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.

Do I have to keep contributing?

Dear Agony Aunt,

With all these natural disasters of late, including the millions of fish dying en-mass and hundreds of thousands of birds falling from the sky at once, do you think it’s the end of the world?  If so, do I really need to keep contributing to my superannuation?

Well, well, well.  When they were giving out compassion and sensitivity, I bet you were in the back of the line painting your toenails.  Natural disasters are more than birds and fish.  Real people died.  So before I get into it, I’m pressing my index fingers to my temple, closing my eyes really tight and wishing you some kind of karma payback tomorrow.  I hope your boss gives you the sack.  Then you’ll really have to worry about superannuation.  But if by some karma miscarriage of justice, you make it through the work day, this is your answer.

Superannuation is the worst form of gambling.  It's betting you’ll make it to your wrinkly gold watch.  What’s worse is that it isn’t called gambling, it’s called ‘saving’.  And not your traditional piggy bank saving where you can listen to your money clink and grow.  No.  This 'saving' is where some stranger holds your ‘invisible’ money and every year apologises for 'losing' some of it.  They call it ‘market losses’ and ‘administrative fees’.  What a scam.

But it doesn’t end there.  Not only are you losing money, but you’re forced to bet on your actual life end date.  You see, if you don’t save enough, you’ll only be able to go to the hairdresser once every six months for your blue dye.  However, if you save too much, you’re ugly, greedy and ungrateful kids will get all the money.  This is probably worse of the two scenarios because with all that excess money, you could’ve bought a motorbike and/or had a high-class hooker for a week.

So my advice to you is that you should pick a number and stick to it.  The current world average for life expectancy is 67.2.  This is actually a good number for you as it’s same as your IQ.  So do the maths and say goodbye to your money.  But having said all that, there are always unforseen variables.  Watch out for flying mackerels.

Should I date Charlie Sheen?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

I recently did a celebrity internet quiz on Valentines Day and found out my ideal partner is Charlie Sheen.  This is great but I worry about his crazy behaviour.  Do you think he’ll be able to commit to me without the pain of associated addiction?  His track record hasn’t been the greatest and I wonder if we could see it through thick and thin.

Oh my god.  My life just got that little bit worse.  Birds stopped chirping, thunderstorms have started crackling in the distance and I think there’s a little vomit in my mouth.

Are you serious?  Charlie’s got enough problems to deal with.  I’m guessing that putting up with you - even being introduced to you will send him over the edge.  He’s a talent - a drunk guy, playing a drunk guy and that kind of talent is rare.  Being anywhere near you would be the end of his sparkling career and I won’t have any part of it.

What you need to do is stay away from the internet.  If you can’t do that, then stay away from any kind of quizzes.  This includes surveys, IQ tests and internet banking.  Society can’t afford to have the internet break down because of one stupid person.  And while you’re at it, maybe it might also be a good idea to stay away from people.  Oh my god - I just got a shiver.  Maybe you’re family/friends just cheered.  I can’t be sure.

But what I can be sure of is that you’re an idiot.  It’s a guess - an educated guess - but I’m guessing Charlie Sheen doesn’t date girls who surf the net and do quizzes on Valentines Day.  I’m guessing he only dates girls who are already on the internet.  And do you know what, good luck to him.

For all the problems he has, his problems are okay.  They only involve a 90 day stint at Betty Ford and a lot of hugs and support.  Your problems on the other hand are much harder to deal with.  And you’re not paying me by the hour but should be seeing someone who does.  If it's good enough for Charlie, it's good enough for you.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

What happens after 'hello'?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

A co-worker said hello and I said hello back.  Then a couple of seconds of silence passed and they said a sarcastic ‘good thanks’.  My problem is that, I don’t remember asking them how they were because I distinctly remember not caring.  Do I have to ask EVERYONE how they are when I see them?

This is why you should never date your co-workers.  After the initial burst of effervescent bubbly love has turned into a murky, icky and sticky, stinky bog, you both still have to occasionally talk to each other.  This is where passive aggressive conversations reign supreme and sarcasm lifts its skirt to show a bit of leg.  

