God-awful bin raider Gus The Fox is answering your agony letters exclusively on ShortList.com, every Friday. The smell over here is grotesque...
(Email us at email@example.com to have your every day worries resolved. And keep the language clean. Leave the profanity to The Fox.)
Hey Gus. Thinking about growing a ‘tache for Movember. What styles are ‘in’?
Depends what kind of animal you are really. They're all growing different styles at the the moment. Here's a list of some of the animals, what kind of 'tache they're wearing at the moment and how good it looks out of 10.
1 - Squirrel - Little curly customer - 1/10
2 - Spivy - little pencil number - 2/10
3 - Swan - Big f*ck-off handlebar - 2/10.
4 - Owls - Little Charlie Chaplin / Hitler moustache - 1 /10
5 - Crows - Full beard - Sh*te/10
6 - Trouts - A kind of furry little effort that you might find on a young lad - 7/10
In a nutshell it doesn't make much of a difference what type of animal you are, if you grow daft facial hair then there's a very high chance that you'll wind up looking like a right c*ck end, even if it is for charity.
My mate reckons he got the ‘making bacon’ position in popular board game Pass The Pigs. Something the makers say is “impossible”. Discuss.
Sounds like you and your mate have made a classic schoolboy error. Many people believe that that 'Making Bacon' position can only be achieved if the pigs are on top of each other, or in a sexual position. In fact, it simply means that the two pigs are touching one another,which will result in the scores reverting back to zero. The 'impossible' game outcome your friend might be referring to might be the ' piggyback' position, which occurs when one pig lands on top of the other. This highly unlikely outcome to the game results in the player being eliminated from the game. Hardly a fair outcome for such a rare move. Thanks for the most boring question I've ever received.
Pigeons in my roof Gus. Bloody nightmare to be honest. How should I go about getting rid?
Talk about thick, these guys barely know what day of the week it is. If you’ve ever tried to have a chat with a pigeon then you’ll know what I’m talking about. I once met a pigeon who’d spent about £4,000 on trainers. He can’t even bloody wear them.
I try and avoid them most of time because, despite the fact you can’t have a half decent conversation with a pigeon, they’re not really worth eating. Because you lot are such a nasty bunch of c***s, you put acid on the roofs of all the buildings in central London and because pigeons are so f*cking stupid, they keep traipsing through it, again and again. That’s why pigeons have feet that look (but don’t taste) like popcorn.
Anyway, my mate Donald Chocolate ate a pigeon once and it still had all this acid sh*t all over its feet and it burnt old Don’s mouth and lips. Now he looks a bit like Pete Burns and everyone gives him a hard time and calls him a prick. So I don’t bother eating them unless I’m bloody starving.
When do I know if I’m ready to move in with my girlfriend?
Not really an expert on relationships to be honest, Ryan. The other day I got p*ssed up on gin and got married to a an old shoe. Basically got completely off my chops and ended up tying the knot with a really battered old trainer that I found in Emma Bunton's bin. So far things aren't going great. We mainly stay at home arguing. The whole relationship is making me f*cking miserable to be honest. It stinks. I don't know what I was thinking. Feeling a bit all over the place at the moment.
Should I be watching The X Factor this year or not?
Unfortunately, this year, Cwis Packham from Springwatch has started his own animal X Factor inside his bungalow. It's embarrassing. Every week he hosts and judges the event inside his living room and invites animals to come in and perform. The quality of the performances is frankly abysmal and, needless to say, it's not televised so you won't be able to tune in.
So far, the acts that have got through to the final are LAD CITY - a boy band made made up of 4 badgers and a pig, DON HARRIS - a singer songwriter (and chaffinch), JESSICA PLUM - a fit moth, a gang of rapping geese called THE EGGS FACTOR and a heavy metal band who call themselves THE TAMPON RATS. The winner gets signed to Cwis Packham's imaginary record label and I couldn't be less interested in watching this bunch of talentless puppets if I tried.
Dear Gus, my roommate is doing ab crunches and sit ups and it's really getting intense, he's using the exit door to jam his feet under, what should I do?
Bodybuilding can be very addictive and, these days, people love working out until they look like a swollen pile of pepperami sausages with a stupid little head poking out of the top like a tortoise trying to climb out of a bin full of knackered old tits behind a hospital.
