Me sheila's Missing

Dear Dame Wotta,
Me sheila’s gone missin’. She won a trip to Sydney on a ‘shopping spree’ scratch and win card three weeks ago.
The sink’s full, the truck needs a wash and I’ve had to milk the cows every day, and also I can’t get me head down that far, if you know what I mean.
What do I do now?

Phillip Bruce Nugent VII

P.S. The cat misses her too.

Dear Phillip,
I’m so cross with you, but I’ll try to be patient. Don’t you understand out there in the out there, that when referring to your lady wife, you must say ‘my Sheila’, the s in Sheila always being upper-case, out of respect for womyn’s issues, which after all are often yourselves.

The state your letter was in when I received it was nothing less than disgraceful. Your handwriting is appalling, which matched your attitude, and the letter was actually still damp after traveling all that way. But then it was nestled in some beer-sodden paper toweling, and I also found a piece of bacon-rind and a toenail clipping. I had to put on gloves to deal with your problem. I almost photographed the contents of the envelope to show my dear readers, but didn’t think it appropriate at this time of the day.

I fully suspect the cat hasn’t had a decent meal in three weeks, like yourself. I can’t describe how annoying I find you.

I’d keep your head down if I were you, for I’ll be watching for more nonsense from you, and will gladly send neck stretching advice if you need it!

Dame Wotta Tripp

P.S. You do know she’s never coming back, don’t you? You’ll have more luck finding a mail-order kangaroo than you will another Sheila.

Talk Backwards To Me

Dame Wotta-Tripp,
Does it ever occur to you that you are influenced by Satan and that the prurient rubbish that spews from your mouth onto an unsuspecting world will eventually return to bite you on the leg, or preferably a little higher? Have a good day!

Scornfully not yours,
Demetrius Fotheringay.

ppirT attoW emaD

!suirtemeD ,noitcelloc evisnetxe rehtar ym ot luos ruoy fo drahs a dda dna uoy hpargotohp lliw I spahreP .daeha og ,ekil uoy erehwyna ,em etib ot yrt uoy epoh od I .egnellahc a ekil od I erom s’tahw dna ,em ot derrucco sah tI

Help From Zimbabwe Too Late For Charles

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
Even when quite a boy I was intrigued by aviation and hoped eventually to become an airline pilot.

I had a troubled childhood and when a teen had an encounter with the law. I was run over by a police car and required years of medical treatment and rehabilitation. This precluded any formal training as a pilot so I avidly devoured all written material on the subject that I could find. Now I feel reasonably fit, and at lunch time the other day, while working as a night-watchman, I read an advertisement for an intensive mail-order tutorial which, if successfully completed, would result in the granting of a diploma as a pilot, complete with frame and wall-hook.

Although not a rich man, the fee was within my grasp, since it could be paid in installments which had to be sent to a P.O. Box number in Zimbabwe. My aunt, who is actually my mother, but does not wish to claim that distinction, believes the course is not genuine, but I have checked the atlas and confirmed that Zimbabwe does actually exist, so I cannot understand her opposition to my advancement. Don’t you agree that a young man's wings should not be clipped?

Onwards and Upwards,
Charles Skye.

Dear Charles,
I have a message of hope for you. I'm sorry, but Zimbabwe is in crisis right now and could not respond and send you your course. I have found a friend, Nigeria, who will help you. Also, Nigeria is by the seaside, well some of it, which I think is nice, and there's probably a breeze too, and safety as long as you're away from petroleum facilities. Anyway, see what you think, Charles, it was the best I could do on short notice. Email me, sweetie, if you want to make arrangements. I'm on your side here, and your Mummy doesn't seem to know what she's talking about. You're grown up now, spread those wings!

LAGOS, NIGERIA.

