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The agony uncle who travels incognito to avoid
affidavits
by
Perry Estelle

Edgy Britwit logic chopping on the loose

This week - More Conundrums

My teenage son arrived home one day and told me he’s in ‘a little bit of trouble.' I found out later that he was actually caught trying to burn down the regional headquarters of the Serious Crimes Squad. What should I do? (By Fooge)

Dr F. A difficult one. Why not take him to McDonalds or a peepshow.

Why is it you struggle around supermarkets for hours with a trolley that has a mind of its own and wheels to match, only to watch an ‘adult with learning difficulties’ in the car park pushing fifty trolleys in a complete straight line? (By Fooge)

Dr F. The person who designed the errant shopping cart has never ever been to Tesco. Just like the plonker who invented the car seat has never had children.

Have you ever been in this situation? You get a flat tyre on a lonely road when the rain just happens to be at its most persistent. The realization then dawns upon you that your road recovery membership has just expired and your car jack is on loan to a so-called friend. Your mobile phone is down and you wished your Mother had dressed you appropriately that morning. A nanosecond later, the need for an urgent bowel evacuation overwhelms you and, like your body temperature, your concentration levels plummet to thirty below. In these circumstances you are faced with only two options. The first is that you see this chain of events as a wholly negative affair. The second is that you can walk away from this situation armed with the satisfying and deeply revealing insight, that shit, in some form or another, always figures significantly in the important bits in between believing in Santa and the Grim Reaper. (By Fooge)

Dr F. D.W.I! Deal with it. Who said life was going to be a picnic? I drove my car past twice and you seemed to be coping admirably.

Why is it that something goes wrong with the developing process in a photo booth and it spits out a picture that makes you look like a petrified fossil with liver disease? (By Fooge)

Dr F. You are in no fit state to fly. Especially after the prescription I just gave you.

I came here this morning to see the nurse. I had to go behind a curtain to produce a sample that somehow went horribly wrong. I emerged with a minute amount of liquid in a bottle but a stain the size of South America on my trousers. Why? (By Fooge)

Dr F. Looking at your notes you seem to have suffered a stroke the day before and trying to produce a sperm sample and empty your ‘cargo’ into a bottle at the same time can be tricky. Next time ask the nurse for a hand.

What is that magnetic force from a hedge when walking home from the pub? (By Fooge)

Dr F. The same that took you to the pub in the first place. A warning: A Pylon in your back yard may give your cat cancer but the upside is its less lawn to cut.

What is the magnetic force from a projectile that scores a direct hit to your face when my wife locks me and the darts team out of my house at 4am forcing several of my mates to urinate up the pushbike and throw up over the rabbit hutch? (By Fooge)

Dr F. One hundred and eighty.

Why does ordering a Malibu and Coke at a bar, lose you respect and desirability? (By Fooge)

Dr F. Ok. Buy me a pint of Guinness instead.

What about the things your Mum used to say to you: “Make sure you have clean underwear in case you have an accident on the road.” That added insecurity you felt as a child that it was somehow preferable and more sociably acceptable if you had your spleen wrapped around your ear in a fatal car crash than the Police and neighbours ever discovering your Mother had run out of soap powder. (By Fooge)

Dr F. I know it well. My mother still makes me wear clean under wear when I go and sign for her pension. So I sent her to the Shetland Isles saying the fresh air would do her good. She can always sit around a roaring candle if she is cold or wear some warm porridge.

Why is it when I get my prescription I have to sneeze loudly in front of a pharmacist to get the right product for my flu? Or cough loudly in front of a pharmacist to get the right product for my chest infection? Once I had to burp to get the right product for my reflux. Will I have to fart in front of a pharmacist to get the right product for my flatulence too? (By Fooge)

Dr F. Stop moaning. I have to do all those things just to get my own stall in the theatre.

Is burger and chips better than sex? Or should I just stick to root vegetables? (By Fooge)

Dr F. Worry when courgettes get stuck to you. Dieticians who say 'you are what you eat' must always point out the vast difference in size of a whale to plankton.

 

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