Dear Dreary.
I'm head of GropingHam Area Health Authority and I'm having terrible trouble with my junior doctors. They're upsetting me so much I've turned to drink and my job hangs very much in the balance.
The times I have to shout at them for running up and down the corridors and hiding under patients beds.
Every time I do my rounds they stand there sniggering at the very mention of wees and poos and the first sign of blood they start being sick everywhere and crying.
In theatre they're often too short to peer over the operating table so rarely pay attention and resort to playing with the laughing gas and blowing up surgical gloves to bat around to each other.
Their hygiene leaves a lot to be desired often found picking their noses and wiping it on a passing matron.
They're late for work in the morning and find it hard to stay awake after three o'clock and have to go home for a jam butty and a glass of milk.
And if I catch one of them again with a stethoscope pressed up to the nurses changing room door I shan't be responsible for my actions!
Please help.
Dr Cornelius Prune.
Dear Doc.
Yet another example i'm afraid of severe cutbacks and the blatant misuse of the Work Experience project. My bus driver the other day couldn't have been a day over fourteen, and my current dentist is a twelve year old Malawian refugee called Ada. Our local MP is fitting in his duties around his GCSE's, and during a recent chat with my mortgage advisor he started playing with Lego. Where will it all end? My editor, bless her, is a sweet little thing, but she comes to me every Friday for advice on homework and anal sex. No wonder there's so much unemployment. Teachers are suddenly younger than pupils, taxi drivers need cushions, and policemen's helmets are covering their eyes. I am definitely NOT looking forward to annual MOT with my gynaecologist next week.
Take care. D.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Dear Dreary.
Can you dispel an urban myth for me please? Personally I am sure that this cannot be true, but several friends insist that if you focus your mind intensely it is possible to whistle through the end of your erect penis. I have tried hard myself many times, and cannot even manage to blow any air out of the thing let alone summon up random tunes. Am i doing it wrong? I hold my aroused chap gently in my palm and try to will any gas in my body towards my groin, whilst adjusting the tip and eye into the shape of puckered lips. I love nothing more than a carefree whistle, i do not have a problem maintaining the erection and i like to think i have a wide-ranging knowledge of popular songs, but alas, nothing. A work colleague, however, has shown me video footage he recorded in the shower of his member happily whistling ''raindrops keep falling on my head'', and my carer Julian has a clip on his phone of his todger chirping away to ''don't let the sun go down on me''. They have both also pointed me in the direction of the website http://www.thehappywhistler.com/, which has footage of variously coloured and sized willies performing such classics as ''I shot the sheriff'', ''If i'd known you were coming i'd a baked a cake'', ''Up up and away'', and even ''There is nothing like a dame''. My friend Alan can whistle ''I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts'' and ''A hard day's night'' and he has now asked me round to his place to show me his technique and his collection of Barry Manilow dvd's. Am i right to feel a little concerned that he'll expect me to perform ''Copacabana'' or something for him? I'm really not up for this.
Yours, Roger Whittaker, Durham.
Dear Roger.
If you're to make it as a willy whistler you're going to have to leave old Durham town and it might just get you down.
The golden rule is to not let anyone else play your willy for you unless of course you're that way inclined. Blowing us NOT the whistling way!!
There are several good books out there teaching the basics from how to hold it, warm up techniques, fingering exercises and improvisation.
Once you've mastered these you can progress to such delights as '101 hits for willy whistlers', ' blow your cock off 'and 'Andy Stewart plays his bagpipes' for the more senior players.
Please be aware that you should not, under any circumstances play it outside schools, whilst driving or at the zoo.
I have a friend, Pasqueflower, who's a grade eight and could certainly show you a thing or two.
Whistle while you work!
Dreary.
Actually, don't whistle at work, you might just get the 'sack'!
Can you dispel an urban myth for me please? Personally I am sure that this cannot be true, but several friends insist that if you focus your mind intensely it is possible to whistle through the end of your erect penis. I have tried hard myself many times, and cannot even manage to blow any air out of the thing let alone summon up random tunes. Am i doing it wrong? I hold my aroused chap gently in my palm and try to will any gas in my body towards my groin, whilst adjusting the tip and eye into the shape of puckered lips. I love nothing more than a carefree whistle, i do not have a problem maintaining the erection and i like to think i have a wide-ranging knowledge of popular songs, but alas, nothing. A work colleague, however, has shown me video footage he recorded in the shower of his member happily whistling ''raindrops keep falling on my head'', and my carer Julian has a clip on his phone of his todger chirping away to ''don't let the sun go down on me''. They have both also pointed me in the direction of the website http://www.thehappywhistler.com/, which has footage of variously coloured and sized willies performing such classics as ''I shot the sheriff'', ''If i'd known you were coming i'd a baked a cake'', ''Up up and away'', and even ''There is nothing like a dame''. My friend Alan can whistle ''I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts'' and ''A hard day's night'' and he has now asked me round to his place to show me his technique and his collection of Barry Manilow dvd's. Am i right to feel a little concerned that he'll expect me to perform ''Copacabana'' or something for him? I'm really not up for this.