ATTENTION: THE PRESIDENT/CEO

DEAREST CHARLES SKYE,

CONFIDENTIAL BUSINESS PROPOSAL

HAVING CONSULTED WITH MY COLLEAGUES AND BASED ON THE INFORMATION GATHERED FROM THE NIGERIAN CHAMBERS OF COMMERCE AND INDUSTRY, I HAVE THE PRIVILEGE TO REQUEST FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE TO TRANSFER THE SUM OF $47,500,000.00 (FORTY SEVEN MILLION, FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS) INTO YOUR ACCOUNTS. THE ABOVE SUM RESULTED FROM AN OVER-INVOICED CONTRACT, EXECUTED COMMISSIONED AND PAID FOR ABOUT FIVE YEARS (5) AGO BY A FOREIGN CONTRACTOR. THIS ACTION WAS HOWEVER INTENTIONAL AND SINCE THEN THE FUND HAS BEEN IN A SUSPENSE ACCOUNT AT THE CENTRAL BANK OF NIGERIA APEX BANK.

WE ARE NOW READY TO TRANSFER THE FUND OVERSEAS AND THAT IS WHERE YOU COME IN. IT IS IMPORTANT TO INFORM YOU THAT AS CIVIL SERVANTS, WE ARE FORBIDDEN TO OPERATE A FOREIGN ACCOUNT; THAT IS WHY WE REQUIRE YOUR ASSISTANCE. THE TOTAL SUM WILL BE SHARED AS FOLLOWS: 70% FOR US, 25% FOR YOU AND 5% FOR LOCAL AND INTERNATIONAL EXPENSES INCIDENT TO THE TRANSFER.

THE TRANSFER IS RISK FREE ON BOTH SIDES. I AM AN ACCOUNTANT WITH THE NIGERIAN NATIONAL PETROLEUM CORPORATION (NNPC). IF YOU FIND THIS PROPOSAL ACCEPTABLE, WE SHALL REQUIRE THE FOLLOWING DOCUMENTS:

(A) YOUR BANKER'S NAME, TELEPHONE, ACCOUNT AND FAX NUMBERS.

(B) YOUR PRIVATE TELEPHONE AND FAX NUMBERS -- FOR CONFIDENTIALITY AND EASY COMMUNICATION.

(C) YOUR LETTER-HEADED PAPER STAMPED AND SIGNED.

ALTERNATIVELY WE WILL FURNISH YOU WITH THE TEXT OF WHAT TO TYPE INTO YOUR LETTER-HEADED PAPER, ALONG WITH A BREAKDOWN EXPLAINING, COMPREHENSIVELY WHAT WE REQUIRE OF YOU. THE BUSINESS WILL TAKE US THIRTY (30) WORKING DAYS TO ACCOMPLISH.

PLEASE REPLY URGENTLY.

BEST REGARDS

WOTTA JUMAI FA’IQAH TRIPP

Dame Wotta Tripp Is Too Late!

To My Dear Readers:
Wotta Tripp is too late!

Alas, as happens from time to time, I was unable to help a poor soul who turned to me! How I struggle with my regrets! How I hope you will all forgive me!
About ten days ago I received a most bewildering letter. I usually answer my cries for succor in the order I receive them. The letter was puzzling but did not at the time seem urgent. I present it to you below unchanged, exactly as I received it so you may consider it:

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
I am an old man now, and all my life I have been looking for Artur Strump, but without success. I suppose it has been a bit of an odd session, or whatever they call it, but I knew my life would not be complete until I had met him. I don't know anything about him. I never heard about him, or anything like that, but his name came into my mind when I was a wee lad and I knew I had to meet him to make my life complete. I have searched all over the country, covering it bit by bit and will be setting out searching again on Tuesday. If I find anything I will let you know.

Henry Hatter.

My usual procedure each day is to put out the letters I intend to answer and today was no different. Amongst the day’s good deeds I had to attend to was the letter from Henry Hatter which I had already pondered considerably. Before answering the selected letters I read the new mail of the day.

My powers did indeed fail me (just this once), and I am bowed down with guilt.
Imagine my shock when I then received the following letter:

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
I felt I should let you know about my Dad, Henry, as I know he wrote to you about his problem.
He went away for a few days last Tuesday and on Wednesday a police officer called to say he was sorry, but my Dad was no more. I was surprised and asked him, “no more what”? Then he explained that Dad was walking along a country road when he was struck and killed by a hearse driven by a Mr. Artur Strump. Mr. Strump was very upset, but has promised to give dad a free funeral. It's a funny old world, isn't it?
Yours ever,
Alice Osborne

My sympathy and deep regrets go out to this shattered family!
All donations for the family can be sent to the ‘HATTER FUND’ c/o Dame Wotta Tripp. Thank You.

