the bathroom. 

And moving is moving - who cares if he cartwheels, shimmies or leapfrogs?  Let the poor guy krump down the aisle of the supermarket, cheerleader jump at his performance review and box-step at your parent’s house.  Let him do a one man dos-a-dos at the movies, the grapevine at your sister's wedding and for goodness sake, let him do the time warp again.  Why?  Because every other minute of the day, he’s leading a heartbreaking and painful existence being with you.  He’s doing exactly what you want him to do and being where you want him to be.  Leave the poor guy alone and let him do his ridiculous strutting.

Now, I know you wrote in for guidance about ‘changing’ your boyfriend but I’m going to give him a piece of free and friendly advice.  Dude, read this carefully.  One day soon, when you’re down the street, turn to your girlfriend and say, ‘hey babygirl, look at this’.  Then smile, wave and moonwalk out of her life.

Send me your questions - angryauntis@gmail.com

What tattoo should I get?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I currently have 4 tattoos & I’m looking at getting a couple more but am stuck for ideas.  I’m not one of those people who gets them as it is currently the popular thing to do, each of mine has a personal, symbolic meaning to me and as such that is the reason it has taken me 12 years to get only 4.  I was just wondering if you have any suggestions as to what I should get and where I should get them.

I can’t stand tattoo’s.  But my ex-boyfriend and current boyfriend both have them so if I ever wanted to make things work with either one of these guys, I have to pretend that I like them (the tattoo’s, not the guys).

From what I hear, tattoo’s are very addictive.  It starts off innocently enough.  You get blind drunk and find yourself outside a tattoo shop, shoving a kebab down your gob. You say to your mate “Hey dude….dude wake up… lets go get a tat”.  Your mate wakes up and replies, ‘hey dude, you should get a tatt’.  You wash your kebab down with a swig of Jack Daniels and introduce yourself to Bubba from Bubba’s Body Art and Haberdashery.

You blindly scan the chart for the body art you want.  But let’s face it, you end up pointing to the picture that’s closest to your finger.  Then you’re shoved in the chair and Bubba waves the buzzy pen in your direction.  The first time it touches your skin, you actually want to scream.  It’s the same feeling you had when you said ‘I Do’.  But unlike your wedding, when you’re here with Bubba, you keep your trap shut.  This is because you have to prove to him that you’re a real man.  Then one hour later, he’s done, you’re done and you run in to the back alley and throw up your kebab.

And strangely enough, this is your moment of clarity.  Getting a tattoo has been the only time in your pathetic man life where you get to feel like a real man.  That’s why you find yourself years later with a body full of colour.  And let’s not forget the ‘Brittany Forever’ on your left peck.

But in relation to the design of your next work of art, all I can say is that whatever you do, if you write a word, get it checked by an Editor first.  The last thing you want is to ask for ‘love forever’ in Latin only to find out it says ‘I’m a douche’ in Greek.

Why do I put smilies in text messages?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I'm a heterosexual male who puts smilies in text messages.  Why?

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see the correlation between being gay and sending emoticons.  Being gay involves the removal of pants.  All you’re talking about is sending a text message.  If you ask me (and you have) I think the problem is squarely on your bald and oddly shaped head. 

I think emoticons are perfectly suitable for any kind of man.  The male species are all about visuals.  You know, shapes and pictures of good looking girls / cars / motorbikes / smart phones. 

To prove my point, pop quiz hot shot.  You have less than fifty seconds to tell your girlfriend you love her because if you don’t, she’ll explode.  What do you do?  What do you do?  … Say ‘Hey baby, I love you, I’m really, really happy and you’re the girl of my dreams’ or you can just send her a YJ.

You see, emoticons are not only efficient, but it doesn’t involve fruity English words.  Ergo, manly.

My only problem with emoticons is the sheer amount of them.  I have forty-eight options on my phone.  I don’t even know if I even have that many emotions.  Half the time I don’t know if I’m happy, sad, frightened or poking my tongue out at you.  Actually, I tell a lie.  I’m always angry.  That’s the red, angry looking emoticon...

