Co-Respondent In Detroit

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
I'm a small man, only 5'3" and my wife is above average at 5'9". What makes things worse is that I am a short order chef and experience a lot of ridicule.

Worst thing of all, every garbage day my wife puts me in a garbage bag, ties string around the neck of the bag and under my chin, and wheels me to the top of the drive. The garbage man is used to it, and I think he feels sorry for me. He just lifts me out of the bin, cuts the string, and helps me out of the bag.

I’ve tried wearing elevated shoes, but it doesn’t seem to make a lot of difference. I think my wife is sorry that she married me and is trying to show me that things are pretty much over between us. Do you think I could salvage this relationship, or should I start looking for a tiny wife?

‘Despondent in Detroit’

Dear Des,
You’re in a tight spot there, no doubt about it, as you very almost fall into a certain category as it were, but not quite. Of course, the fact we all shrink somewhat as we age is not going to help your particular, and I must say this, rather peculiar case.

‘Unreasonable Behavior’, which your wife definitely understands the finer points of, will qualify you for a swift divorce, but you will look like a little idiot, which you can’t at your height afford.

If you conduct an affair and then contrive to let the wronged partners know of it, you are almost certain to become involved in their messy and public divorce proceedings. This is how you do it:

Join one of the internet dating services that caters exclusively to the bored spouse and request to meet only ladies 5’4” tall or less. There are many lonely and petite women out there in Detroit. Some of them are even smaller than they once were, due to accidents.

Once you have lured your philandering partner in grime, you must cement the contract with the normal offerings. You want this to be average; it’s the only way it will work. A few dinners, flowers delivered to the office, a small gift – soon revenge will be yours, as this case clearly requires.

Arrange a rendezvous about a week after you have agreed to take your budding relationship one step further. This will give you time to find a good private detective to follow yourself and record your infidelity with dates, times, places and photographic evidence. As soon as the evidence becomes available pay for it. Contact your petite friend’s legal partner anonymously and offer the iniquitous evidence, preferably for a similar price to the one you were forced to part with. Make copies first however, and mail one to your wife, also anonymously.

At this point you will probably be close to gaining your freedom. Do not mourn your tall, willowy, graceful wife. She will soon lose shape when she doesn’t have you to work out with.

Anyway, I fully expect that if you were to stay with her, her behavior would escalate. I’ve seen this type of thing before. All it would take really is one lean Christmas coming up for the waste-disposal person and a hefty tip from your wife. You would be whisked away as quickly as was decent under the circumstances, and you might not get free in time to save yourself. No small loss. Well, not in that way.

If you do it my way you can become ‘Co-Respondent in Detroit’ instead, and that will make you feel, and look, a lot better, and a little bigger also by the warped standards which in this day and age society clutches fiercely to it’s nether regions.

This would be a good time to change your job. Here is what I think you should do. If you became a Head Chef people would only take note of you from the shoulders up. Problem solved. You would also make more money. Have some ambition!

Good Luck, Wotta Tripp!

PS: Are the garbage bags your lady wife is using extra large or just normal? I believe it will help my compassionate readers to come to terms with your plight a little better if they know a few details. For instance, does your wife purchase special decorative garbage bags for Hallowe’en and Christmas? They can be purchased cheaply in bulk from a nasty sounding place named Wal-Mart, if she is interested.

A Sad Case Of Mistaken Identity

My Dear Readers,
A sadder case I have rarely seen:

Dear Dame Wotta,
I have a big problem, I can tell you!

The trouble is I have a sister (one of two) who has set up an 'advice column' on the internet and is now dispensing said advice in a way that is quite likely going to be the death of someone. I am terribly worried about her getting sued.

Let me give you a little bit of background on her. She was born a poor gypsy child on a warm day in August (she was later forced to became middle-class) to extremely normal English parents with average views.

Right from the start it was apparent that she was not normal. She would sit singing little songs to entities in the garden that only she could see. She also became very good friends with a hamster called Sally. This in itself was not so unusual, but our Father later shot Sally while she was innocently exploring the chimney. He was worried she might starve to death if she couldn’t find her own way down. I believe they call it a preemptive strike. This changed her in deep and unusual ways.

On the weekends our Father would take her striding across the fields with his air gun, shooting cow dung for the sheer joy and satisfaction of seeing it splatter. Our Mother would smile patiently, understanding the need for men to have hobbies. My sister treasured these times and held them dear to her heart. Later, when they returned, our Father would often round off the day by gassing a few butterflies so he could stick pins in them and mount them as she looked on.