Shaven Cats In Wide-Brimmed Hats

Dear Dame Wotta,
Before I tell you what’s wrong I want to make sure you know that I love cats, I love all animals, but I adore cats.

That’s what makes my problem so hard to bear. I never hurt anything, not so much as a Giraffe Weevil or an Asian Longhorned Beetle - never.

I adore cats, all of them, but when I’m near to them a strange compulsion often steals very slowly and silkily over me. It tickles, and then the ideas begin. I’m quite creative, well people have said so, my teacher even did, so the ideas come one after the other. I think I’m an artist at heart, really.

I see cats kind of like a blank page, and I have a secret language I call ‘Kittenwritten’ (DO NOT STEAL THIS NAME, Dame, as I am copyrighting it VERY soon) that tells me the best idea I could have for each kitty.

When my cat Candyfloss Stickums (I've included a photo) went to the vet (PRIVATE, I won’t post a defenseless animals medical records, don’t ask me to) a few years ago she had to have a good shaving, and that’s really what started it all. When I got home I stroked her velvety skin and noticed the cutest wrinkles ever! I confess I was soon addicted to this soothing stroking, (as I already had been for a long time to feeling all around and in between cat toes) and the bubbling feeling of happiness that it makes happen.

Eventually her fur grew back, but ever since then I have had to stop myself from shaving Candyfloss. I’ve thought of many patterns to shave, checks, wavy lines, or even all of it off. Then I could get some of those tattoo pens (non-toxic, I’m not that stupid) and decorate her properly. And for different special times of family closeness, like Xmas, I have many, many ideas (I keep a notebook with a lock = PRIVATE – don’t ask me!!).

Best of all would be summer, when I could rub coconut oil all over my cat and into the wrinkles also every day and very best (get this!!) – they get FRECKLES in the sun!

I know deep down inside that I shouldn’t do any of this, and that I need help, but I’m scared one day I’ll break down and do all this at my cat.
I could never afford therapy. Please help me!

Candyfloss Stickums Angeltoes’ Mommy

My dear girl,

There’s no need to feel shame for a moment longer, there are many ways in which we can turn your negatives into positives!

Many, many people feel as you do (my sister Jane, for one), and I feel this impulse lies deep within the human race memory.
People have decorated their animal companions for thousands of years, everywhere. In ancient times cats were beautifully decorated in many countries.
The Celts decorated their pets and today camels and elephants (who also are prone to freckles) are painted with vivid colors. It makes them all very happy.

Be careful if you use coconut oil in the sun, as you might fry your little Candyfloss (I've included her photo above, but I think you'll find you've made a small mistake, and that she may be a little boy!), and although the wicked and desperate are rumored to do this with Mars Bars I think that is the only type of confectionery suitable.
You are supposed to use sunscreen to prevent the possibility of skin cancer, but sunscreen causes skin cancer.
I would try a little bonnet with an extensive brim. She will probably be nice and cool.

But I have a nice surprise for you! Some kitties come ready made with no fur. They have no fur software. They are called Sphynx cats, and this is what I think you need. Candyfloss would like a companion, I’m sure, and then you can leave her fur intact. You could continue to play with her toes and possibly still decorate her anyway: Go to the library and look at the book ‘Why Paint Cats?’ by Burton Silver and Heather Busch.
I have a feeling that if you are truly creative you will see a powerful career opportunity unfurl before you.

If you earn enough for a Sphynx, please call your new feline Dame Wotta, in honor of one who truly yearns to help all who cast their heartaches before her!

A kiss on the nose to Candyfloss -
Wotta Tripp!

Floating Posers Make Retinal Fairies Take Flight

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
When I was a little girl growing up in my country village I was rather well known as the girl that could see fairies. For many years these small delightful creatures of light would fly before me everywhere I went, and I would spend hours talking about them to my friends and answering their questions as best I could. Years later I was diagnosed as having a large quantity of retinal debris, but was told that the condition would improve as I became older. Now I have no fairies left, but admit that I do miss them. Do you believe there are real fairies, and how can I get them back into my life again?

Wistfully yours,
Anon.

Dear Anonymous,
It was so nice to read your charming letter.

