Demonic Terror Unleashed

Please help me, Dame Wotta!

My girlfriends Samantha, Tammy and me had a séance with a Ouija board about a year ago when I was young and foolish.

I soon knew better, and regret it all terribly, but it is far too late now.
Sam and Tam are OK, but the ‘thing’ stayed with me.

After the glass flew across the room and shattered everyone screamed (we felt ‘touchings’ in places I don’t want to say, and we all well heard the hissing noises) and then there were phone calls and Tams mum came and took Tam and Sammy home, and they weren’t allowed round anymore after that.
Now something breathes on me like Shifty, our dog, but when he’s not in the room.
Things move and vanish, and sometimes I hear footsteps. Yesterday I hard somebody call my name. “Mitzi”, it said, all hoarse. What have I done? Please help!

Dear, Foolish Mitzi,

I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but things will only get worse from now on.

Soon something will probably stand over you as you try and sleep, scaring you badly and perhaps pulling the bedclothes off you. It may be cloaked and hooded. Shifty will begin to behave strangely and his eyes will glow before he bites you and dies of fear.

I would suggest you tell your parents, but they probably will not believe you and may even accuse you of playing tricks if there is any poltergeist activity around you. You could discuss this with the school counselor also, but all this is only helpful if you want to try Ritalin.

It may be as long as three years before the activity hots up to the point where everyone finally realizes what’s going on, and sees that you are obsessed.

It’s likely that first your family will attempt to obtain the services of a local psychic. This person will almost certainly attempt to cleanse the house and property, also sealing everything from unwanted intrusions. They will then go away. After a period of peace and false hope lasting approximately 24 – 72 hours, all hell will break loose. Your relatively simple obsession will become a full-blown possession in which anything could happen.

When they do finally catch on and find a proper exorcist, for yes, it is undoubtedly a demon you have irresponsibly conjured up, they will discover what you have done. You must all then call demon-busting Elaine Sporran. Show her this letter and get a 25% discount off a proper exorcism, with live TV coverage.

You have and will put your family out a lot, so please never dabble again in these matters. After it’s finished, attempt to put this experience behind you, and try and remember Shifty as he was.

All the Best – Dame Wotta Tripp

The Dreadful Secrets Of Dust

Dear Dame Wotta,

I have OCD very badly. I am extremely affected by dirt and dust. Although I find damp or wet messes naturally revolting, I find dust to be sinister. It has a furtive quality as if it were hiding some dreadful secret.
What could be causing this eerie feeling? I would welcome your advice.

Cheers, Dennis

Dear Dennis,

It’s interesting that you feel that way about dust, because it’s certainly more complex than most people stop to consider! Think about it!

There is outside dust and indoor dust, and both of them are unspeakable when examined closely. I have repeatedly mentioned to people myself that the side walks are full of micturation dust, spit and vomit dust and other even more unmentionable dusts.

Take a Petri-dish and put a few drops of city tap water on it and allow it to dry. Go and look at your little project the next day. You will find a whitish residue. Wipe it off with a finger (notice how easily it dislodges?) and look at your once-clean digit. This is water dust. How can this be so, you ask? Well, everything in this wonderful but imprisoned world is made of chemicals. All that is wet, whether beautiful as watercolor, or vile, sticky and fetid, must eventually dry, leaving dusts with various ratings. Imagine for an hour or two the awful things that are spilled, squashed or deliberately voided onto roads and sidewalks each and every day. The sun dries all these dreadful dusts that we must breathe and sometimes work and play in. Our homes are equally foully inhabited.

I can never say this enough, my darlings, wash your hands after dust!

If your eerie feeling doesn’t now go away, consult your medical practitioner.

Best to you, Dennis. Wotta Tripp

Tantric Mishaps Reveal Inadequate Companion

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,

First can I tell you how much I admire you, and how proud I would be to get advice from a lady like you! Hugs!

I know I can trust you with the delicate subject matter of my quest for intimate advice.

