This week: Pet Hates 2
I hate the fact I can’t tell the difference between ‘Real or Surreal’. The other day I was having sex in a field by myself. Suddenly, I noticed there were crop circles appearing in my pubic hair. On closer inspection it was only some sad bastard imitating the effect of UFO art by clopping about in my foliage using a piece of floorboard and some rope attached as a stirrup. What was the result? An intricate design of geometry and a stranger in my bush waiting for sun-up. Not to mention the threat of an approaching combine harvester and splinters in my clit. Amanda Shagg
Dr F: Yes, you probably think The Reformation was ‘Take That’ getting back together. What a caution you are! If we were supposed to know the difference between real or surreal, I’d wager none of us would ever bother buying a readymade microwave meal again.
I hate the indelicate pharmacist who asks you if you have anal parasites or vaginal thrush over a loudspeaker system, making you take cover for a prescription. Ivor Nitch
Dr F: There is a remedy for ignorant pharmacists. Wear a toilet roll on a piece of string around your neck. They will still embarrass you in front of the queue but at least you will get served quicker.
I hate projectile vomiting at job interviews. How can I hope to be sure my résumé is read when it’s already covered in my own handy ectoplasm? Ralph Groog
Dr F: One would assume that the contents of your stomach would show the interviewer exactly what kind of person you are inside, winning you the post. If not, just poop in the shredder to make sure.
I hate having panic attacks. Last night I was cheating on my husband in a tower block in a rather insalubrious part of the neighbourhood. My husband burst through the door as I was enjoying the jousts of Venus with a group of glue-sniffers in a lift. He said he was leaving me and had already torched our country house, shot the chauffeur, sunk the yacht and sold our teenage daughter to an Arab sheik for a camel. My heart started to pound. My head was fit to burst. I was having another attack. You would think after 25 years of marriage he would know what brand of cigarette I prefer by now? Sheila Gotmagoat
Dr F: The thoughtless hound. On the upside I suppose it was good fortune he offloaded your daughter with comparative ease. Incidentally, Hilary Lesley Horace Samantha Smith, my daughter, joined a convent. I told the Mother Superior how odd for my daughter to become a nun as she always wanted to be a prostitute. The Mother Superior fainted with disbelief. I revived her and when she came around, she asked, “Sorry, but what did you say?” and I said. “My daughter said she always wanted to be a PROSTITUTE!!”The Mother Superior said “Thank feck for that.. I thought you said PROTESTANT!”
I hate searching for porn in internet cafes. There is never anywhere to draw the curtains. I’d do it in a state library but I don’t want the book thrown at me. Perry Graff
Dr F: Well. turn over a new leaf so we can both read from the same page. Librarians suffer in silence. I dated one once. She had it all. I cannot resist tortoiseshells tight-buns and twinsets. I was a bit drunk when I finally thumbed her glossary. All she did was punch my ticket and say ‘Shhhh’ a lot. She wanted commitment, which is a bit rich coming from her, as she works in a borrowing library. I haven’t seen her since. She must have been left on the shelf.
I’m a midwife. I have that Munch Trousers Syndrome. I hate the fact I can’t help deliberately giving the wrong babies back to the wrong mother just to see if they notice. Siobhan Fanny
My babysitter and I fell in love and I don’t know how to tell my wife. I don’t know how to speak Latvian either. Shamus Awl
...only to end up here.
I hate frugal telepathic psychics who tell you what you might be thinking and before you have chance to speak at all say, “I told you so.” Luke Intamaize
see also Dr Farquar-Smith on: