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Dear
Aunt Nasty,
My dog is a three-year-old Doberman called
‘Rasta’. He has always been a good boy.
Well, that is until three weeks ago when I got a
new man in my life. I tried to stop Rasta
sleeping on my bed. Every night for the last
fortnight he has snuck upstairs and dumped in
Cecil’s side of the bed. Please help me. Cecil
is beginning to think that Rasta doesn’t like
him.
Yours truly, Uncomfortable in a crappy bed.
My dear Uncomfortable,
You waste stamp, envelope, paper, ink and 0.999
of a calorie in expended energy writing me this?
You know the answer.
Eat well. Eat rich. Eat hearty…and then go and
crap in his bed.
On the other hand of course, maybe the dog is a
better judge of character than you are!
By The Way is Cecil aware that he can legally
change his name by deed poll?
Love,
Aunt Nasty
xxx
~*~
Dear Aunt Nasty,
My boyfriend expects a good meal on the table
every night. But when I provide decent cuts of
meat, he throws the food across the room and
plays hell about the amount of money I’m
spending. I just can’t win.
Yours truly, Hungry in Hampton.
Dear Hungry,
I have just the recipe for your darling man.
You need to find a pet shop specialising in
frozen food for the discerning reptile.
Purchase ten frozen rat pups. Ask for big plump
ones that are about a week old. The little
sweethearts have no inkling at this age of the
fact that within a week some bloody great human
is going to come along and chuck them in a
freezer, so they see no reason to grow fur. Also
pick up a few pieces of mouse poo if you can.
When you get home, lay the baby rats out in a
neat little line somewhere warm and in direct
sunlight if possible. After one hour, get pissed
off with waiting and decide to nuke them in the
microwave to aid the defrosting. While in the
process of pressing the defrost button, have a
little mind warp and press the ‘full power’
button instead. Whap it up to two minutes.
After about twenty seconds you will hear the
first sickening wet ‘plop’ of an exploding
rat pup. This will be followed fairly rapidly by
nine more sickeningly wet plops as their bodies
swell like over-inflated balloons with boiling
fluid. When all ten bodies have burst from
cranium to gusset, there is little point in
continuing to zap them with radiation. Just
think how proud your economy-conscious man will
be when you tell him about the ninety seconds of
electricity you spared him having to pay for.
For the next part, you might consider the
distinct advantage of wearing surgical gloves.
Carefully peel the mangled and steaming bodies
from the four sides and several corners of the
microwave. Lay them on a bed of succulent wild
rice (you know, the kind with the little black
kernels), pepper with tiny pieces of mouse poo,
but don’t overdo it or he’ll notice.
Serve hot with a warm and loving smile.
Total cost of meal: under five dollars. I’m
told by a spaced out junkie friend of mine that
this dish tastes “just like chicken”, but
then apparently so does everything from
alligator meat, through sheep’s balls to slimy
squid, so that doesn’t surprise me.
The name of this dish is Ratatenny Surprise, and
can be found on page thirty-three of my cookbook
(available in all good bookshops). The book is
titled “Auntie Nasty Cooks For Lovers”, and
is priced at the very reasonable sum of $4:99.
Bon appetite Mon Cherie.
Love,
Aunt Nasty
xxx
PS: You may like to consider at this point
buying that state of the art, high-tech,
makes-everything-but-toast microwave you were
looking at the other day. Be sure to charge it
to your beloved though.
PPS: I believe Habitation have a lovely range of
‘Bangers and Mash’ wallpaper, it would save
Mr. Grumpy doing it himself.
~*~
Dear Aunt Nasty,
I’m Goth, he’s Garage.
What should I do?
Yours truly,
Black in Blackwell
Dear Black
Sell the car!
Love,
Aunt Nasty.
xxx
Dear Aunt Nasty,
My life is not worth living. I am so unhappy.
Nobody loves me and I can’t face another day
of living like this. If you don’t do something
I’m going to kill myself
Please help.
Yours truly, Miserable in the pits of hell.
Dear Miserable.
Shut up, you snivelling period that ends a
perfect sentence.
What makes you think the next world will want
you any more than this one does?
However, if you insist, I do believe that
hanging is the fashionable way to go these days.
But please, if you do, don’t wear that
horrendous floral dress. Spare a thought for
whoever finds you, and do something about your
hair; it’s a mess.
Love,
Aunty Nasty.
xxx
PS: do you know you have a string of hideously
infected green mucus hanging from your right
nostril?
~*~
Dear Aunt Nasty,
My wife keeps putting me down. Every time we go
out in company she makes wisecracks all night at
my expense. Last week she told the football team
that our budgie has a bigger dick than I do.
Please help.
Yours,
Limp in Limbo.
Dear Limp,
Wait until your lovely wife is asleep. Then, you
know that huge puss-filled boil at the top of
her inner thigh? (You may have to hunt a little
through the layers of fat to find it.) Rub it
with some local anaesthetic cream to numb it.
This is the tricky bit; if she wakes up at this
point (bear in mind that she is probably
dreaming about some man who’s hung like a
donkey at the time), she is going to remember
very quickly just why she bought that magnifying
glass last week.
Wait ten minutes for the anaesthetic cream to
take effect. This would be an excellent time to
peruse at leisure my informative self-help
leaflet on penile length enhancement (Auntie’s
surgical guide to rampant happiness. $4:99 +
P&P).
There. Your good lady shouldn’t feel a thing.
Insert into the moist part of the boil a fine
catheter reed. (It might be an idea not to
inhale. After three hours lying in bed with her
legs closed, that baby is going to be pretty
ripe.) Attach to the reed a hair-fine
laparoscopy tube. (If you can’t find one of
these then any old piece of tubing will do.)
Take the other end of the tubing and insert into
your darling’s mouth.
A couple of hours of sucking her own poison
should temper her temperance.
Love,
Aunt Nasty.
xxx
PS: shoot the budgie.
~*~
Well, boys and girls, that’s it for this
month. Auntie’s got to go now, it’s pension
day and the ideal time to startle old ladies
outside the bingo hall.
Next month we have letters from:
A lady who thinks she might kill her child if it
doesn’t stop whining.
(I say go for it love. You’ll be out in eight
years with good behaviour. Beats eighteen years
hard labour rearing the little git.)
Also, we have a letter from the man who’s in
love with a pig.
(Darling, you have to lie with a lot of pigs
before you find the slimy cockroach you will
settle down with. Take it from Auntie who has
kissed a lot of pigs.)
Keep those letters flooding in folks. They do
make me giggle so.
And remember Auntie’s motto:
DO UNTO OTHERS…ONLY DO IT TO THEM FIRST. |