I used to know a swan called Gareth Bench who went down a similar route. He worked out morning, noon and night, opening and closing the lock gates down by the canal until his muscles were so big that he couldn't even fly or swim anymore. His once slender neck started to look like a doner kebab and all his feathers fell out because he'd only been eating Weight Gain 5000 instead of fish. In the end he ended up getting clubbed to death by some terrified looking men from the local council.
My grandfather passed away not long ago and left me an awful lot of money in his will. Neither me or my friends have ever had any money at all and I'm worried that they'll treat me differently if they find out I've got it.
What can I do with it that will prevent me from looking too flash?
Well, what I'd do is buy a crown and mince around the place wafting my wads of cash in front of my stupid mates' faces with a big smug grin on my face like a right Flash Harry, so I think you and I are on two different wavelengths. Here is a list of things you could do with the money that would prevent your mates from ever knowing about it.
1 - Bury it down by the bins.
2 - Shove it up your big fat arse.
3 - Buy a really expensive diamond and get a crap photo of the family dog laser etched onto it. Then stick it on the mantle piece so that everyone assumes it's a load of old b*llocks that you bought in a shopping centre.
4 - Invest it in a high interest ISA, wait for it to mature and then reinvest it in property at the right time.
5 - Buy f*cking loads of hens and set them free in Dalston.
I’m a bit sick of my standard breakfast of cereal BUT what can I do instead?
Have you ever licked fungus off the chimney of a brothel? It's not a great breakfast but it certainly keeps the wolf from the door. You're probably never going to see it on River Cottage but it's worth a try if you fancy mixing it up a bit.
How do I explain to my colleague at work that I just don’t want to hear about her boring stories all the time? She goes on about the dullest things but I don’t want to be rude.
This old chestnut. I had a similar problem with my mate Malcolm Plough. He talks at length about stuff that's so boring that I quite often start to black out and hallucinate. The other day we got trapped in a shed together and he spent about nine hours talking to me about the advantages of having Venetian blinds over standard width pencil pleat curtains, which is probably one of the most pointless discussions a couple of foxes could have when they're trapped in Sir Trevor McDonald's tool shed. By the end I'd had enough and I ended up punching Malcolm so hard that all his hair fell out and he passed away. I feel bad about that now.
Heading to the cinema at the weekend – what should I go watch?
The last film I saw was over at Martin Clunes' flat. I don't know if it's going to be at the cinema any time soon because he made it himself, but it's one of the best films I've ever seen. The first 45 minutes is just a load of close-up footage of Clunes flicking slugs into his desk fan and then it sort of evolves into a kind of drama whereby Clunes runs around his garden dressed as a Canadian Mountie pretending to solve crimes.
It's all filmed in real time on his JVC Compact Cassette Camcorder and pretty much abides by the avant-garde techniques outlined in the 'Dogme '95 film-making manifesto'. It's f*cking off the hook. My favourite scene is the part where he hurls a dog into the side of his greenhouse.
Keep your eyes peeled for this little gem because it's an absolute Tour de Force.
Friday 28 September
My son has just turned 14 and I have a suspicion that he's started smoking marijuana. He's always been such good boy, and we've always been very close as a family. But just recently he's started coming back to the house with red eyes, in the middle of the night, and locking himself in his room. What can I do?
It's always a shame when you realise that your offspring have grown up and don't give a sh*t about you anymore. I remember how disappointed my mother was with me after I murdered my gran in a fight over some sausages. She totally flew off the handle and things have been sort of awkward ever since. I suppose you have two options don't you? Option one is to just hope that he grows out of it and keep your fingers crossed that he doesn't wind up homeless and injecting skag into his ball sack in an underground car park. Option two is the old 'over-exposure' technique that we're all familiar with. Force as many drugs down the little arseh*le's neck as possible. Get a bunch of speed and pills inside him and then make him chase the dragon for 12 solid hours until he's traveling through time and thinks that he's the devil. See if he still fancies a spliff when he's screaming his head off in a psychiatric unit.
Trying to quit smoking Gus. Gum's not working. Patches make me feel ill. What's your advice?
A couple of days ago me and the lads were in Dean Gaffeny's garage drinking Castrol GTX out of a shoe. For a laugh, my mate Bollocks Steve (a crow) dared Andrew Power to spark up a fag, and he did because he's a thick c*** who can't put 2 and 2 together for love nor money. Andy's head instantly exploded like a disgusting, furry balloon and one of his eyes flew out of the garage and knocked an old lady off her bicycle. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life. Bollocks Steve laughed so hard that he coughed his own legs up and died. It was one of the best days of my life. Hope this is of some use.
