Dear Dreary.
There's so much in the news these days about binge drinking, the harmful effects, the safe amount of units we should all adhere to, the constant bombardment is falling all around us.
Yet I hear nothing about an equally pressing matter, that of binge wanking.
I know for a fact people are at it hand over fist sometimes going at it half cocked and willy nilly. No body appears to be aware or care about the dangers of exceeding their daily/weekly wanking allowance.
The chief medical officer suggests men should not exceed 14 units per week, where one wank equals 2 units. Continuing along a similar vein, women should not exceed 12 units per week where one wank is actually equal to three units.
Under government guide lines it is not recommended to use up all your units in one sitting. Try to spread them out a bit. One a day for a man would be satisfactory whilst one every other day would be a sensible option for the ladies. Statistics have to take into account the 'squirters' amongst us which can use up to double the daily tally.
My problem is this dear Dreary. I'm rather partial to a hand shandy and most days I can manage around five. Spread over a week that's 70 units! My glasses already resemble the bottom of a jam jar and throwing the covers off my bed in a morning is like tearing open a velcro fasten on an anorak.
I can hardly see to grab hold of it these days. I'll soon be needing a Braille tattoo on my dinky so I can find it.
Do you think I've spunked my last?

Yours,
Ian Stiff.

Dear Mr Stiff.
If these figures are accurate i would agree that you are overdoing it. Assuming you are being aroused by yourself and not outside forces, i would suggest that the problem is one of boredom. I will send you my leaflet entitled 'Hands Up!' which gives details of various hobbies you may be interested in.
You may also be eligible for a placement on a government scheme to get lazy self-abusers back into work. Hobbycraft and Hobbies R Us are retail outlets that specifically enable serial tossers to earn a wage and keep themselves busy. This idea, sponsored by Kleenexe, is based on medical reports and is an assessment of both quality and quantity. Ask your doctor for details.
In the meantime i suggest you look at www.cagedhands.com and www.guidedogs.co.uk for emergency advice.
Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
Me and my mates are about to become celebs. We have been filmin non-stop over the last two monfs for the new Channel Five reality show innit, The Only way Is Fleetwood. We were paid just to be ourselves, it was awesome! Every day we got completely legless on aldi wine then made absolute arses of ourselves out and about town. We were all amazinly hilarious! They picked us because we are proper like Fleetwood teenagers. Our kids have all now started at primary school and my next one is'nt due for a few weeks yet so i had loads of time to get pissed up and spend time on camera with the kids' fathers. I's hopin to be a gran by my firtief. They filmed us at the jobcentre on our signing days (its like a competition down there, the ugliest gets the jobs),at the STD clinic, and round at my dealer's flat. We all put on our skimpiest togs at the weekend then stood boozing on vodka outside Asda, giving abuse to punters and gobbing at taxi drivers. You'll see my mate Chelsee havin a piss on the roundabout in the park then gobblin some geezer on the war memural, and our Darren nickin flowers from some kid's grave. My staffy, JZ, is on film, shittin outside the library, and my mum gets into the vibe and shows her arse to the manager in Poundworld then smashes up sum winders at the caflick church. I'm buzzin 'bout it all innit.
How do i get meself an agent what can get me more on the telly?
Lol, Trina.

　
Well done you Trina.
You're already walking in the footsteps of the greats, Garbo, Bacall, Taylor, Hepburn, a genuine God given talent to turn heads and entertain simple folk.
If you're really wanting to get noticed you have to go that extra mile.
Have you shopped in your slippers for example? Ideally pushing a pram but extra brownie points for a towel wrapped round your head and a can of Super T balanced in the pram hood.
The louder you can shout 'ger 'ere now' to some snotty little kid in the middle distance demonstrates an ability to throw your voice and maximising your target audience.
Next time you have your village fete never mind guessing how many smarties are in the jar. Impress everyone by putting on a blindfold and offering a free nosh to all the lads down your back ally. Showing an ability to put a 'name to a face' as it were will guarantee a standing ovation in more ways than one.
Just be yourself, make your children proud and get your tits out for the lads.
Dreary. x
Where's this sodding village and whats a friggin fete?


The moddul villige dick 'ed, nd fetes a cheese innit?