You see, sarcasm is the ‘smart’ of dumb people.  Sarcasm has a little bit of wit but it’s so lacking, it needs to be served with a side dish of tone.  And you need tone when you’re trying to make a sad and pathetic point.  Sarcasm gives you the 'snippy' without the ‘snappy’.  So if that’s the kind of relationship you want, my advice is - ‘Snip, snap, front and back’. 

However, if you’re after the fool proof stuff, I’ve got that for you as well.  This is becuase you sound like a real fool.  So here we go.  If you want to stop having to ask people how they are, you need to tell everyone you love them.  Yes, you read right, tell everyone you love them. 

Tell Dickie from the Mailroom you love him.  Tell Vaz in Accounting you love her.  Tell your boss, your boss’ boss, the guy that delivers the milk and the massage man that visits once a month.  I'm serious. Everyone.  Don’t discriminate.  Practice your heart felt, ‘I love you’ in the mirror, then let loose.  Be consistent and don't miss a single person.  Be brave.  Be bold.  Squeeze into that lunch line and tell EVERYONE you’re life is that more colourful with them in it and gosh damn, you just love them for it. 

Once you do this, all you need to do is walk around and smile.  Why?  Because you're happy.  This is because after a short period of time, EVERYONE will stop saying hello and you’ll already know how they’re feeling.  Frightened.  Very, very frightened.

Can a friend copy your child's name?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

My sister-in-law recently had a baby girl and called her ‘Eden’.  Her pregnant friend visited them in hospital and a couple of weeks later had a baby boy.  She called her baby boy, Eden.  Can a friend copy or steal your child's name?  I mean, most of us only have a couple of children, out of the thousands of baby names out there, shouldn’t they just back off?

If nothing else, life is a race to see who can get through the birth canal first.  In most cases, head first.  But in some, bum first.  And that explains a lot about a lot of people.  Especially those people who give their children unrealistic and un-subbed first names.

You know what I’m talking about.  Jack with two kay’s.  Jakk.  Peter with a silent eff.  Pfeter.   A first name merger.  Joyanne.  Phonetic name spelling.  Aalivyah.  Rebellion for the sake of rebellion.  Kymberleigh.  Then there’s just the random pot-pourri names. Charismatage.  Q’Dell.  Sham.  Torianna-Sharisse.  The parents responsible for this crime against humanity argue ‘individuality’.  I just argue ‘breech birth’.

So let me tell you what should happen.  Every hospital should have a fat and cranky matron heading the registry department who knows how to wield a red nikko pen.  She’ll be expertly trained to give any new parent a spectacular death stare through her judgemental glasses and give a squeaky red cross when you put a vowel or a consentient in the wrong place.  That’ll stop all your ZowiMitchyl’s, Quintynn’s, Maddisyn’s and Jaeson’s.  

But back to your question about name copyright.  This is a prime example as to why you should never share things with your friends.  Skirts never get returned.  Cars come back with bumper dings.  Boyfriends never look the same.  And the same goes with baby names.  Your sister-in-law should’ve either lied about her child’s name or put an embargo on the name.  In layman’s terms, she should’ve called ‘dibs’.  So really in this case, she’s only got herself to blame.

Having said that, your sister’s friend seems like she was born breech and would still do something stupid by having twin girls and calling them Jasmine and Jasmine - then wonder why Centrelink will only pay her for one child. 

Can You Babysit My Kids?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

My husband and I are going away for the weekend and our babysitter has cancelled.  Can you look after the kids for a couple of days?  Kelly is four and Richard is two and a half.

Sure thing.  Maybe Richard could teach me how to use my mobile phone and Kelly could help me install a firewall. 

We could play games like, why loud banging is important, where to safely hide the mushy and smelly banana and ‘Hot And Cold’ - The Kitchen version.  I’ll also introduce them to a new game  called the ‘No’ game.  It’s where every answer is no but you have to work from a yell to a shrill.  Your kids sound smart; I’m confident they’ll catch on.

I’m happy to hold Q&A sessions from everything ranging from - ‘Why You Look Like Mummy’s Boss’ to ‘Tattoo’s: Short term pain, long term gain’.  We can debate issues like whether it’s better to have a sharp wit or a sharp knife and if we have time we’ll have a good hearty discussion about God verses Science.