I'm worried my friend is depressed. He never comes out any more and he's stopped washing which is apparently a symptom. He used to be a right laugh but now he just sits there, staring into the middle distance. Anything I can do to snap him out of it? Paul
Christ, he sounds like the bloody life and soul. Well nobody likes a have-a-go-hero, Paul, so I'd probably just leave him to it, mate. What can you do? No point wasting your valuable time hanging out with a miserable b*stard who stinks of p*ss and biscuits. F*ck him off.
Ever been called a pleb? What's the best comeback?
PC Jenkins, London Met
I've been called a lot worse than that, mate. The other day a priest kicked seven shades of sh*t out of me and called me every name under the sun, just because I'd snuck into the vestry and eaten all his sandwiches. You should have heard some of the stuff coming out of his mouth. I couldn't believe my ears.
Probably Martin Clunes. He lets dogs out and then leads them across the dual carriageway like some sort of canine Pied Piper and watches with a big grin on his face when they explode under the wheels of an Eddie Stobart. You've got to have a hobby I suppose.
I've got the red ring of death on my Xbox. No insurance left. Know anyone that fixes it on the sly?
I've got the red ring of death as well. The other day Cwis Packham fed me a bunch of broken glass that he'd cunningly concealed in a blancmange. He finally got me. I've never seen anyone laugh at someone sh*tting blood quite as much as old Cwis. He's a silly old sausage.
You've come to the right place. I whipped up a carbonara for my mate Cwis Packham the other other day and at the end of the meal he literally fell to his knees and began to weep. He said eating it was like being touched by Christ. Here's my recipe.
1 - Find a bin and empty the contents onto some poor f*cker's driveway.
2 - Collect the necessary ingredients (burnt toast, ancient sausages, slugs, shattered eggs, Toilet Duck, faggots, etc)
3 - Carry the ingredients back to your filthy pit/flat and lay them out on the muck/sideboard
4 - Use your snout/hands to push the ingredients into a sort of pile and then wait for it to become covered in ants. (During this part of process you may like to spend some time growling at the next door neighbour's motorbike/shrubbery)
5 - Invite your latest fancy woman/slut over for dinner. It'll be ready soon.
6 - At this point the sun should appear from behind the clouds and heat up the vile concoction. (Spend some time squinting at the sun)
7 - Tell your friend Sexy Chris that he's not invited. Encourage him to commit suicide. Why's Sexy Chris just sat there staring at you?
8 - Serve on a bin lid and tuck in.
9 - Growl at the wasps throughout the duration of the meal.
10 - Vomit the revolting slop into the canal, make your apologies and carry on about your business. Eat a coot or lick some petrol. Anything to get the horrible taste out of your mouth.
A pair of bat's think it's a right laugh to fly around my garden & fly into the windows from time-to-time and it's getting on my last nerve, any idea how to get rid of the bleeders? Chloe
Bats can be pretty childish and they can also be extremely cocky. I know a bat called Callum Brine who's constantly bragging about the fact that he doesn't need eyes. He's forever saying that "eyes are for c***s", and then he'll normally fly off and crash into the side of a bin or lamppost or something and then get up and pretend like he did it on purpose for a laugh. It's really annoying. The guy's a complete bell end. I've got one idea that might work, Chloe. You could try gluing some wings onto a hand grenade and lobbing it into the sky in the middle of the night. The twats will only be able to see it with their bloody 'sonar' and they'll more than likely fly right towards it because they think it's a moth, and then 'Boom!. Game over! Make sure you time it right though, or you'll end up killing loads of people.
I have an irrational fear of using the phone. Genuinely freaks me right out. I gather it’s quite common. Any tips?
Last Christmas my mate Keith Rice got his head stuck in a bottle bank and a little boy shoved a Nokia 3210 up his arse.
That is all I have to say in answer to your question.
I've got my son's parents evening next week, and to be honest I really just can't face it. Brings back sore memories. How do I convince the wife Sandra to go instead?
I assume you got the nickname 'Masala John' because you spend your entire life getting p*ssed up and going for a curry whilst your wife stays at home slaving over a hot oven and trying to bring up your divvy kid. you sound like a f*cking sh*t dad. I like your style. 10/10.