The point is, even with normal parents, somehow she slid so desperately off track that by the time I came along when she was two and a half years old she was well on her way.

Now I’m not saying I saw her head twist around on her neck to an impossible angle or anything like that (although I did see that later when she was drinking a yard of ale with a rather undesirable Irishman one extremely unpleasant night that no one in the family ever mentions, EVER), that is to say, her head didn’t spin around on her neck, so we, possibly unwisely, ruled out demonic possession and put her oddities down mainly to high spirits. This was a colossal mistake on our part, and we ended up with a conundrum of mighty proportions.

As she grew into adulthood she just grew more peculiar. She developed exotic tastes for the occult and hallucinogens. She also seemed to enjoy discoursing with foul mouthed sailors in questionable public houses, and our parents’ worried night and some of the afternoon too. Luckily we were a fair way from the sea.

The more she drank the more she studied tree sprites and woodland nymphs; she was often seen roaming the village late at night conversing with them. After a while the villagers stopped shrinking into the hedgerows and crossing the road when they saw her. In fact, they just stopped leaving their homes all together after dark, as that made things a lot easier for them.

Later, as she got older, she started getting taken by aliens on a regular basis. She would collapse into bed after a night at the local boozer and then she would be whisked off by those little gray buggers. She never complained once, though. Secretly I think she simply enjoyed all that probing and experimental carry on. She always did like attention.

As she shuffled into womanhood she married and had children. They all turned out to be very peculiar, especially the boys. Soon they too were being taken by aliens for experimental purposes. They too were seen happily conversing with entities! It was just like a re-occurring nightmare!

Having given you some pertinent background detail, I humbly ask you, Dame Wotta, is this the kind of woman who should be carelessly dispensing advice to all and sundry? Do you think she’s stable and grounded enough to direct people to make sensible choices?

Yours sincerely
Your Worried ‘er Reader

Dear Worried’er,
How quaint, I love Irish names!

You will be relieved to find that I understand your conundrum, and I believe I can help you reach some kind of closure. I sense here a kindred spirit to the wandering wind.

Split personality is becoming more common in today’s society and has been doing so for over a century. Now known as Dissociative Identity Disorder, it is a psychiatric diagnosis that describes a condition in which a single person exhibits multiple distinct personalities, such as you seem to be doing.

Identifying with this strange personality will obviously be difficult for you – I certainly wouldn’t want to attempt it myself without serious and possibly illegal medication – but it’s very important that you attempt to integrate this extra identity.

Your Father has much to answer for! Hamsters are very special and pure desert creatures that are privy to many of life’s most haunting esoteric secrets. I am left in no doubt that when Sally was ripped from your bosom and so foully executed a part of your heart went with her. This led to a lull in your true spiritual education and also caused a soul-fragment to flee to the dark and nameless wood where they all do tend to end up.

A soul-retrieval will be necessary, and possibly an exorcism also. I can save you. Write to me privately and I will arrange a special night visitation from one of my omnipresent selves. This special healing modality was taught to me by extraterrestrials very long ago. It will integrate all of the ‘you’s’ and render your problem down to a small stain on the memory. This can later be removed with oxygen products.

The personality in question sounds quite disturbed and I agree should not be dispensing advice to all and sundry. Do not under any circumstances allow this entity to give advice again. I repeat, NO ADVICE, it could be very dangerous for all concerned. I think that when you are better the urge to tell others what to do will vanish and you will be normal, like myself.

I implore you, instead of worrying about money and the possibility of being sued, please write to me before it’s too late!

Your Concerned Adviser,
Dame Wotta Tripp

PS: I’ve never heard of a grown person mounting a butterfly before. How exactly is this achieved?

PPS: I myself have also frequently been taken by aliens and have so far found the experience to be extremely gratifying.

Delirious Fetish Dressing For Wedding Salads

Hello, Dame Wotta.
I would like to know your opinion on one thing:

What kind of salad dressing should I throw at my wedding guests that will not leave stains?

Let me cut to the chase. I have a fetish. It involves salad dressing.

I just don't think I can truly love my fiancé until she accepts this fetish and/or develops a similar or even more exciting one. She's 39 and I'm 42. We're a good looking couple and we have been together for 3 years. What more could I want, right? Wrong. I need to cover people in salad dressing, and I thought that if she and I could do this together, at our wedding, then she would learn to love it (i.e. Exposure therapy for a fear of snakes involving holding and eating raw snakes).