But don’t worry, there’ll be heaps of educational stuff as well.  I’ll hold three but invaluable seminars.  ‘How To Help Daddy Fix His Car When He’s Not Looking’, ‘How Your Attitude Is Your Weapon; The Pre-teen Version’ and ‘How To Learn Numbers’.  I just need your credit card for that class.  At night, I’ll read them bedside stories like, ‘The Princess and the Non-committal Prince’, ‘Why Addiction Is Bad But Inevitable’ and ‘Sleep Is For Losers, Volumes 7 - 11’.

I’m ready to go.  Just let me know what time you want me there.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

How Do I Make Him Go To School?

Dear Agony Aunt

My seven year old kid won’t go to school.  I’ve tried everything.  Pleading, negotiation, bribes, reverse psychology and force.  On the mornings I take time off work to drag him kicking and screaming to school, he gets there and runs away to the Nurse’s office citing a made up disease.  Other than tie him to chair, I don’t know what else to do.  I’m at my wits end.

Tie him to a chair?  That’s some good parenting there.  But why stop there?  Tie him to a chair, give him eleven years worth of Big Mac’s, a bed pan and wish him all the best...  Tie him to a chair?  It just goes to show you don't need to have brains or common sense to have children.

You’re son however, he sounds like a hoot.  And he’s already a lot smarter than you.  Let’s look at three important facts.  He doesn’t listen to you.  Tick.  He visits the hot nurse in sick bay.  Tick.  He’s creative enough to come up with never heard before ailments.  Tick.  Your son is an entrepreneurial genius of his time; a young mix of Donald Trump, Richard Branson and Dr Oz.

His gift needs to be nurtured, not stifled by unimportant things like English, math and social studies.  While all the other kids are agonising over bell curves, fumbling around with Bunsen burners and hating every single word of that idiot, Shakespeare, you’re youngin’ is just biding his time until he can bust out of there, start a chain of strip-joint convenience stores and become a multi-billionaire.

You’re the luckiest chick to have opened her legs.  If nurtured and supported, your son will buy you a duplex in Parramatta with his first million.  Then with his first billion, he might even buy you a motorised scooter.  You never know, it might even come with a full tank of petrol. 

However, if suppressed and restrained, you can forget your Parramatta dreams because all you’ll get will be paternity divorce papers.  These papers will be served by your son’s busty second wife, Brandy-Ann who’ll you’ll later find out - via your son’s memoirs - she does indeed tie him to chair.  But that’s for completely different reasons.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Should I have corrected him?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I was in a car accident and survived with agonising whiplash.  But what distressed me more was the policeman’s final report of the incident.  The report says I was in the right but it was littered with so many spelling and grammatical errors, the sentence structure made me sound like I was drunk.  However, fearing he’d arrest me for ‘obstruction of justice’ I signed the statement without saying anything.  Should I have corrected him?

I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but, I think you’re my soul mate.  I had exactly the same experience.  This is an excerpt from my latest police statement as presented to the Magistrate.  The author of this sparkling document was Senior Constable Perry McWhirter.

“…It took twelve minutes for the subject to accept the power pole on the corner of Pitt and

Market Street wasn’t her next husband.  After I demanded she stop kissing the pole, she loudly commented on my above average weight and accused me of being the son of an unmarried mother.  At this time, I advised her that I was going to handcuff and restrain her.  She responded by saying she wanted to ‘see the cash upfront’ because it was unlikely I was in a financial position to afford it...’

Now, this makes me sound like I was drunk doesn’t it?  I feel your pain. 

So, the next day, I confronted Constable Perry and demanded he retract it.  He must’ve misunderstood and started humping a power pole.  I said that I wanted him to retract it, not re-enact it.  He told me he was not going to change his statement and that I needed to remember that he was a Policeman.  He said ‘Policemen are like drunk spinsters at a B&S ball, we’re ugly, we do a lot of shouting and you’ll always regret running into us the previous night’.

So after my painful ‘run in’ with Constable Perry, all I can say to you is that you need to get a grip.  You did the right thing to shut your gob.  After all, we’re only talking about a concrete, water tight, iron clad police statement.  It’s not something important, say, like a blog.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com