Yours, Roger Whittaker, Durham.
Dear Roger.
If you're to make it as a willy whistler you're going to have to leave old Durham town and it might just get you down.
The golden rule is to not let anyone else play your willy for you unless of course you're that way inclined. Blowing us NOT the whistling way!!
There are several good books out there teaching the basics from how to hold it, warm up techniques, fingering exercises and improvisation.
Once you've mastered these you can progress to such delights as '101 hits for willy whistlers', ' blow your cock off 'and 'Andy Stewart plays his bagpipes' for the more senior players.
Please be aware that you should not, under any circumstances play it outside schools, whilst driving or at the zoo.
I have a friend, Pasqueflower, who's a grade eight and could certainly show you a thing or two.
Whistle while you work!
Dreary.
Actually, don't whistle at work, you might just get the 'sack'!
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Dear Dreary.
I'm married to a cannibal and although I love him very much he is making life very awkward and I'm quickly running out of friends to confide in.
I first met him on a safari trip in the darkest regions of the Limpoopoo undergrowth. He impressed me with his blowpipe and he was a dab hand with a meat cleaver and moving silently through the bush.
When I first took him to meet my parents they were gutted. Literally!
When I brought him home I got him a job in ArkWrights' Butchers.
He was dismissed after Mrs Arkwright spotted her husbands' pocket watch hanging off the rack of ribs in the shop window for three shillings, tuppence apeny. Further, Mrs Arkwright went on to say that her late husband wasn't a fan of oranges which at least went some way to explaining the look of surprise on the butchers face as he gazed blankly in to the high street atop his silver platter.
On a positive note he did get his picture in the paper showing off his collection of shrunken heads. On the downside he's presently helping police with their enquires thumbing through the missing persons register.
Do you think I should mention to the plump desk sergeant not to look my husband in the eye?
Yours,
Joy Tickle.
Peel em Under Shaft.
Dear Joy,
I sense an opportunity here. Perhaps your husband's peculiar 'talents' could actually be beneficial and also save him from the inevitable arrest .I do hope be enjoys a range of world cuisines, as they are all readily available here. Mexican, Indian, Chinese, African, Middle-Eastern, the list is endless, and the fact that they are illegal immigrants would, i imagine, only add to the culinary experience. How about a sweet and sour Chinky scrounger, or maybe a curried Indian illegal, or even a pan-fried spicy Mexican dosser? He could eat out (or even order in) every night of the week and be doing the nation a great favour by reducing the number of sponging bastards we keep in benefits. He's hardly in a position to refuse is he?
Think it over. D.
I'm married to a cannibal and although I love him very much he is making life very awkward and I'm quickly running out of friends to confide in.
I first met him on a safari trip in the darkest regions of the Limpoopoo undergrowth. He impressed me with his blowpipe and he was a dab hand with a meat cleaver and moving silently through the bush.
When I first took him to meet my parents they were gutted. Literally!
When I brought him home I got him a job in ArkWrights' Butchers.
He was dismissed after Mrs Arkwright spotted her husbands' pocket watch hanging off the rack of ribs in the shop window for three shillings, tuppence apeny. Further, Mrs Arkwright went on to say that her late husband wasn't a fan of oranges which at least went some way to explaining the look of surprise on the butchers face as he gazed blankly in to the high street atop his silver platter.
On a positive note he did get his picture in the paper showing off his collection of shrunken heads. On the downside he's presently helping police with their enquires thumbing through the missing persons register.
Do you think I should mention to the plump desk sergeant not to look my husband in the eye?
Yours,
Joy Tickle.
Peel em Under Shaft.