There are several types of genuine fairies.

What we won’t deal with here are the small fluttery ones that float across your monitor screen every time you visit a site that purports to know about the genuine article. Sprinkling ‘magic sparkle dust’, impeding movement and vision should you wish to continue more deeply into the netherworld of ‘Trixie’s Fairy Palace - Portal to Enchantment’, it confuses you for just long enough for music to begin extremely loudly before you have a chance to back out of the site. This music invariably sounds like 75 babies all micturating side by side into aluminum potties of various sizes.

I hope you never venture further than this anyway onto a site of this nature, especially without ear protection and travel sickness medication. You will not find your fairies here.

But back to your problem, which I can now partially solve.

In accordance with the laws of this sector of the galaxy that we're holed up in, this will create two more problems, which is only right and proper, as fairies do like to see us confused, as well as eating a lot of butter, which they’re good at.

You had floaters, now cleared from your retinal system.

A brilliant but hardly understood gentleman has another shock for you, I’m afraid. Your floaters are real! They have a life of their own and can be easily photographed escaping, as you will see if you visit his site. This poses a problem for many thinkers and researchers.

Unfortunately, your floaters are probably gone for ever, but you may comfort yourself with the fact that fairies are indeed real, and also perceived by many to be a problem.

Featured in this letter is a small one (not the type that would hunt you down) my strange sister Jane photographed. You can click the picture to see more of the damned things, and worse, if you want, but I advise you to stay safely on this page .

I know loads of people who see them all the time. It’s a matter of knowing where to look for them, as with any rare creature.

Please do remember that unlike the imaginary Tinkerbells, they can be larger than humans and hostile on occasion. They’ve been known to abduct, murder and possibly eat us, as well as using us in breeding programs to freshen their semi-compatible bloodlines. Get one of those rushing at your eye in a hurry and you’ll be seeing lights, alright!

If you’re sure you want them in your life, leave fresh butter and cream on a saucer every night out of reach of pets and animals and play gentle, pleasant music, such as Twisted Sister’s ‘Burn In Hell’. They also, like myself, enjoy sparkly things, and I would imagine, curry.

Hope this helps,
Dame Wotta Tripp

Seeing Eye To Eye On Fidelity Issue

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
I have been suspicious of my husband's marital fidelity for the last few months and was intent on finding out the truth. I read long ago that the last image seen by a dying person is recorded on the retina, so when my husband returned home again late for the umpteenth time I waited out of sight by the front door and shot him through the heart as soon as he entered. I knelt by the body and peeled back an eyelid, and looked carefully into his eye, but all I could see was a little me. What shall I do?

Worried Wife.


Dear Worried,
It’s as well you didn’t give me your real name, but one can hardly call you a wife any more, can one?

I suspect you have already secretly completed the last few chores connected to your erstwhile husband’s existence. However, it’s not for me to judge. I consider myself, like a priestess granting favors, to bear a sacred responsibility to keep everyone’s information private. Neither shall you receive any spam from websites selling forensics clean-up tips, or offers of subscriptions to ‘Soldier Of Fortune’ magazine and the like.

For by now you must know what you have done.

You are probably a very stupid person. It’s quite true that the retina records the last image seen. Unfortunately the last image your doomed spouse saw was the entrance to your home, recording clearly where he met his end and making you the number one suspect.

I do not know, nor wish to, where you have deposited the ’remains’, but you must make sure at all costs that the eyes are completely destroyed. I suggest incineration. If this causes you a lot of extra labor, know that you get no sympathy from Dame Wotta.

Please don’t do anything like this again. If I later hear from you in a further missive of this nature, I shall be compelled to speak more sharply to you.

I know money is a problem for many, but I believe in the long run a private detective followed by a divorce is less trouble all round. You could also Google ‘revenge’ for unique ideas if set on retaliation, but please stop several steps short of death.

Dame Wotta Tripp

Four Bottle Technique

My whole family is against me. I’m 29 and the oldest of three brothers, one of whom is me. Oh, yes, hi, Dame, thanks.

The problem ain’t that I still live at home exactly, just who I have to put up with.

I stayed at home to look after Dad because he was wounded most serious in a bar fight and is now a person of disablement. I really wanted to be a mechanic, but now I have to run the farm.