I have just this second given myself a paper cut. How does one go about coping with pain in a sophisticated manner?
Stop being such a p*ssy. The other day I was at the city farm in the middle of the night and I saw Eamonn Holmes 'sanding down' a pig with a Black and Decker KA300 Orbital Sander. He was laughing and crying at the same time throughout. When he'd finished I couldn't tell the difference between the two of them. It was really weird.
Is there any truth in feng shui when it comes to living room layout?
Definitely. When I feel stressed out, I quite often rearrange all the old sh*t that I keep inside my filthy pit. I just push the johnny bags and fox tods around from one corner to another with my snout and it breathes a whole new lease of life into my disgusting lodgings. I wouldn't call it 'Feng Shui' though because it makes you sound like a right c***.
What’s a quick dish to cook to impress women, on a budget?
A 'Waltham Pocket'. 'The other day I went over to Cwis Packham's bungalow for dinner with Emma Bunton, Tim Henman and a wasp called Richard Pelvis. Cwis was excited because he'd just bought 'Hungry Hungry Hippos' from a car boot sale and he wanted to make a night of it. For dinner we had, what Cwis calls, a 'Waltham Pocket' which is basically a dog, that Cwis has fished out of the bins behind the vets, stuffed full of eggs. It's bloody delicious. I can't recommend it enough. Serve with a nice Shiraz or fruity Malbec.
Don't really understand what you're talking about Paul Harper. A few weeks ago my mate Sexy Chris (an owl) dropped a grass snake (Colin Stout) onto Princess Anne's head from about 50 ft, just for a laugh. She screamed and tripped over and smashed her face into the side of a Montego Countryman.
Yeah, probably. The other day I got beaten up by a priest in a graveyard. He kicked me in the face and then clobbered me with his badminton racket for about twenty minutes just because I knocked one out in the vestry.
PS. Your mate sounds like a right piece of work.
I’m in need of some cash. Got any ideas?
My mate Double Denim David sells class A drugs to children and he's doing alright for himself. The other day he bought himself David Bowie's costume from the film Labyrinthin an auction and now he goes around pushing that glass orb about with his snout and singing all the songs. Needless to say, it makes him look like a c***.
So I don’t seem to command any respect in the office. Even though I manage three people, they just come in whenever they want and don’t work very hard.
How can I get more respect??
People start paying attention when you take members of their family hostage. Kidnap Gary's wife and tell him that you'll f*cking shoot her in her fat face if he doesn't buck his ideas up. Make sure you kidnap a loved one though. I tell you what's a fool's errand, kidnapping a slug. Waste of time. Literally no one gives a sh*t. I've learnt that one the hard way.
Also, people will start taking you more seriously if you carry a sword around the office.
My flatmate is a bit of a clean freak and it’s driving me nuts. Every time I make the smallest mess, I get a telling off.
How do I deal with her?
Very annoying. Whenever Martin Clunes comes over to my stinking pit for a game of Jenga he usually starts telling me that I should clean up and "get my act together". I'm usually like, "You don't even live here d*ck head, why don't shut your stupid face?"
At the moment my stinking pit contains a packet of Quavers, a knackered umbrella, some johnny bags, a skull and a bunch of wasps. The whole place is coated in a thin layer of muck and smells like a whore's wig. That's the way I like it.
Just do what I do to Clunes and growl at him until he starts crying.
I have this fear that everyone around me always thinks I’m a bit stupid. Whenever they talk politics or history or anything with any depth, I don’t know what to say.
How can I make myself seem smarter?
It's probably too late for that by now isn't it, Mikey? Everyone you know is probably already very aware that you're extremely special needs. They're all probably impressed every time that you actually remember to go to the toilet instead of just standing there and doing it in your pants with a big, stupid grin on your big, thick face.
I know a really stupid pheasant called Jonty Head who spent a few weeks learning everything there is to know about the Suez Canal. Every time you see him now he'll try and veer the conversation towards his specialist subject by saying something like "When first built, the canal was 102 miles long and 8 metres deep. After multiple enlargements, the canal is 120.11 miles long, 24 metres deep and 205 metres wide as of 2010". It's always completely irrelevant not to mention boring. We all know what he's doing and it makes him look like an even thicker c***.
Perhaps you could try something like that.
Hope this helps.
Hope that I'm not too late to solve this week's problems. I hope no one committed suicide*.