My boyfriend Victor (who I had hoped to make my life partner soon) and I have been in a relationship for almost eight (8) years. I felt it was time to develop a more intimate relationship if we were to continue our little adventure along the road of life any further together.
After much discussion I managed to persuade Victor to visit a Tantric Sex Instructor with me for the introductory course, ‘Blissful Flutters’.
We did attend several sessions together, and although Victor’s heart wasn’t wholly in it, I felt we were making some small progress.
Our instructor, Shakti O’Toole, was an interesting woman. She kept several rattle snakes in aquariums around the room, stating that the sound of there rattling made her Kundalini rise, and it’s true she often seemed flushed. I didn’t like snakes too much, but I wasn’t too worried as they were behind glass.

The day our problems really began was nice and sunny. I’d spent considerable time convincing Victor to leave his studies of poker plays, or whatever they are, behind so that we could go for a romantic picnic, which I’d already packed. Chilled wine, cold smoked salmon, French bread, fresh peaches, brie, oysters, strawberries…need I go on?

I didn’t want my little dog Anu to be left out, so I brought him with us, leaving him in the car with plenty of shade and fresh water and the window open.

This session Shakti had placed beautiful candles around the room. The warmth was causing some of the snakes to stir and rattle. This session I was to learn how to be sensual by rubbing a lychee fruit over Victor’s lips. I was doing this, and I didn’t like it very much. It was sticky and one of Victor’s eyes looked sort of off strangely to one side and I was kind of feeling how unappealing it all was, when I heard a noise. To my horror, I saw my little Anu standing there (I was later to discover a nosy neighbor had spotted him in the car, and had let him out in case he wanted a pee and then promptly lost her grip on him).

Anu had come bounding happily in to where he knew his mistress was, but had immediately spotted the snakes and flickering candles. No one but myself had yet seen him, so only I witnessed his panic. He leaped headlong across the room, knocking over lit candles on his way through. Pausing only to panic further he leaped again, this time dislodging two glass snake aquariums. There were several terrible crashes. I stood there screaming as the sticky lychee juice trickled down my hand and glass flew everywhere. Wheeling round I noted that the room was partially on fire. “Shit!”, I screamed.

I watched in horror as an escaped rattlesnake reared up and bit Shakti on the leg. She began screaming and Victor was screaming also, so I began again.

It turned out that Victor was screaming because he had a large shard of glass stuck in his right testicle.

Eventually the fire was properly put out, the snakes caught and Anu safely back in the car. Everyone had to go to hospital to get checked out and treated.

I really should try and get my money back because now everything is much less intimate between us.
For a start, I’m not allowed to light candles and before sex we have to check under the bed for snakes. If Victor achieves an erection, which is now rare, I have flashbacks of the snake striking and recoil from him. Also, Victor now retches when he sees lychees.
The good news is, he can still have children, except he doesn’t want any. Only I do.
As he doesn’t believe in marriage and Mom and Dad don’t like him very much, I feel our relationship may be doomed. Holding your partners hand while he’s getting his balls stitched up wasn’t mentioned in the original ‘Blissful Flutters’ pamphlet. What shall I do?

Lonesome Rose

My Dear,
The Goddess moves in mysterious ways and you have probably just wasted eight years of your life with Victor, and She just wanted to let you know.

A man more concerned about a little piece of glass in his privates than your feelings is not worthy of any more of your attention.

You could try shock therapy if you really want to get him over it, but this would involve filling an entire room with messy writhing snakes and ripe lychees, which is both expensive and difficult to set up.

My advice to you is to take your spiritual tip-off seriously and leave Victor to the study of less mysterious workings, such as hockey, or something similar that requires no effort or imagination, while you follow your bliss elsewhere. Namaste.

Dame Wotta Tripp

Darkness Gathers

Please, please help, it’s so dark all around me. The clouds are gathering along with the vultures. I wasn’t going to write to you but I have nothing left to lose at all.

If things don’t change soon I will take my own life. I have many things and value none, but not because I am shallow. I simply cannot see the point in anything and am too miserable and anxious to go on. Do you have any advice for me?

Signed: nobody

I can see that you’re sad and have given up. It’s going to be hard to start up again with that attitude.

Dame Wotta Tripp

Straight Shooting Advice: Where Do Men Store Their Egos?