So, emoticon's are one of the less gay things, you can do and have done in your military life.  In fact, admit it, you've had more meaningful relationships with smiley faces than you had with real people.  Now if only you could act like a emoticon and disappear when I press delete. ... ;-P

Send me your question - angryauntis@gmail.com

What's wrong with the crazy bus lady?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

This morning I got on the bus with a ton of books, and was lucky to actually get a seat for once. I was trying to study, so I put my books in a pile next to me, ready to pick up should someone need to sit down. The bus was pretty empty the entire trip, so I kept the books there.

Just before a woman gets off, she comes over and starts telling me off saying a man with a leg brace and a man with two kids got on the bus and it was full. She starts carrying on about how I'm a horrible person for having my books down. I look at her blankly and apologise saying I didn't realise the bus was full- thinking, if it was it must have been for all of 2 minutes. She continues to carry on and yell at me in a patronising fashion, saying I didn't pay for two seats and it's really rude. I look over and realise she is ALSO sitting in a front seat, with noone next to her.

When I ask her who was sitting next to her, she doesn't respond and continues to tell me how horrible I am.  I am so mortified I apologise to the bus driver. He looks at me blankly and says the bus wasn't full, but someone had stood up for the man in the leg brace.

What was this womans problem (other than the obvious) and how do you advise I handle these kinds of situations? I sincerely apologised and said I hadn't noticed, and she continues to carry on. What does she expect me to do? It's not even her job to tell off passengers- its the driver's! Nevermind she held up the bus for 5mins to tell me off.

From, Stupid Kids these Days

Dear SKTD,

The first thing you need to learn is that the word count for your questions must not exceed the word count of my answer.  I spent over fifteen minutes trying to edit and peel back at least 100 words.  I went from angry to livid and gave up.  The grammar and spelling was fine but my eye balls were about to drop off after reading your war and peace problem.

So now that’s out of the way, let’s get to your problem. 

Let me start at the end.  This was your first mistake.  You need to know that when you’re on the receiving end of a full blown verbal assault with plenty of saliva spray, the absolute last thing you should do is question the person having the hissy fit.  This is because when you’re full of rage and hatred, logic and reason are in the back of the bus trying to smash down the emergency exit window.  Therefore never, ever, question “Mrs Haven't-Had-A-Lay-In-A-While” and the empty chair next to her.  As you know, doing that cost you the extra five minutes (and the extra 22 words of your question).

So, next time this happens - and yes, there will be a next time - this is what you should do.  While someone is mid verbal assault, silently stand and walk up to the bus driver.  Buy another ticket and return to your seat.  Slide the ticket into one of your books.  This means you've not only paid for your seat, but you’ve paid for your book's seat as well.  Even though the extra ticket cost you $3.20, the smirk on your face is priceless.

Send your question to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Should I have children?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

After getting to see my nieces & nephews recently as well as seeing a lot of cute babies, I’ve been finding myself becoming quite ‘clucky’.  I’d love to have kids one day but I just don’t know if/when I’ll be ready of if I’d be a good father.  Do you think I should have children?

I don’t believe anyone’s ever ready to be a parent.  Why?  Because it’s doesn’t involve getting a licence.  You need a licence to drive a car, operate heavy machinery and shoot a firearm.  But when it comes to giving and nurturing life all you need to do is point in the right direction…

A guy is only ready to become a parent when they’re okay with a placenta flying from their baby Mumma’s loins and when they’re okay with the natural but oh-so unnatural ‘stuff’ festering in their child’s nappy.  It’s only then, they’re ready.  And not a second more.

Eeewww.  Are you grossed out?  Well darlin’ welcome to parenthood.  

You see, you hold your nieces and nephews when they’re at their best.  It’s much like watching Miss Universe seeing women as these beautiful, poised and hot creatures only to find out later that chicks fart.  And I’m not talking about pleasant bottom pops.  I’m talking about ground shaking, motor starting rips that could knock down a flagpole.  So, the lesson here?  Don’t be fooled by appearances before the commercial break.

Also, some people gush and tell you that having children is the best thing you can ever do.  But these people haven’t cured cancer or released a Grammy winning, multi platinum album.  And these same people will bang on about how nothing lights up a room more than your child’s smile.  Ummm, newsflash hot shot...  A thousand watts will do that as well...