I apologise that I'm late submitting this week's Agony Fox. I got my penis stuck in the spokes of a pram in Carol Vorderman's garage. Inevitable.
Gus, I love eating spicy food but as I'm getting older, I can no longer handle the repercussions the following day. Do you have any tips so that I can enjoy a vindaloo without suffering?
Hello J Cambridge
This reminded me of a funny thing that happened to my mate Bill Finger a few weeks ago. We were snuffling about for sausages in someone's back garden after some sort of barbecue when I noticed some red hot coals on the ground at the foot of the grill. We were both a bit hammered on M-Cat so I dared him to tuck into the scolding rock. Bill - ever the joker - said "What a Spicy meat-a-ball" in a daft Italian accent and tucked in. A couple of seconds later his skull was engulfed in a ball of flames and he died. I couldn't stop laughing for days. Top lad.
All the kids on my street seem to be listening to this dubstep stuff. What's your take on it, think it'll stick around or is it just a fad?
I think it's safe to say that most musical styles are faddish and if you immerse yourself too much, then it's not going to be long before you end up looking like the world's biggest c***. At the moment, 1980's hair-metal is making a pretty big comeback around the bins. Everyone's back-combing their fur/feathers and listening to Anthrax and Megadeth. As per usual my mate Sexy Chris has taken it too far. Have you ever seen an owl on a tiny little Harley Davidson? He looks like f*cking idiot.
The other day I met a guy called Don Harris who claimed that he used to play drums in Slayer. I knew he was talking sh*t because he's a bloody chaffinch. I kneed him in the chest and booted him into the canal.
I live in a beautiful area of the countryside, and I was a little troubled to read that people have been rounding up urban foxes into big vans, driving them out of the city, and dumping them in the countryside. I recently spent a fortune on a conservatory, and really can't afford to have my house price devalued because of an influx of the likes of you. Is there any truth behind these rumours of fox dumping, and if so, what should I be doing to stop it?
Alright you pr*ck.
Yeah it's true. A few months ago I got my head stuck down a toilet in Dixon's and got slung into the back of a van and driven to Tunbridge Wells in Kent. It was bloody awful. I got chased across a field by some c*ck in a little red jacket who kept blowing a little trumpet. Eventually he rugby tackled me to the ground and bummed me up against a tree. It was sh*t. We don't want to be sent to the c***-ryside any more than you want us to be sent there, mate. It's a crap idea thought up by morons who don't understand anything about the city or the countryside. Having said that, I'll be sure to curl one out on your conservatory if I ever get the chance you fat d*ckhead.
My friend and I would like to come to the UK for an extended visit. However, with the American dollar being so weak, I was wondering if we might be permitted to crash at your place for a night or two? I'm sure you'd find us very appreciative.
This is an Agony Uncle column. If you'd like to organise a sexual liaison with a fox then you can do so via my website (www.gusthefox.com) like everyone else.
I moved to Japan with my wife about a year ago but have just realised all the locals speak Japanese. Being a speaker of the Queen's English, this has become something of an annoyance as I have no way of ordering Bubble N Squeak when we eat out at the nearby sushi bar.
I've tried discussing this problem with my wife but to no avail as she is Japanese too and I have no idea what she's saying.
Your thoughts and suggestions would be welcomed.
Dono the Prong
Yep. Been there, mate.
The other week I got married to a moth (again) and it was a bloody disaster (as per). We moved into Jeremy Paxman's garage and it quickly became apparent that we had f*ck all in common. She didn't speak a word of the Queen's either and when we went out murdering hens, I could tell her heart wasn't in it. Over a short period of time the relationship became very hostile. Perhaps I was being paranoid but I was convinced she was poisoning my dinner and every time I confronted her about it she just sat there, silently on the window pane, covered in dust. To cut a long story short I ended up eating her along with a couple of bees.
I can't take it anymore. Every morning I get up at 5.30 am, which is bad enough, and I go downstairs to make myself a fortifying cup of very strong coffee. Every morning I am greeted by the vanguard of the slug army. It is doing my nut, I have sealed up every entrance I can think of. I'm coming to the conclusion that the only suggestion is to salt and burn my entire garden (which would annoy the neighbors and my landlord). Have you got any suggestions?
We've been through this a few weeks ago, Sarah. Come on people! Concentrate please!
Need a new set of golf clubs. I have about £1,000 to spend. Any thoughts?