Dear Joy,
I sense an opportunity here. Perhaps your husband's peculiar 'talents' could actually be beneficial and also save him from the inevitable arrest .I do hope be enjoys a range of world cuisines, as they are all readily available here. Mexican, Indian, Chinese, African, Middle-Eastern, the list is endless, and the fact that they are illegal immigrants would, i imagine, only add to the culinary experience. How about a sweet and sour Chinky scrounger, or maybe a curried Indian illegal, or even a pan-fried spicy Mexican dosser? He could eat out (or even order in) every night of the week and be doing the nation a great favour by reducing the number of sponging bastards we keep in benefits. He's hardly in a position to refuse is he?
Think it over. D.
Dear Dreary.
With the recent fine weather, and in my capacity as the local crime prevention officer, can i take this opportunity to raise your readers' awareness about the advantages of leaving doors and windows open. It's the perfect way of inviting all and sundry to enter your premises, a virtual plea to come in and ransack and rummage your private areas and assets. What pleasure there is to be had in leaving the back door ever so slghtly ajar whilst lying in wait for any intruders, spread-eagled naked on the bed. What lovely weather for oiling yourself up like a basted plump turkey then letting the succulent breasts sizzle under a hot sun before applying hot moist stuffing in the conservatory. What a fantastic time to make yourself and your house more appealing to voyeurs, peepers, and downright nosey bastards. Imagine if you can, what it would be like to be startled by some fine young masked buck of an intruder, tool in hand, hell-bent on breaking and entering. Or possibly you could attract the attention of the local cat burglar by opening your cat flaps to let in the breeze and allowing him to rifle ypussy. And why miss out on any possibility of being molested by some passing pervert just by closing a downstairs opening? Can you afford to be turning down such opportunities? The chance of being
pinned to the shagpile by a swarthy, sweaty stranger surely shouldn't be rejected? The chance of having your complete insides ravished, your whole being on fire and begging for mercy, bodily fluids mixing on the axminster, the screams of ecstacy floating up through the living room flue. So throw those doors and curtains wide.
And watch out! There's a perv about!
Regards, Inspector Fanny Fettler of the Yard, Dock Green C.I.D.
Oh for fuck sake Inspector Fanny, tell someone who gives a shit! I've got my own agenda at present.
I've not 'oiled the rag' as it were for nearly three months, I'm sure I'm on the turn. I'm delirious with sun stroke after the week end weather and what's more my mother was 'burgled' by the vicar last night after he drunkenly fell through her French windows. My great Aunt Cissy who was staying over watched the whole thing unfold in front if her as she gently 'teased the old bean'!
So, yes inspector TWAT, I'm acutely aware of what happens if you leave your flaps open!
CID???? What about IVF??
piss off!
Love Dreary. x
With the recent fine weather, and in my capacity as the local crime prevention officer, can i take this opportunity to raise your readers' awareness about the advantages of leaving doors and windows open. It's the perfect way of inviting all and sundry to enter your premises, a virtual plea to come in and ransack and rummage your private areas and assets. What pleasure there is to be had in leaving the back door ever so slghtly ajar whilst lying in wait for any intruders, spread-eagled naked on the bed. What lovely weather for oiling yourself up like a basted plump turkey then letting the succulent breasts sizzle under a hot sun before applying hot moist stuffing in the conservatory. What a fantastic time to make yourself and your house more appealing to voyeurs, peepers, and downright nosey bastards. Imagine if you can, what it would be like to be startled by some fine young masked buck of an intruder, tool in hand, hell-bent on breaking and entering. Or possibly you could attract the attention of the local cat burglar by opening your cat flaps to let in the breeze and allowing him to rifle ypussy. And why miss out on any possibility of being molested by some passing pervert just by closing a downstairs opening? Can you afford to be turning down such opportunities? The chance of being
pinned to the shagpile by a swarthy, sweaty stranger surely shouldn't be rejected? The chance of having your complete insides ravished, your whole being on fire and begging for mercy, bodily fluids mixing on the axminster, the screams of ecstacy floating up through the living room flue. So throw those doors and curtains wide.
And watch out! There's a perv about!
Regards, Inspector Fanny Fettler of the Yard, Dock Green C.I.D.
Oh for fuck sake Inspector Fanny, tell someone who gives a shit! I've got my own agenda at present.
I've not 'oiled the rag' as it were for nearly three months, I'm sure I'm on the turn. I'm delirious with sun stroke after the week end weather and what's more my mother was 'burgled' by the vicar last night after he drunkenly fell through her French windows. My great Aunt Cissy who was staying over watched the whole thing unfold in front if her as she gently 'teased the old bean'!
So, yes inspector TWAT, I'm acutely aware of what happens if you leave your flaps open!
CID???? What about IVF??
piss off!