So all I can really say is, good luck to you.  If that line turns double blue, you have no idea what you’re in for.  Having said that, I bet you’re going to be one of those people who thinks their baby’s farts are the most adorable things in the earth.  And oh my god, all of a sudden, I feel sick.

Am I going to be an astronaut when I grow up?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

Am I going to be an astronaut when I grow up?

Where are your parents?  And why aren’t they answering this question?  Mummy needs to get off the bottle and Daddy needs to zip up his diaper bag.

All I can give you kiddo, is some truthful advice.  And I’m going to warn you, it might not be the sparking ‘reach for the stars’ advice Mummy has been giving you all this time.  And while we’re on the subject, let me explain what she means by that.  She’s not being literal.  She’s not talking about the twinkle, twinkle, little stars you’ve been singing about - she’s talking about the stars that shimmy on the red carpet.  She doesn’t care what kind of star you reach for, as long as it nets you enough money to prop up her pharmaceutical drug habit.  That’s why she’s been cutting your hair to look like Justin Bieber.

But back to your question.  The answer is no, you’re never going to be an astronaut.  Why?  Because NASA are taking their bat, ball, helmets and jumpsuits and going home.  Apparently the moon is just a big black hole that sucks money through its vortex. (… I know, I know… That’s what Daddy says about Mummy…) 

But there’s not much to do on the moon other than plant flags and moonbuggy around.  There’s no Target’s, no petrol stations and no brothels.  So really, what’s the point in going up there?  And there’s even less to do on the space station.  All you’ll end up doing is mucking around, eating chewy, sardine bars and peeing in your pants.  It might work for you now, but you’ll get bored of it very quickly.

But if you still really like the thrust of a good engine, I suggest you give Richard Branson a call.  He’s the next King in line to reach Mars and that’s the only way you’re ever going to fly boy.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

How do I get a girl like that?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

There's this customer at work that I find extremely attractive and beautiful, but she is completely out of my league.  She works in a much higher position and is earning probably way more that me, is very classy and absolutely stunning.  I'm crazy about her.  How could I possibly approach, let alone get a girl like that?  Do you have any tips?

Oh my god.  I'm amazed you managed to set your sentence structure to 'coherent'.  I'm guessing you were wailing like the big baby you are as you were typing your question.  I can just imagine the salty tears flooding in betwen the keyboard keys.  So my first piece of advice is to mop up the mess, blow your nose and read my further advice.

A man only has one role in life and that's to be downtrodden and/or heartbroken by a woman.  If a man isn't feeling one of these emotions at any one time, he's not a real man.  By the sound of your question, it seems like you have a case of both.  This means there's nothing wrong with you and you're doing everything right.  However, it also sounds like you're not operating in a rational state of mind, so I'm going to have to adjust my answer.

There's nothing worse in the world than unrequited love.  Nothing worse.  And that includes having crabs.  Or being bitten by a crab.  These situations can be cured easily with either a cream or a scream.  But there's no cure for a debilitating crush.  You can spend your days giving googly eyes to this obviously ungrateful woman with nothing in return other than a demand for you to do something work related.  Come to think of it, she sounds like a real bitch.

But there's no accounting for taste, so my advice is that you should go for it.  It'll end up one of two ways.  If she turns you down, you'll be heartbroken.  If she doesn't turn you down, you'll be forever downtrodden.  That means you're a real man and life is good.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Is there a daily quota of 'bless yous'?

The cold season has already started and I’m sick and tired of blessing everyone after they sneeze.  I wait the obligatory couple of seconds to see if anyone else will do it and they don’t.  Why is it always left up to me to bless people?  Do I have a daily quota of ‘bless you’s’?  If I do, what’s the number?  Surely it’s more than a serial killer and less than a priest ??

Hey.  Leave the comedy to me.  Stop cutting my grass.  You don’t see me coming to YOUR workplace, facilitating YOUR powerpoint presentations, drinking YOUR coffee and hitting on YOUR secretary.  Ask your question, read the answer, subscribe and move on.  That’s what happens here.  Pull your head in. 