Whenever I ask her to wear the dressing it upsets her. She's a bit of a selfish cow in that way, but I thought that maybe if I can convince her that I'm right and that she's wrong during the wedding it'll be worth it. (It has to be during the wedding because I've dreamed of my honeymoon being a certain way for three years. Whenever I smell that vinaigrette, I just tingle inside.) The thing is, I have to get enough dressing on her and everyone else so that she can see how lovely it truly is. (I tried this surprise conversion method at home once and it did not go well. She thinks that she didn't like it. I assume that if I had more dressing that she would have realized that she liked it a lot.)

I don't mind if her wedding dress gets stained (that would be kind of nice) but I don't want to stain my favorite orange tie. What brand of dressing would you recommend?

Your admirer, Nigel

PS If you could send me a proper photo of yourself without the hat I could Photoshop it and show you what you would look like in ‘thousand islands’, if this interests you?

Dear Nigel,
Well, you are a special boy, aren’t you?

Unlike your average person, I’m not interested in dressing without salad, but only for dinner, so I find myself unable to grant your request.

The more practical solution to your problem I may be able to help you deal with.

Any obsessive preoccupation can swiftly become abnormal if you cannot allow yourself to have a fulfilling relationship with one who does not share your (in this case, excessively messy) compulsion.

It may make more sense to cut your losses and save her from future heartbreak by admitting to your fiancée the full extent of your grossly distorted desires, and honestly telling her that it would be easier for you to live without her than without salad dressing.

If she still wants your worthless and oily hide after this, there is nothing further I can do. At this point it might make more sense to have a themed wedding, beginning your new life as you mean to go on, with every single relative and guest associated with both families hating you utterly and in unison. You may also have to sell all your wedding gifts to cover dry-cleaning bills.

If you must continue up this slippery slope then nothing can alter the fact that it will be a long slide downhill from the top, with a bumpy but squishy landing. Some will wash their hands of you, and rightly so, because the marks, scuffs and fingerprints persons such as yourself leave behind are nothing short of criminal. You are an expensive nuisance!

Having said that, if you are determined to go ahead, below is my recipe for Delirious Fetish Dressing, especially designed for your adult-only wedding reception to set those lovely tingles going. If the wedding is called off, this recipe can be used for those yummy ‘dressing-down everyone’ parties.

Delirious Fetish Dressing (or Serious S*lad Semen), bulk serving:

48 cups white wine vinegar
96 cups liquid virgin coconut oil
96 cups virgin olive oil
3 oz fresh dill weed
6 oz fresh weed
6 oz organic honey
Lemon, orange and grapefruit zest to taste
Dash of Tabasco only (careful of all those precious eyes!)
Sea salt and ground black pepper to taste

Blend until the consistency appears correct – do not over-homogenize. Best refrigerated for 48 hours. Allow 2 hours at room temperature before use.

Reserve a portion for hurling at party guests. May I suggest one and a half cups per person. Afterwards you will need the recipe below for removing the stains and, possibly, a solicitor.

Serious S*lad Semen Removal (works well for fabric and skin):

This is the only chance you will have to remove the stains. Blot the areas by stroking gently with a dampened sponge. Apply Stubben Saddle Soap and scrub vigorously with a stiff-bristled brush. This works for asphalt stains too. Now mix a lot of dish-washing liquid with equal parts of glycerine and a lot more water. Load into high-powered water pistols and arm all your guests. Fight until everyone comes clean.

I wish you all the best,
Wotta Tripp

PS: About your orange tie, if you don’t want to get dressing on it, try encasing it in a long plastic bag before you don it for your special day!

Dear Mrs. Tripp Lady

Dear Mrs Tripp Lady
I have the Honour to undress you from my little home in Mbasa Sind Leoto. Your humble serpent and his seventin bothers all march eight miles every day to a small wood mud internest cafe ten miles afar were we spend a days half wages to watch your writhings through a small magicl widow to your distinct land. Your magnifisent verbage astounds us all and we expect more astonishment when we learn to stand under it. We all search the hevens daily for the gentileman in the balloon. One thing we cannot believe. Do some parsons peel the eggs before consume them? They must have money to set fire to. Our chickhens are trained from birth to seek out and consume all chalkie stuff which our wise men say keeps our bonus at attention. The World is repeatedly increasing to a smaller place so you may soon learn also the wisedom of our wise and medicl men. My bothers and your humble serpent have observed that the porpoise of your widow is sister to an oracle and demands that an enquirie must be maid before your spirit ansers. We have disgust for two days and have agreed on our enquirie :- How are you doing?