I’ll put it real simple:

1 Dad – He can’t move much more than his evil old tongue, but he yells at me all day long, orders, insults and incorrect agricultural tips mostly, as I’m trying to run the farm.

2 Mom – She’s having it away with the guy who owns the pool hall, Dad being gimped and all, and when she ain’t doing that she’s three sheets to the wind anyway. She don’t shout at me much, but I have to cook and clean, as well as run the farm.

3 Andy, 2^nd eldest, and I guess by default 2^nd youngest too, being in the middle and all. Lazy swine steals my money and only puts in three hour days. He’s sleeping with someone’s wife, and it ain’t his, and that’s not all, but I’ve said enough.

4 Bobby, the youngest, is a good boy at heart and he tries to help, but something ain't right upstairs. Some of the chickens have flown the coop, if you know what I mean. Anyway, he’ll only milk the cows; it’s all he ever wants to do. I have to drag him away from the barn time and again while I’m trying to work alone to make ends meet here, 'cos I have to run the farm. Plus, the cows are getting sore and upset.

Dame, I need advice, but bad. I don’t know which blood relative irritates me most. To cap it, I like a drink myself, but I haven’t been out for near on three years, because I have to run the farm.

Help me please!
Biff

Dear Biff,
I’m sorry to hear about your family, especially your mother. Poor boys! If she’s in bed that much, then she will get tangled in the sheets, sweetie, whatever the weather.

I have devised a fun solution for you free of charge, but you must follow my instructions exactly. You like to have a drink, and so you shall!

Select four different types of liquor in the same size bottles. Label each bottle with the name of one of your family members (don’t spit in them; remember you will be drinking them). The next bit is what makes this sad experiment fun!

Each time a relative irritates you, go and drink an exact shot level from their particular bottle. Keep doing this continually until one of the bottles is empty (my own personal choices here would be tequila, rum, vodka and brandy).

Now you know who irritates you most, and also who takes 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th place. The rest is simple:

1 Call social services and ask them to pay a visit the following day.

2 Pack your belongings and then order a cab.

3 While you are waiting, mix any remaining liquor in a container and knock it back.

4 Move to another town and become a mechanic.

Because you don’t have to run the farm.

Warmest regards,
Dame

Absolute Loyalty Demanded By Goat Flayer

Dear Dame Wotta,
I've recently received a letter from a serial killer. Obviously, I'm thrilled by this, but I'm not sure how to go about replying to his amorous advances. (I think this could be love) He's got golden hair (usually blowing in the wind) and some very powerful eyebrows. I'm not sure how to contact him, and I don't want to mess it up by saying something stupid.

My main problem here is, I don't know where he lives, his name, or any of his contact information. All I know is that the minute I first laid eyes on him, as he was flaying a goat, I knew that he was the one. So, naturally, I gave that special look (You know which one I mean) and he gave me a goofy, adorable smile and sent me his best wink.

The next day there was a blood stained letter on my doorstep containing a lot of profanity. (He's got a great sense of humor) The best part is that he said that he would agree to go out with me if I can find him before he finds me, and that I would live to regret it if he finds me first. What a guy! Do you have any advice?
-Hetty Rumbledown

Dear Hetty,
I can quite understand you being thrilled, you are young and such attention can be heady, Hetty.

It sounds as if you fell hard when you first saw him, which is understandable coming suddenly upon him like that, as there must have been a lot of slippery blood, and worse things, but I know that goofy look you mean: The revolting one that makes all men look like constipated cheetahs, serial killers or not.

As you find his physical features to be filled with grandeur and powerful natural forces you probably feel just like a young and inexperienced girl. Don’t for a moment let this fool you.

However young you may be you have now entered into a contest the outcome of which will determine the rest of your life. Despite the charming sense of humor and playful threats, he may be playing hard to get. You were wise to write to Aunty Wotta for advice.

To find him first, you must use appropriate bait, and goats simply won’t do. This is your clue to finding the key to his heart. You must have found him fallen upon hard times, as any goat, even the ones with long wavy fur, are only for the desperately hard up.

You will need at least two people to lure him to you. The details really are up to you as I would need a consultancy fee to create a plan for you.

