Why won't you answer my question?

Due to the amount of questions I receive, verses the angry time I have available for you ungrateful bastards, here are a few that only require a swift kick up the pants.
Note : If you're question isn't here, you know I'm working through my rage to get it posted ASAP. 

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

How many menstrual days does Justin Bieber have?

I’m not sure how many Justin has, but his hair is on the standard 28 day cycle.  Every couple of days a month, poor Justin knows that when he’s having a bad hair day, he just has to accept it, give in to it’s outrageous and unreasonable demands and know that no amount of styling will settle it down.

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

How do I get my mum to wear her hearing aid?

Tell her she’ll get sun cancer.  Oh wait a second, I’m thinking of a hat. 

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

Why don’t chocolate fish swim?

But they do.  Add some chocolate fish and milk in a blender and what your babies swim.  

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

Should I be re-reading my Facebook updates before I update them?

Yes.  It’s the internet equivalent of checking your fly is zipped up. It’s funny how one little thing like checking details can ruin your life.  Especially when you’re applying for a job.

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

Why don’t menstrual cycles have wheels?

Because you’re ugly and I believe in cheap shots.

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

Are you ever happy?

Your Mum

If by happy you mean am I unemployed, ugly, broke, living at home and have a blog that no-one reads?  Then yes, I’m very happy.  Stop knocking on my door.

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

Wanna make $4000/month working from home? If so, my suggestion to anyone is to sign on and participate in this program. You will be pleasantly surprised, as I was. You will be truly excited about the potential of success with this business.

Can I earn $4,000 a month working from somewhere else other than my home?  My mother keeps bugging me.

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I text heaps of people - Why don't they text back?

Because they don’t like you.  But don’t start crying yet.  There’s one sure fire way to get even your arch enemy to text you back - all in under 160 characters.  Try sending this to everyone in your phone… “Hi, the first person to text me back will get a dollar.”  Then wait for your phone to tinkle off the hook.  However, if you find no-one text’s you back, increase your next message by another dollar, then another until you get a response.  Who says you can’t put a dollar value on friendship?

Should they have wished me a 'Happy Birthday'?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

It was my birthday yesterday and a friend took me out to lunch.  While we were in the line paying, my friend mentioned to the man behind us that it was my birthday.  The man responded with ‘Well, [pause] that’s nice.’  … We were shocked.  Do you think their response should have been ‘Happy Birthday’?  Isn’t it just polite?

What’s not polite are people like you fishing for compliments from a stranger. You’re skating very close to the line of narcissistic and terminally ugly.  Come to think of it, I doubt you even have a friend.  You sound lonely and desperate and are in need of a good metaphorical and physical slap across the face*. 

But having said that, you’re somewhat right about your question.  To a degree, it’s ‘nice’ of people to wish you a happy birthday when prompted.  But it’s not a required reply.  Let me give you an example. 

When a fireman asks you where the fire is, you say, ‘over there’ [and point to where the fire is].  You don’t say, ‘In my pants’ and wait for the laughs.  No.  Why?  Because a fireman can bench press 200kg and will most likely be carrying a heavy fire hose or axe in his hand.  Plus, in this example, there'd be an actual fire somewhere, that’s not in your pants...  So, responding swiftly and correctly is a required reply.

But for the rest of life, there are things called optional reply's.  Example.  Your child wants to know where baby’s come from.  The correct answer is - when Daddy’s penis goes in to Mummy’s vagina [this is a newsflash for some readers].  But this kind of question is met with a plethora of optional reply's.  Anything ranging from the birds and bees to the intimacies of love and marriage.  So why is this answer optional?  Because let’s face it, your child is just going end up learning about sex education from their friends anyway and as soon as a parent says penis, vagina, boobies and butt, everyone feels uncomfortable.

So now you know the difference between required and optional reply's, I’m going to test you to see if you've been paying attention. 

My reply is 'Get a life'.  Now, is that required or optional?

*Angry Aunt doesn’t condone physical violence.  All violence must only be administered by a qualified boxer or well known wrestler from WWE.

Should I respond to the email?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I received a promotional press release and was stunned by the first sentence. 

Due to my PA being on stress and mental health leave last week, it seems that the wrong date has been forwarded regarding my clothing launch.  Please note the following correct details…

That poor secretary.  Should I respond?

Of course you should respond.  It’s your civic duty.  It’s the literary equivalent of standing by and watching bank robbery and not doing anything about it.  Send this moron a delicious and fiery response.  Here’s something to get you started.

Dear [insert your name here]

Thank you for your generic and rather clinical email.  Let me start by saying I hope this email sees you well.  And by well, I mean, I hope you’re stuck in a vat full of putrid prawn heads on a hot day.

So you’re secretary is on stress and mental health leave?  There’s a reason for that.  You’re a terrible designer, you wear too much make-up and your old lady moustache is showing.   

The first rule of ‘Being Boss 101’ is to never publicly ‘rubbish’ a secretary.  But in particular, never publicly rubbish your own secretary.  Why?  Because everyone at one stage has either, been a secretary, known a secretary or taken a secretary out for a drink and asked for a bit of dictation.  This means that every single person is affected by what you said. And regardless if it’s true or not, never, ever, ever, tell people that your right hand has gone to the funny farm.  So on behalf of all secretaries, I submit the following.