Dear Dame Wotta,
I’m planning to kill my man by accident, execution style. I’m no dumb-ass bitch who’s gonna try and wing him next time he comes at me pissed, and with my own freakin’ kitchen equipment, for fucks sake! All this I put up with and then I find out he’s screwing my best friend.

I’m gonna hit him in the biggest area and make it count. My sister tells me that the ego is the largest area in a man, but I couldn’t find it in the library medical dictionary. Please tell me secretly where it is.
Email: frankiewithoutjohnnie@catmail.net

Hello Frankie,
I must tell you, dear, that while I don’t approve of your language I admire your spirit. We don’t keep too many secrets here. Although the ego is the largest area, your sister is quite right, it is nethertheless difficult to locate and fairly amorphous. Some claim it resides in the brain and some claim a different area which I shall not name as I believe it would be below the belt. My personal belief is that it surrounds them like a cloud, but is hard to hit as it is both constantly growing and running away at the same time.

Perhaps the most practical solution would be to shoot him straight through the heart. You know what you’re dealing with there, dear.
Good Luck! Wotta Tripp

Scrupulously Clean Bottom

Dear Dame Wotta,
I love animals and have three kittens. I enjoy spoiling them and cuddling them. We are all very close.

My family and friends are persnickety, and they often tell me about things I could catch from my pets. I don’t want to argue with them but I resent their little lectures on ‘hygiene’. I actually prefer the company of small furry critters more than that of my family. Great Uncle Jessup dribbles and wipes his nose on his sleeve and people still touch him (well, I don’t, but some do).

What shall I tell them all to shut them up?
Thanks, Janet

Dear Janet,

I do agree with you in this instance. Despite the fact that cats carry disgusting parasites that can even be found in their saliva, and many other things, I have good news for you!
So do you! Nearly everybody has oodles of parasites, so it’s easy to see how we can also give our pets parasites. The simple answer is that we all have to suffer a little to be close.
I too have pets. Particularly clean is my little cat Poppy. His bottom is so soft and pink and scrupulously clean that you could practically eat your dinner off it. He cleans his sweet little face so well you could kiss him on the lips (I don’t mean French Kissing), but Dearie, let me tell you, if you took a microscope to his little parts, you would see them all swarming like locusts over grain fields.

Try n Try not to think about it. Hug your pets, but don’t lick them. Warm and Fuzzy is good, if you don’t deal with magnification issues. Try showing your family this letter as an explanation, but be sure not to let Uncle Jessup see it.

Hope Hope this helps - Wotta

A Slight Magical Hiccup

Dear Dame,
About a year ago I did something I now realize is unforgivable. I don’t believe in Hell, but if it existed, I would surely end up burning there.

I had a boyfriend named Mark who cheated on me.
I performed what can only be described as an intense act of black magic in which I christened a poppet as ‘Mark Sutherland’. Actually, much more was entailed on that dark, windy, icy June night, but I cannot say, except I wickedly hoped he would die in a car crash with Christy, his ‘hoe.

Just two days later Mark Sutherland was killed in an awful car wreck, but it wasn’t my Mark, but his father, also called Mark, who was killed fatally, along with the family dog, Chris. I can’t tell anyone, but I know it was me. How can I atone?

Deadly Alison (I took this name as atonement)

Hi Alison,
You can best atone by making the most of the rest of your life. You’re young and inexperienced. I’m a practical person. Chris has, in my opinion, been suitably punished – he has lost both his father and his pet.

Meanwhile, you seem to have considerable talent.

Get proper training and you can become a powerful magician, storing up treasure in this world and spending it as well, while defeating enemies and influencing people. Make sure you give away a lot of the money you make to charities and foundations as tax write-offs. This is called being a philanthropist, and if you believe in heaven you might end up there instead. Be warned, though, it’s jammed with Christians end to end, apart from the people who got lost and ended up there accidentally. It is notoriously dull and boring to occultists of all persuasions.

I hope you turn your life around – Wotta Tripp

DISCLAIMER

The advice given in the letters on this website is something Dame Wotta cannot take responsibility for.

Any injuries sustained by following Dame Wotta's advice are the sole responsibility of the feckless one(s) involved. This advice is general and should be applied with common sense and foresight.