Dear Dreary.
Can you settle an argument between my wife and I? My parents always insisted that it was the correct thing to wipe from front to back, but my wife has always done the opposite. Is it a case of a male / female divide, or is there no set rule? The thing is, i have recently noticed a patch of mottling beginning to develop around my rear. Hard pin-prick size nodules are starting to push their little red heads to the surface, making it harder to wipe in EITHER direction. Wipes are now useless as anything i use just gets ripped to shreds. This always seems to be worse in the winter when the colouring seems to fade and the top surface skims over with a milky substance. Is there a cream or something similar you could recommend? This area also now seems to be permanently damp. I have tried specialist pads, towels, even a hair drier, but nothing drys it out and to be frank it is starting to smell and turn mouldy. I have tried sponges on the inside, which soaks up much of the excess liquid, but they eventually sag and fall out of position due to the weight of the moisture. Then there is an area of peeling, the result, i suspect, of neglect on my part as i have failed to clean on a regular basis. What sort of long term body damage could be accrued do you think by delaying treatment? This is driving me insane but despite all this i still love my Morris Minor.
Please advise,
Frank Ernest Hepplewhite,
Scraggly Bottoms.
　
　　
　
　Dear Frank.
You must come to a mutual agreement on this one. It's one way or the other.
I wouldn't spend to much time worrying about the damp patches. The bottoms always going to be wet through and once it descends into the murky depths, well, that's another story. As long as you tighten your nuts before entry I can't see any leakage problems.
Always ensure your tubes are clear before firing one off. We wouldn't 't want it blowing up in your face as it were.
Always ensure you never have a build up of too much seamen. This may cause a blockage and instability.
Finish with a smearing of yacht varnish, pipe him on board then it's down periscope and away we go. Your submarine has never looked so go.
I fail to see any relevance to your Morris Minor?
A quick pugwash should do the trick!
Dreary. x

Drear Dreary.
The other walk, i took my day out for a dog. When we got to the poo, he parked a sniff and did a tree. When the chest came out, a young cream took off her sun and put it on her top.We caught the number 14 arcade into the bus, then ran into snow as it had started to argos. Buster likes to watch balls,so when we got home i put the bark on so he could snooker the telly. Later, when we were tired, i decided to take some winalot to my basket and Buster ate his cocoa in bed. My stress reckons that i am suffering from coffee caused by impotence and not enough analyst. He suggested that my defective diary could be helped by keeping a remedy in order to find an attention span. I'm not working that its convinced. Think do you what? Kurt Regards, Horthnampton.

Kurt dear?
You are a rare disorder from common suffering in cognitive people with too much dog action who enjoy walkies and not enough cue.
The dog's going and you're coming or know you want both.
Your reversed roles will not be careful and fido will be tossing office paper around and you'll be green in the village shagging the pond and shitting in your wife!
NHS treatment free on his end up and hundreds of pounds of bollocks you'll remove whilst with a fork.
It's too late for God. Get the Phil Drabble channel DVD before John Noakes gets back on the telly.
Both barking, not mad, be, be.
Dreary. x
　
　

Dear Dreary.
My cock Hertz, a Bavarian Purple-Head, has been driving me to distraction with his recent antics. I allow him to roam the garden at will as this keeps the hens happy and laying, but since the clocks changed and i started to add knockwurst sausage to his feed he has been letting himself out of the garden gate and basically forcing himself on anyone and anything he encounters. He pounced on the butcher's boy, young Richard last month as he was delivering next door. Gave the lad a nasty turn i can tell you. After the court case the local liar ran the banner headline 'Young Dick's Meat Ravaged By Rampant Cock'. Since then he has taken sweet little frauline Hitzlesperger behind the substation, startled a resting migratory mallard on the village green, and played merry hell with the middle aged chap who was passing the house on his way to a fancy dress party dressed as Carmen Miranda. There was fruit everywhere!
The postman refuses to come to the door since his pecker got pecked, and the milkman is still recovering since the unexpected delivery of two pints of cock sperm into his anus.
Hertz has now also taken to watching Das Danken Schrictly through the kitchen window. It's unbelievable! His favourite is the bloody footballer!
The other morning i opened the coop and there he was crooning away to his harem, togged out in dicky bow and tail and silver cummerbund. The little sod is simply insatiable. Henrieta and her pals are bow-legged, bemused and bewildered and whenever i mention the word 'lay' they go into a frenzy.
Hertz meanwhile is now wearing a snazzy smoking jacket and constantly puffing on a king Edward. He just winks at me like he is planning some horrendous poultry gang bang. What can i do? I'm scared that he'll fill his boots at the upcoming livestock show in Baden-Badenpowell and its weeks since i had an egg for breakfast.
Yours, Albert Z.Glockenschpiel,

　Moenchengladallover.
Dear Albert.
I'm sending you my leaflet on cock control called Cock-a-Doodle-Do. It tells you everything you need to know about handling your cock correctly.
It's full of tips that puts you in control. For instance, just gently stroking your cock two or three times a day will have him stood to attention in no time.
There are several methods we have developed to cater for any eventuality. The Shuttle Cock is a technique used to fire him off in a deep, dark space which is a little treat when he's been a good chap.
The Cock-A-Leaky teaches the handler tissue techniques, whilst Cock-A-Hoop is just one if the many games to keep your cock stimulated.
They say that love Hertz, and you will.
Dreary x