Please to unveil your goodself of an exellent day

Nedal Nib Amaso. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dear Mr. Nib Amaso,
I am delighted that someone can finally see me in the way in which they were meant to! Very well done! Did you know I could also see you, once the smoke cleared? So there you are, you naughty boy, hiding in South Africa!

If you are referring in your letter to my advice regarding the noise made when masticating egg shells (When It Comes To The Crunch), then yes, eggs within my culture are peeled anywhere that people in confined quarters who are not yet deaf are forced to live together in groups of more than one. A lack of organic calcium is ultimately seen as more desirable than a lack of self-control which could conceivably result in manslaughter, or worse.

The oracle to which you refer is set in place to facilitate communications between myself and the Otherworld (with which your Sangoma’s must be quite familiar) in order to correctly accomplish my task here on Earth. As you probably are aware, I am advisor to both the living and the dead, and I feel I must state here, the living are very much more trouble.

After carefully considering your question and going into meditation I achieved the following result:

Before me lay a clear and limpid pool with a bit of mist, surrounded by ferns. Behind me lay burning veldt. Before me again, but after the limpid pool part, dark forests sweep ever upwards towards frozen Northern wastelands where howling winds scream for evermore over icy tundra. Bugger that for a lark!

Now the moment of truth has come, and I lean down towards the pool, searching its sparkling depths for coins people have chucked in during petitions to the local goddess of the spring (who is no better than she should be), as I have to get something out of this, you will agree. The mist that’s clinging still to the waters surface finally disperses so I can get a good look. There am I, surrounded by the usual golden sparkles! This always makes me a little emotional, as I’m not visible in an ordinary mirror. I look, I must say, remarkably vibrant and robust, so thank you, gentlemen, I am doing very well!

As I have not yet answered the letter regarding the gentleman in the balloon I acknowledge fully the prowess of your wise men. If you spot him, please let me know soonest. Losing people was never good for business, as you know. Greetings to the entire 18 of you!

Most sincerely,
Dame Wotta Tripp X

Dear Readers: Above you is a photograph of the charming 'Internest Cafe'

In And Out

An update from Phillip in Australia!
His problems are at an end!

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
Ever since I read your letter my life has been like a Renaissance!

Because I’ve had to do me own chores the old ‘bitters bundle’ has gone for a Burton.

The other day as I was filling up me utility a really nice bloke from Perth stopped to admire me shiny collector’s edition ’65 Holden.

We got on like a house on fire. He’s moved in and I’ve come out! Thank you, Dame Wotta!

Toorah!
Phillip Bruce Nugent VII

Dear Phillip,
I’m always so glad to be able to help my fellow persons. My heart warmed and my eyes filled with tears of joy as I read your letter. I always enjoy a good laugh.

I did tell you your Sheila would not return, and that not even a 'roo would answer any attempt you made to find another partner, but this seems to have worked to your advantage this once. I do hope for both your sakes that Perth does dishes as well as you.

Don’t hesitate to write again if you need my sterling assistance, but for now your life seems to be one gay whirl!

Cheers,
Wotta Tripp!

When It Comes To The Crunch

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
My Uncle Charlie believes there is a lot of good in egg-shells and when he has a boiled egg for lunch the noise is awful. We can't stand the grating crunching noise. We can hear it all over the house.

We've all complained but he says his health comes first. Can you suggest a solution?

A Niece in Distress

Dear Niece,
I fully sympathize and a hundred years ago there were many cruel but simple and powerful techniques you could have used as a family to bring this terrible and anti-social behavior to a halt.

Now, however, Social Services and other such bureaucratic nosy parkers cannot wait to become involved. I believe they utilize an MLM plan that enables interference through a practically infinite number of levels whilst offering numerous affiliate programs for ambitious do-gooders.

My considered and expert opinion has provided two possible solutions:

• If you are not averse to publicity, punish Uncle Charlie in the way you all must wish to, and then report yourselves to the appropriate government agency. Uncle Charlie will be removed from your home permanently. There may be a future literary opportunity writing how-to-cope articles for family magazines, etc. Many people have relatives that are extremely difficult to subdue, and selling information can be very lucrative.

• Do you remember that product that children had painted on their finger and toenails to stop them biting them to the quick? It tastes very bitter and I understand it is an acquired taste. I believe it’s called Stop’n’Grow. Paint this all over the bastard’s egg!

Dame Wotta Tripp