The cries for help as received in the letters you will read here represent just a tiny percentage chosen from amongst lifes vivid cross-section of suffering humanity. We help where we can.

INTERVIEW WITH DAME WOTTA TRIPP

By Velocity Starkk of Nebula Magazine

VS: Dame Wotta, I know people ask you this a lot, but how did you come by your title?

DWT: Well actually, dear, no, people aren't usually rude enough to ask, but as I’m committed to openness and honesty I’ll relate the story for your readers.

To put it plainly, I received the Order of the Bath accidentally at a party. As you know, I’m British, and as a young girl was asked to several wildly inappropriate parties in London attended by some very well known public figures.

The incident occurred when I visited the powder room. I was wearing a military uniform at the time, and was followed through the door, unbeknownst to myself, by a member of the royal family who had arrived at the party in disguise, and who also turned off the light as they entered.

An unseemly tussle ensued, and although I believe I won, at some point our weapons interlocked and we were both unable to solve the resulting puzzle.

My cries for help were eventually heard, and foolish words were said by my blue-blooded assailant that resulted in me being knighted for misperceived military valor before witnesses as we were disentangled.

My title was finalized at a later date to save further embarrassment in certain quarters.

VS: I appreciate you telling us this, I really do. In what ways did it change your life?

DWT: It made me want to do something useful with my life. I stopped going to parties of that nature and settled down to some serious studying. I wasn’t like the other girls you know, I was too busy studying psychology, Celtic and other ancient histories, trepanning, theology, metaphysics, quantum sciences, herbs and poisons, animal communication, the paranormal, the occult, exorcism and even further, into the darkest far-reaches of the human – and inhuman psyche – fearless in my exploration, constantly forging ahead, never faltering, stopping only to reach out to others stumbling upon life’s potholed back-roads, using my profound knowledge of human nature to lift them up and dust them off with my soothing, practical and well-founded advice. Many have written to thank me for redeeming them.

VS: Wow, well, that’s incredibly impressive, and possibly deserving of your title. Is it true, Dame Wotta, that you have a twin sister, also in the public eye?

DWT: Well, yes, Jane, she’s a fairly well known artist and ghost photographer also, like myself.

VS: What kind of work does she do, and are you close to her?

DWT: She paints the Otherworld, then photographs it, heaven knows why. We’re not that close. She perceives me as being somewhat harsh on occasion, but my view is that tough love sometimes works better than her damned foolish unconditional love. All that leads to is strange home décor and too many cats. Of course, I do love her, really. I just wish she’d toughen up. Perhaps she should write to me.

VS: Wotta is an interesting name. Where is it from?

DWT: You mean, what is its origin.
It’s Saxon. Are you struggling to find suitable questions to ask me?

VS: I apologize, Dame Wotta, I’ll change the subject. Isn’t it true that you have in fact faced several lawsuits directly related to advice you have given to those who came to you looking for help? I believe in one case a man was saved at the last moment from committing suicide after becoming completely demoralized by your advice?

DWT: Indeed. He was intercepted while attempting to climb into the lion enclosure of a game farm in the middle of the night. I’m very glad that they did stop him, and I mean that sincerely. I don’t think that lions should have to put up with that kind of thing.

VS: You don’t seem to feel any remorse. Is that normal?

DWT: Well, it is for me, dear. I told him that if he was too scared to actually have a life, then perhaps he could be of better service to some other part of the food chain. I meant him to attempt for a job in the food industry, where I felt he might fit in.
I cannot take responsibility for those who are candidates for Darwinian Awards.

VS: So you don’t feel any sense of responsibility for those you advise?

DWT: Towards those you advise.

I do, of course, up to a point. But I prefer to help people take responsibility for them selves. There is no antidote for the utter stupidity I often encounter in the letters I receive, and it does make me love them, it really does, but sometimes a little harshly. And you have to remember that I am myself dealing with Aspergers Syndrome as well as a variety of complex obsessive-compulsive issues. Dusts of different varieties can be a problem for me. It isn’t easy writing to all those poor suffering people. You think about it!