The really important thing for you to remember is that you MUST (not shouting, sweetie) jump out and 'find' him, in the middle of his flaying or whatever, and cry out "found you!" in your most joyful and excited voice. I can’t stress this enough. When he realizes that he has been found, and someone does care (I believe there are maternal issues at work here) that goofy grin will be back! When he also realizes his gifts were also from you, he will be overwhelmed by your generosity and intelligence.

But be aware, this man will demand absolute loyalty! Either 'pucker up and partner up', or be prepared to lose both him and yourself.

Best wishes and good fortune on your hunt for happiness,
Dame Wotta

Concrete Proof Is In The Graham Pudding

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
Last month I visited my Great Aunt Myrtle for the first time since I was a child, my itinerary as a traveling salesman having on this occasion brought me conveniently close to her home. She received me rather coolly, I felt, but was polite. Since I was the guest, I phoned for a medium sized pizza for our dinner, and, that eaten, my aunt informed me that she habitually retired early, and went to bed. More out of habit than anything else, I left my shoes outside my bedroom door at bed-time, and then went to sleep.

In the morning I retrieved my shoes and found to my amazement that they were both full of hardened concrete. Since I travel light I had only my bedroom slippers to wear when I walked through a foot of snow to my car, after a breakfast of steamed Graham crackers.

I did not mention the unusual shoe incident to Aunt Myrtle at breakfast, but I still consider it puzzling, and would like you to tell me whether you consider there was any significance in the event.

Incidentally, I shall by coincidence be in Aunt Myrtle's vicinity in about two month's time and am wondering whether to call on her again.

Looking forwards to your comments, I am yours truly:

Percy Vere.

Since writing the above, a thought has struck me. Where would one obtain concrete in the middle of the night?

Dear Percy,
This is an unfortunate and sad letter that you have sent me and although I don’t wish to make you uneasy, I hope you read this in time, and I cannot stress this enough:

Under no circumstances return to the house of your aunt.

The Urban Dictionary describes ‘concrete shoes’ thus:
‘1. Concrete shoe
A method of human disposal, developed and perfected by the Italian mob. Involves encasing a person's feet in poured concrete, and dumping them, alive or dead, into a deep body of water.

"Luco Brata sleeps with the fishes. We just fitted him for concrete shoes." ‘

Perhaps you are also unaware of the fact that the name Myrtle is Italian in origin. A fierce liquor is made by the naughty men of Corsica and Sardinia from myrtle, red from the berries like the blood that flows, and white from myrtle leaves, as white as a shroud.

The name Vere, although well known throughout Europe, is also Italian in origin.

The fact that you ordered pizza does not escape me

Ready-mix concrete is as the name implies readily available and can be mixed up in the basement easily, especially in small quantities, even sometimes by the elderly. But that still leaves the question unanswered as to why she would have it when she was clearly not expecting you. Perhaps she keeps some on hand for a reason.

Think for a moment! You have not seen your aunt since childhood. Why is that? I will tell you why! You stepped unknowingly into the middle of a family feud still very much alive in the mind of this old Myrtle fool, who may be gaga, which wouldn’t help the case.

I suspect this vendetta revolved around money and power, as most do. I also suspect your side of the family came off the better, explaining the coolness of her attitude and also what occurred in the morning:

At breakfast, you were served steamed graham crackers. Perhaps you are unaware that ‘steamed graham pudding’ was a dish popular during the depression because it was cheap to make, a disgusting mixture of suet, sugar and graham crackers that rich people thought poor people might like. For me this was the final clue, a severe hint that your ‘Family’ are not as popular as they might be with this particular aunt.

You may never find out all the details, but rarely have I seen a clearer warning: To return would be to sign your own death warrant!

You are fortunate to have asked me for help, although I feel you could have worked most of this out for yourself with a little effort.

I do hope this advice hasn’t reached you too late, but I note you only sent a second class stamp with your SAE. If you survive, please let me know. I do care about those who reach out to me! Don’t let ‘this little thing of ours' become yours!

Dame Wotta Tripp

P.S. Am I correct in surmising that she has a fish pond in the garden? Guess who you’ll be sleeping with next time you venture a visit to Aunt Myrtle’s?

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=concrete+shoes