I hope the stitching in your new polyester/lyrca Autumn collection frays and unravels with only one tug.  I hope the fashion reviewers from News Limited describe your range as ‘A must have in coffin wear’.  I hope the distributors refuse to transport your shapeless sack bags because of their high flammability content.

But more than anything, I hope your launch is a great success.  I hope it's attended by wall-to-wall secretaries drinking your cheap wine, eating your crappy canapes and giving you a good long hard file.

Can you suggest any good bands?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I listen to a lot of music.  Honestly, I’m a music whore! Music is a massive part of my life & I’m constantly on the lookout for more tunes. I listen to a lot of different styles but my preferences is rock.  The heavier end of the musical spectrum gives me more of an emotional release (& sometimes it comes close to getting me off as well).  Just wondering, do you have any bands that you can suggest?

The only band that I think that fits your needs is a rubber band.  It has the versatility you’re looking for.  It can hold different sounds (the genre), can be flicked at different speeds (the beat) and can be used as a weapon afterwards (like a guitar).  For example, the next Grammy Award winning CD would include such tracks as the country version of ‘Twang for my girl’, the hard rock classic ‘Flick off’ and the pop version of ‘Ooops, that red rubber band hurts’.

As an artist, a rubber band is the ideal instrument.  You don’t need to lug any accompanying amps, cymbals or cords through customs when you’re on your world tour.  Then when you get to your gig, you can use your rubber band to secure your plastic bag full of marijuana for later.

However, sometimes a rubber band has a greater chance of breaking mid ‘riff’.  But don’t worry, all you have to do is grab another one from your rubber band ball.  This ‘ball’ is not only good for getting you out of a pickle on stage but when your tour is over, you can take it down to the basketball / handball / tennis courts and start a game with your mates on your down time.

In relation to rubber bands and ‘getting you off’, I’m not offering that kind of advice.  Google it.  And google it in the comfort of your own dirty and seedy bedroom. Eeeww.

Should I pay the removalists?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

I’ve just moved house and I had the movers from hell.  When they were actually working, they were slow and broke a few things.  The rest of the time they stood around, drinking chocolate milk, muttering under their breath and farting in small rooms before running out to drink some more chocolate milk.  Should I pay the removalists?

Am I missing something?  Is there something gassy in chocolate milk?  I though lactose had a calming digestive effect, not the opposite.  I think there’s something seriously wrong with your removalist friends and really, you shouldn’t have made them move your house.  You should’ve taken them straight to the emergency room and waited with them until the Doctor gave them the all clear.  Your stuff will always be there when you get back; your removalist friend may not have made it through the day.  

But lucky for you, they worked through their digestive pain and got your stuff moved.  So what if they broke a few things?  What was going on between their esophagus and large intestine was far more dangerous than your precious broken aquarium.   

So do you pay their bill?  Yes, of course you do.  Firstly, they now where you live.  Secondly and most importantly, the last thing you want is a removalist bashing down your door with chocolate milk at the ready.

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I moved this guy’s house the other day and it made me feel sick.  It was like he had rotten eggs at the bottom of every box.  It was hard to breathe and I gagged a few times.  The only thing I had in my truck was some chocolate milk to get that horrible off-egg air taste out of my mouth.  A few times I was taken off guard and broke a few things of value.  He owes me money but I really don’t want to go back and smell that house again.  Also, I don’t want him to sue me for the broken items.  Should I cut my losses?

No - if you do the work, you should get paid.  My advice to you is to hold your breath, knock on his door and shove a carton of chocolate milk in his face.  Don't worry, you’ll get the money and if you stand there long enough, you might even get a tip.

Why are old people so rude?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I’m finding myself becoming increasingly angry and frustrated at old people.  I know that I should be respectful and overly nice to them but I just find the majority of them so rude and arrogant and disrespectful towards me and others themselves that I think “Why bother?”  Also, I constantly find myself thinking that at the age they are, most of the time they should know better.  Is there something wrong with me?

Of course there’s something wrong with you.  You have B.O. and mould between your teeth.  Your girlfriend is the town bicycle, your Mum is sleeping with your boss and your boss has naked pictures of your Mum on his desktop.  You’ve got bigger problems than old people.  But do you know what, let’s go with it.

Old people are oddly cool, psychotic nincompoops.  On the one hand they keep calling a DVD Player a VCR and don’t know how to work a VCR, but on the other hand, they can put up a kilometre long fence in half a day.  Old people can’t remember where they put their glasses/teeth/tea/Viagra but they can make cakes that don’t puff or sag in the middle.  These reasons alone take care of the ‘oddly cool’ part but let's shuffle in to 'psychotic nincompoops' territory.

Old people have awesome ‘telling off’ finger waggles but when it comes to lifting heavy stuff, they sight ‘arthritis’.  Yeah right Grandpa.  Next.  Old people will yell at someone who’s sitting right next to them, yell at someone in the next room and yell as someone down the road but they'll whisper when they talk to birds, cats and dogs.

But apart from all their contradictions, old people have a legitimate reason to be rude and bitter.  And it’s a lot simpler than you think.  Old people are cranky because women live longer than men.  Yeah, I know, what a shitty world we live in. 

Having this unfair end-game means everyone’s cranky.  Obviously, the men are cranky because they’re going to hell first and the women are cranky because there’s no-one to put up any more fences.

But having said all that, there's only one cool thing about being old which they all keep a little secret from us 'young people'.  --- They have access to subsidised and frequently obtainable prescription medication.  Boo-yeah.  Up yours, youth-of-today.

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