Now, let’s get something out of the way.  I never really liked you at work.  There's so many reasons but I must confess, I found your ‘bless you’s’ especially irritating.  I don’t care what you say; you never waited the obligatory couple of seconds.  You were all over the 'bless you’s' like a fat kid to chocolate cake.  As soon as someone slightly heaved to a sneeze, you scooted to their workpod with a ‘bless you’ half way out your mouth.  If you actually worked that quick, you’d be a respected member of society. 

You’re so disturbed you’d bring a box of tissues to our weekly meetings.  Everyone knew you were subliminally sending messages, just waiting for your next snot fix.  You rang people up at home when they called in sick - as they held the most promise.  You could hear a sneeze on the next building.  You  deliberately became a First Aid officer so you could trawl the floor like a lady of the night, looking for her next John.  You’d deliberately get sick, come in to work and spread the germs, just so you could play God and bless everyone.

And do you know what?  You’re not God, so stop acting like it.  Also, you’re not a comedian, so knock it off.  Do your job.  Whatever that is.

How should I prepare the potato's?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,
I have a dinner issue.  I have some lamb tenderloin and an amazing homemade eight bean salad, so how should I prepare the potato’s?

You really are ugly and unhappy aren’t you?   When you walk into a room, lights start flickering and the temperature drops.  You're loud, annoying and have a dumb stare like a German Sheppard wearing a hat.  (I’d normally say 'bulldog with a bow-tie' but that’s too upmarket for you).  You give your fellow American’s a bad name.  Yeah, you’re that bad.  I regret the day we met and spend a lot of energy trying to avoid you.

Now, to your potato’s.  If you asked a hundred people how to prepare your potato’s, you’d get a hundred different answers.  You’ll hear all kinds of various ways to boil, broil, fry or roast.  If someone’s really listening, they’ll ask you if you have a regular potato or if its underappreciated cousin, the sweet potato. If you ask a Wiggle, he’ll tell you to mash your hot potato. 

But watch out for the free advice red herring.  It comes in the form of something called ‘Deb’.  And I’m not talking about your ex-girlfriend Deb - as nice and tolerant as she is.  No, this Deb is 115 grams of powdery potato particles for 'potato on-the-go'.  The picture on the packet makes the dish look appetising but in reality, it ends up turning into a lumpy potato drink.  Deb (the potato drink) is such a cult hit that it has its own Facebook page.  True.  Comments range from ‘Deb is epic’ to ‘Deb tastes like dog food’.  Only one of these comments is true.  I’ll let you decide.

But if you really want to get the most out of your potato, use it correctly.  It’s called Vodka.

Should I get a sea turtle as a pet?

Dear Agony Aunt,

I’d like to get an exotic pet but the laws prevent me importing large sea turtles. Do you have any advice on how I can possibly get around this or could you recommend another animal that would be cool to own and is available in Australia?

Sea turtle hey?  Yeah.  Come to think of it, a sea turtle seems like a perfect companion for you.  Slow, prehistoric and surly looking.  You know that look well - an expression of constant and painful constipation.  Also, it’s been documented that sea turtles take decades to reach sexual maturity.  So, at the moment, I can’t think of a better pet for you.   

But just because a turtle is your ideal pet, doesn’t mean you’re theirs.  I say this because of a lunch we had a couple of months ago.  Yeah, you remember the one.  This is where you said that watching me eat was like ‘putting a turtle on its back and watching it try and get up again’.  Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious.  Knee slapping, belly busting, wikileaking, hilarious. 

It’s for this reason I urge you not to get a turtle.  And make no mistake, if you get caught in customs with a turtle down your pants, I’ll be the first one down there spouting your lack of turtlery care.  I’ll tell customs that I can just imagine your new pet, ‘Mr Bojangles’, spending his life on his back, really angry and really cranky.  It might’ve been good enough for your ex-girlfriend but a turtle deserves better.

So, this brings me to my advice.  Forget turtles.  Forget cats.  Forget fish and forget anything that has eyes.  But if you really have to have a pet, like, right now, start small.  Cactus small.  Sure, it might prick you when you touch it - just like your ex-girlfriend but it doesn’t require any formal attention for extended periods of time.  Also, some cactus plants are hermaphrodites, meaning they’re able to have sex with themselves.  Wow… forget the turtle, a cactus is your perfect match.