I once watched a tramp break his own legs with a golf club because he was so wasted on Kestrel Super Strength. He just beat the sh*t out of his own legs and laughed and laughed and laughed. That was a weird Christmas.
Gus, found a really nice flat that I’m thinking about renting in North London. The downside is that it’s above a fried chicken joint. You spend much of your time in those sorts of areas right? What are the pros and cons?
Martin Clunes and Emma Bunton live above Chicken Cottage in Dalston. Perhaps you could be neighbours. Pros - Bunton's pockets are always full of sausages and offal and she's usually very generous. She once force-fed my mate Liam Fist so many sausages that his head swelled up and he started crying mince. Cons - if you get on the wrong side of Clunes then he'll pretty much dedicate every waking hour of his existence to hunting you down and kicking you in the b*llocks and that can get rather tedious after a few months, believe me.
Nobody has ever asked the waiter to pass ME the wine list. What can I do to get some more social respect?
Every time you're in Nandos you should stop sitting there, talking over everybody and regurgitating all the b*llocks that you've absorbed from the Daily Mail through a mouthful of chicken wings and peri peri sauce whilst you get gradually hammered on cheap lager until you end up getting into a fight and passing out in a pool of your own p*ss next to the bit by the door where people leave their umbrellas. You're a f*cking embarrassment mate.
Falling for a girl at work. Pretty sure she likes me too. We work quite closely together. Is it madness to start something up with someone I see for so much of the working day?
I keep accidentally getting married to moths. I've married to about eleven or twelve moths now. I don't know what the f*ck's wrong with me but I'm probably not the best person to talk to about matters of the heart. I don't think being close for long periods of time should be a problem though. I once knew a pair of conjoined frogs called Harry and Sam Robinson and they got on famously. They were joined at the hip and they looked like something from the ninth circle of hell, but they were nice lads. A proper good laugh. I killed them, f*cked them and ate them for a bet. I regret that now.
I know a squirrel called Alex Spain. He honestly believes that there'll be a squirrel in the White House by 2050. The guy's a f*cking nightmare. The other day he was coming out with all this sh*t about squirrels being the first mammal on the moon and he was bad mouthing Neil Armstrong and it absolutely did my head in basically. I got so angry that I was sick in the canal. I don't know if I've ever been that angry before, I honestly don't.
People keep telling me Macs are best, but then every person I know who works in IT insists it’s all about PCs. It’s a technological minefield, Gus. Guide me.
I usually use Martin Clunes' BBC Micro computer when he pops out on his paper round, but it's on the blink at the moment because some idiot's shoved a thrush into the floppy disk drive so I'm in Cwis Packham's bungalow at the moment using his Packard Bell PC. It's not much better than Clunes' piece of sh*t to be honest. It's got moss growing on it for a kick off. I've never used a Mac to be honest. I know a pheasant called Ian Swine who talks with a great deal of authority about computers and it really gets on my nerves because he lives in a hole in a field full of crops and I know for a fact that he's never even seen a f*cking computer in his entire life. He's such a pr*ck.
Hope this helps.
Every time I try to cook coq au vin the red wine turns the chicken purple. What can be done?
This reminds me of the time my mate Quiet Paul put his c*ck in the exhaust pipe of a van for a laugh. Unfortunately for Quiet Paul it got snagged on a bit of rusty metal and he couldn't get it out. When the driver turned on the engine it backfired and blew his c*ck off and sent it flying into a bottle bank. We all laughed so much that we started crying blood. It was one of the best days of my life. Paul died a couple of days later from his injuries. What a character. Never a dull moment with that guy. Hope this helps.
My daughter wants a pet. What should I consider and what should I steer clear of?
I don't know what it is with you humans and 'owning' animals. I don't know why you feel like you have to possess things and keep them under lock and key just to enjoy them. It's proper f*cked up. A few months ago I was walking up the canal, minding my own business, when I was rugby tackled to the ground by news reader Moira Stuart. She fed me a bunch of pills, hogtied me and chucked me into the back of her van. When I woke up a few hours later, I was in a cage in her bungalow. I remember her staring at me with her mad grin and saying "You're my new pet. I'm going to call you Harold Bishop". She'd obviously completely lost the f*cking plot. I was trapped there for several days eating Pop-Tarts that she fed me through the bars of my cage whilst she sat in a grubby armchair in her dressing gown watching one violent horror film after another on her VHS player. One morning after Moira Stuart accidentally fired the scolding, molten contents of a choco-mallow Pop-Tart into her own eyes, I made good my escape, and I never went back. In answer to your question then, consider something like a dog and steer clear of things like eels and woodlice.