Dear Dreary.
It's a bit of a cheek I know but is there any chance you could plug my new book 'Battles Over Breakfast - World Domination Over A Nice Cup Of Tea'?
It's a little known fact that most of the great, or not so great, military campaigns have been planned over scrambled eggs, kippers and a toasted tea cake.
Napoleons disastrous campaign against the Russians was devised over the morning paper in his dressing gown and cozy toes carpet slippers.
He seized his chance the moment Josephine nipped out to the privy.
He sent a tray of sausages around the teapot to thwart any counter attack from Josephines muffins whilst at the same time making a direct assault on her bacon toasty with twelve boiled eggs and soldiers.
With her plate surrounded by black pudding and a Cumberland ring Napoleon was convinced he had it in the bag.
He did not, however, take into account Josies pet poodle Stalin who leapt onto the table devouring Napoleans armies in an instant.
Later, Adolf devised his invasion of Blighty sat up in bed with a breakfast tray tucking into a hearty helping of German sausage and Austrian smoked cheese.
As Eva nipped out for a quick 'stroodle' Adolf unleashed hell by flicking his baked beans onto her bedside cabinet surrounding her crunchy nut clusters and polluting her teapot.
With victory in his grasp he dropped hid guard. Before he knew what had hit him a rogue packet of chocolate hob nobs appeared from the top drawer and outflanked his bratwurst, causing him to retreat under the bed next to his potty.
Finally, the development of the chemical weapon, agent orange was realised over a plateful of marmalade sandwiches by American scientists.
In his seminal masterpiece, 'Apocalypse Now', Francis Ford Coppala used Micheal Bond, the creator of Paddington Bear as senior consultant on chemical weaponry, condiments and preserves.
When's me book signing?
Yours,
Dick Tater.


Here we go again eh Dick?
I take it that you have done your time on the isolation wing and have access to the outside world once again. Your ideas are, as ever, entertaining and ultimately, i assume, are your way of maintaining interest in your case until you are released and you can publish your memoirs. I do believe however that you have misjudged the amount of public interest. The world may know you as ''the breakfast bomber'', but the public were largely repulsed by your bacon barm attack on the Tate gallery and disgusted by the poached egg fire bomb destruction of the Covent Garden Wetherspoons. Your shredded wheat mortars, packed with alpen and six-inch nails, caused carnage when you targeted them at the M25 Little Chef, so i will do all i can to keep you where you are. You may have destroyed the traditional English breakfast industry, but you have now been sussed my froggy friend. Your plan to introduce the dreaded continental breakfast to the UK has been thwarted. Croissants will never be accepted in blighty. Think again Ricardo.
Dreary. x

Curses.
I'd have gotten away with it too if it hadn't been for those pesky kids.
Careful of your next pizza delivery Dreary. It won't be the only six inches to blow off in your face!


Sticks and stones slimeball. I am in contact with a bankrupt former pig farmer on your wing, AKA ''The Barnsley Chopper'' . Be careful not to slip in the shower.

Dear Dreary.
I took my wife's grandmother to the antiques road show the other day where she was valued at over £250,000.
Well, as you can imagine I was delighted and signed her over immediately. The journey home was full of mixed emotions. On the one hand I was a quarter of a million pounds to the good but what do I tell the wife?
Luckily from my point of view there has been a spate of OAP disappearances at road shows up and down the country of late so I kind of suppose I've a legitimate excuse.
If you remember Edna McDougal who was sold at Largs back in July. She went for £450 plus a half bottle of Bells.
Then you may remember there was that poor, unfortunate gentleman who was mistaken for an early Jacobean sideboard at Nateby. They got £70,000 for him. I think he's in storage in Putney at the minute waiting to be shipped out East.
And who could forget Albert Tickle who sold, together with his very rare Windsor Cornet for a wapping 6 shillings in 1903. He's since been stuffed and mounted which is more than he got when he was alive,
It's going to be very upsetting for my wife knowing that grandma has been 'taken'.
But, on a positive note, she will be on permanent display in a glass cabinet outside Ye Olde Knocking Shoppe at Frisby-on-the-Wreake.
Are my fears unfounded?
Yours,
Larry Dripping.
Trumpton. 　
　Dear Larry. Some leopards just never change their spots. The Scrubs' gain is the community's loss. How long have you been out? Two weeks? Three? Your affrontery, as ever, knows no bounds, you never could resist bragging about your victims could you? One day the Columbian police will repatriate your old partner Walter 'Beef' Farmer, and the whole sick story will be exposed.
The Beef-Dripping crimes will create a right old stink. And don't assume you won't be tracked down. I recognised the tell-tale signs immediately so others will as well. Where have you stored the pensioners' bodies this time? In the queue at the post office? In the crowd at Preston North End? Your days are numbered sonny Jim. Expect a knock on the door.
Dreary. x