Love Dreary. x
Thursday, 24 May 2012
Dear Dreary.
I need a new getaway driver for my gang of hardened jewel thieves
The ones we've had in the past have been rubbish.
The last bloke we had was having his merc serviced so he had a courtesy car with 'Uphill Motors, we're right behind you' emblazoned along the side. Coppers had him in no time.
Albert, before that, was getting on in years and loved his classic cars. He loved to turn up to a heist in his Austin 7 or Morris Minor even his Hillman Imp. Trouble was he'd have such a crowd of enthusiasts gathered that the gang couldn't get near the bloody thing and often ended up walking home or catching the bus.
I'd love someone like that Jason Statham chap out of those Transporter films. He's such a dish. I'd pull away on a getaway with him any day of the week.
Please help.
Yours
Reggie Queer.
Dear Reg.
My third husband Derek is up for it, has all the necessary qualifications ,and is crying out for a little excitement. He has 63 years driving experience and
never a blemish on his license. He can supply his own top of the range vehicle, and there is no need to supply petrol as long as any thieving takes place between the hours of 11.30 and 1.30. He drives a small van, but the interior is deceptively spacious and will be fully-stocked with ready made hot dinners. He only asks that nobody touches Mrs. Timmins' dumplings as he's hell bent on getting in her (plastic) pants. His role would be completely voluntary though he does insist on being tied and gagged. No change there then.
Dreary. x
I need a new getaway driver for my gang of hardened jewel thieves
The ones we've had in the past have been rubbish.
The last bloke we had was having his merc serviced so he had a courtesy car with 'Uphill Motors, we're right behind you' emblazoned along the side. Coppers had him in no time.
Albert, before that, was getting on in years and loved his classic cars. He loved to turn up to a heist in his Austin 7 or Morris Minor even his Hillman Imp. Trouble was he'd have such a crowd of enthusiasts gathered that the gang couldn't get near the bloody thing and often ended up walking home or catching the bus.
I'd love someone like that Jason Statham chap out of those Transporter films. He's such a dish. I'd pull away on a getaway with him any day of the week.
Please help.
Yours
Reggie Queer.
Dear Reg.
My third husband Derek is up for it, has all the necessary qualifications ,and is crying out for a little excitement. He has 63 years driving experience and
never a blemish on his license. He can supply his own top of the range vehicle, and there is no need to supply petrol as long as any thieving takes place between the hours of 11.30 and 1.30. He drives a small van, but the interior is deceptively spacious and will be fully-stocked with ready made hot dinners. He only asks that nobody touches Mrs. Timmins' dumplings as he's hell bent on getting in her (plastic) pants. His role would be completely voluntary though he does insist on being tied and gagged. No change there then.
Dreary. x
Dear Dreary.
I've just taken my first flight with a new gay German air line called PuftHanssa and as a queen myself I thoroughly enjoyed it and wished to share the experience with your readers.
Passengers can expect full thrust in the captains cock pit upon take off. Take off usually means your pants!
As a matter of course passengers are asked to travel with their head between the knees of the person next to them, to get to know each other a little better.
In the unlikely event that the aircraft has to attempt a crash landing every one is supplied with a pink hi viz jacket, a whistle and a glow stick. The oxygen masks that fall from the cabin ceiling give a concentrated blast of amyl nitrite so in effect your arse has already gone before the plane falls from the sky.
Everyone was secretly wanting such a calamity so we could try on the outfits and party one last time.
Should you survive the flight there's plenty of time to spend in customs having your baggage handled by some hot security guys!
Up, up and away I say!
Yours,
Basil Branston.
Thanks for that Basil.
I have to say my recent experiences of flying are somewhat mixed. I conducted a survey on behalf of the company on a recent Virgin flight to Lesbos. They were surprised--and i was gutted--to discover that there wasn't a single virgin on the flight. Though i must admit to comforting a young Thai girl during a spell of turbulence. She was damp with fear.
On the other hand, I only out found recently that Dutch airline KLM is owned by Kurt Van Winkle, famed Euro entrepreneur and gayboy. Apparently you are entitled to free onboard cocktails if, on entry, you announce 'Kurt Licks Men'. My favourite way to fly, though, has to be with Easypet. The cabin staff take the art of petting to new heights, especially since the introduction of their wrap-around wank-blanket. It's very snug under there and they perform a great inflight service! Their motto is 'We Always Come On Time' and i've yet to hear any passenger complaints regarding time of arrival. Happy flying!