VS: Well, I will think about it.

DWT: I don’t think you will much, dear.

VS: Will you continue to advise people for the foreseeable future?

DWT: As long as people need me. Time’s run out for you, dear. I have another appointment. A word of advice: Be a little more assertive and change that mousey hair color you insist on showing to the world. That will do wonders for your self-esteem. Do write if you need advice!

Stealing People Is Wrong.

Dear Dame Wotta,

I have gotten into terrible trouble and I don’t know what to do.

About three months ago I stole somebody and locked them in a special room in the basement, mainly because I was so lonely.
I wanted someone to talk to in the night (I can never sleep well) and to play games with. This person, who I can’t say the name of, did not turn out like I expected. They cry a lot and won’t speak.
I got so mad once that I prodded them through the bars with a long stick for ages, shouting. I don’t usually shout, so this upset me a lot.
This didn’t turn out like I hoped. Now I’m scared. If I let them go it’s my belief they will tell on me with no mercy.

I cannot bring myself to slay this person.
Please, please tell me what to do!

Hopeless in Alabama

You certainly do seem to be hopeless, don’t you, but nethertheless perhaps you are redeemable. It isn’t for me to say.

In all my years helping people I have rarely had anyone write in with such an interesting problem.
You are quite right not to kill this person. It isn’t a socially acceptable solution, and anyway could go horribly wrong. Having said that, it is not my place to moralize but to give sound advice.

It sounds as though you have let this person see you.

My advice to you is to keep this person just a little while longer. During this time do the following: Change your identity, job and state. Find a new home.

On moving day, which you must handle alone, change your looks entirely, hair color, everything. Rent a vehicle. Disguise yourself, buy a mask. Wear it. Drug your friend’s morning cuppa with a reliable sleep medication. When they are deeply asleep bind them tightly and then get them into your vehicle as discreetly as possible. Drive them to a city at last 200km away from where you will be living.
At this point you will need a small funnel and a mickey of high-proof alcohol. Get as much alcohol as possible into them via the funnel, and then carefully roll them out of your rental vehicle outside a Salvation Army hostel. You can rest assured that your friend will receive the best of care.
Immediately move to your new home and make sure that you never ever do anything like this again. Get counseling.

Drop me a line in a couple of years and let me know how you are doing.

Good Luck – Wotta Tripp

Pale, Hairless and Would Never Fit In Anyway

Dear Dame Wotta,

I’m pregnant but I have no memory of ever having sex. Am I immaculate?

Jill

Dear Jill,

Many people nowadays are becoming pregnant aboard space-ships without remembering.
These poor men and women have no excuses to present to their loved ones.
May I suggest hypnotic regression?

There are reports that using tea tree oil and sleeping with the fans switched on high and arrayed around your bed may help stop them returning for you, removing the fetus and taking it away again. Try this by all means if you wish, but think carefully:

The chances are that your offspring would be a small, pale, sickly and hairless creature that you could never properly love anyway.

Best - Wotta Tripp

Time To Join The Real World, Baby

Dear Dame Wotta,

Every misfortune has befallen my husband Dean and I since we moved to the city.

We have been robbed twice, lost our jobs and ended up on social assistance. Our pets both died within a month of each other. I myself have become ill with a rare disease. My husband has developed diabetes and has become prone to inexplicable rages.

Today I found out the old family home just burned down back east. All I can do is sit and cry. Dean and I fight all the time now. We become so irritated with each other; I swear we’ll kill each other if this goes on. What can we do??

Hopeless in the city

Well, Hopeless (what a pretty name, is it Navajo or something similar?), you could kill each other and both go to jail right now, couldn’t you?
But that would render the entire exercise useless, as you are both depressed in the first place because you have no life. Right? Am I right?
Very few people actually do have lives on this prison planet. May I suggest that you both grow up?
Take anti-depressants and speed-walk like everybody else. Try to fit in.
There are many part-time menial jobs with no benefits available. What if you took two each? This will give you little time to dwell on your woes, and perhaps later on when you are both a little more responsible, you could get a suitable city pet, such as a hamster, as an indoor animal companion.

Never give up! - Wotta Tripp