Dreary. x
I've just taken my first flight with a new gay German air line called PuftHanssa and as a queen myself I thoroughly enjoyed it and wished to share the experience with your readers.
Passengers can expect full thrust in the captains cock pit upon take off. Take off usually means your pants!
As a matter of course passengers are asked to travel with their head between the knees of the person next to them, to get to know each other a little better.
In the unlikely event that the aircraft has to attempt a crash landing every one is supplied with a pink hi viz jacket, a whistle and a glow stick. The oxygen masks that fall from the cabin ceiling give a concentrated blast of amyl nitrite so in effect your arse has already gone before the plane falls from the sky.
Everyone was secretly wanting such a calamity so we could try on the outfits and party one last time.
Should you survive the flight there's plenty of time to spend in customs having your baggage handled by some hot security guys!
Up, up and away I say!
Yours,
Basil Branston.
Thanks for that Basil.
I have to say my recent experiences of flying are somewhat mixed. I conducted a survey on behalf of the company on a recent Virgin flight to Lesbos. They were surprised--and i was gutted--to discover that there wasn't a single virgin on the flight. Though i must admit to comforting a young Thai girl during a spell of turbulence. She was damp with fear.
On the other hand, I only out found recently that Dutch airline KLM is owned by Kurt Van Winkle, famed Euro entrepreneur and gayboy. Apparently you are entitled to free onboard cocktails if, on entry, you announce 'Kurt Licks Men'. My favourite way to fly, though, has to be with Easypet. The cabin staff take the art of petting to new heights, especially since the introduction of their wrap-around wank-blanket. It's very snug under there and they perform a great inflight service! Their motto is 'We Always Come On Time' and i've yet to hear any passenger complaints regarding time of arrival. Happy flying!
Dreary. x
Tuesday, 22 May 2012
Dear Dreary.
These athletes that fail drug tests. How? How can you fail a drugs test especially when they're supposedly so fit and on top of their game? I don't think they take em between me and you. Even a fat, lazy bastard doesn't fail a drug test if he's off his face enough and a copper asks him to blow in some bag. In fact, he passes with flying colours!
I mean, you give Mr. Bolt say 2 e's, a bag of Billy, four lines of smack, a spliff and ten pints of lager and you're telling me he'd fail? Bollocks!
That's exactly what I had when the rozzers did me for drink driving. I didn't fail on that test, did I fuck!
The only reason they stopped me was because they thought it unusual to find a parked car in Tescos' front window display.
Anyway, me point is that these athletes for all the hype are all pretty shit all things considered. If they can't pass a simple test when they're off their tits!
You should have me and me mates competing if you want some gold medals this summer, we're all proper fucked mate, off our trolleys.
We won't let you down.
Any chance?
Love,
Tony, Chantelle, Chelsea, Damon and Graham.
Dear all.
These athletes that fail drug tests. How? How can you fail a drugs test especially when they're supposedly so fit and on top of their game? I don't think they take em between me and you. Even a fat, lazy bastard doesn't fail a drug test if he's off his face enough and a copper asks him to blow in some bag. In fact, he passes with flying colours!
I mean, you give Mr. Bolt say 2 e's, a bag of Billy, four lines of smack, a spliff and ten pints of lager and you're telling me he'd fail? Bollocks!
That's exactly what I had when the rozzers did me for drink driving. I didn't fail on that test, did I fuck!
The only reason they stopped me was because they thought it unusual to find a parked car in Tescos' front window display.
Anyway, me point is that these athletes for all the hype are all pretty shit all things considered. If they can't pass a simple test when they're off their tits!
You should have me and me mates competing if you want some gold medals this summer, we're all proper fucked mate, off our trolleys.
We won't let you down.
Any chance?
Love,
Tony, Chantelle, Chelsea, Damon and Graham.
Dear all.
Here's your chance to do the nation proud! I am sending you details of how to enter a team into the Chavlympix,the alternative games for scumbags. You can decide between you who enters whch event. There's the Kicking In The Bus Shelter (karate style) event, Burning Down Tesco's (AKA Chavlympix Torching event),the Council Estate Half Mile ( first to run to their mate's flat whilst having both hands down the front of theIr trackie bottoms), Wind up Your Staffie Jump ( running your pet up and down shop escalators whilst carrying 6 cartons of knocked-off fags),and the Scooter Slalem (through the bollards in the precinct being chased by the cops). You have a lot to live up to: GB are current world champions,but unfortunately the existing record holders are all away on an extended 'holiday'.
Good luck!
Dreary. x
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