I want a sabbatical from work but I’m pretty sure they’ll say no. Any pointers on how best to sell it to them, or any advice on where I stand legally? Am I within my rights?
Are you planning to spend the time advancing your skillset in a way which could benefit your employer or were you hoping to sit around your flat in your grubby little underpants, jacking off in front of Loose Women for months on end? Just tell them that you're taking some time off to do some research which will benefit the company and if they don't like it they can hurl it up their own arse. Also tell them that if they even think about stopping your monthly pay cheque then you'll tun up at the office, armed to the teeth and make a right nuisance of yourself.
I’ve been offered the chance to work in Miami. Thinking about taking it. What do you make of our American cousins, Gus? Good people to surround yourself with?
I once met a frog from America. His name was Julian Beef. Whilst I was chatting to him, I folded him in half and shoved him up my bum out of confusion because he was such a pr*ck. One of the worst people I've ever met. I'd give it a miss.
My girlfriend keeps going on about all her little insecurities about weight and appearance etc. Seeing as I'm young and untrained in the naïve art of reasoning with women, could you hand us a few pointers? Ta, Jack
It's tough not to say the wrong thing when you're going out with a fat, spotty girl with a big nose. The fact of the matter is though, Jack, you've made your horrible bed and now you have to lie in it.
What’s the score with men and fake tan, these days? I didn’t get to go on holiday and I’m pastier than a swan. Can I slap on the bronzer so people don’t think I’m dead?
It's never good to be fake it when it comes to your personal appearance, I reckon. Something will usually go wrong to blow your cover and you'll end up looking like a right f*cking pleb. A few months ago my mate Keith Gland tried a few cosmetic modifications due to the fact that he was starting to look like a bit shabby. Because of his appearance he hadn't got his end away for about a year and everyone was starting to give him a hard time. He was trying to get the attention of a local slut called Bunty Hoven so he decided to give himself a bit of a makeover. He started by filling in his missing patches of hair with dried pine needles from a knackered Christmas tree in an attempt to give himself a nice, thick, even coat. He went on to whiten his legs by wading through a tub of chlorine behind the leisure centre and he topped the whole look off by wearing two pairs of winklepickers. When he went over to chat up Bunty Hoven his legs were covered in scabs, his shoes looked ridiculous and a gust of wind blew all the pine needles out of his coat and into a duck's eyes. He looked like the world's biggest d*ckhead. I laughed so hard that I fell into the canal and went over a weir.
Having a little problem with trespassing slugs recently. They keep coming into the living room when I'm watching tv, one minute I'm alone and next I look down and they're everywhere making a disgusting pattern on the carpet like they're ice-skating or something. Trouble is, my mate said they have a good memory and you can't just throw them out as they come back. Is salting them the only solution? I need them gone asap. Anna
Slugs don't have a good memory Anna. That's all I'm saying. Your mate's a c***.
The other night I drank a bit too much and woke up the next morning not being able to remember the night before and with a massive bump on my forehead. I haven't been able to piece together what happened but still have a feeling that something really, really bad did. What do you think I should do mate?
If you're anything at all like me when you get leathered then you probably tried to b*gger and then kill all your closest friends. That's probably what the bump is from. One of your mates will have tried to fight you off whilst you attacked them with that mad look in your eye. They were probably absolutely terrified. Best thing to do is to buy them all a Twix, apologise and get on with your life. No point crying over spilt milk. The other week Cwis Packham did a similar thing to me. I went over to his house for a quiet night in (bit of Lambrini, Jurassic Park 2: The Lost World) but it didn't take long before Packham was three sheets to the wind as per. By midnight he was naked and hammering me to a great big bloody crucifix that he'd built in his living room. He was weeping and singing along to Fireflies by Owl City which was blaring out of the stereo at a thousand decibels. The whole evening was a bloody washout. I was f*cking livid. A few days later though, he turned up at my bin with a box of Milk Tray and said sorry and now we're cool. Chill the f*ck out.
I feel the need of your opinion on a subtle question of style. Do you prefer a Windsor or Hand and a half knot in your tie, when worn with a lounge suit? Yours in anticipation Stuart Smith
Not sure I understand the question here Stuart if I'm being brutally honest with you. I once went to Windsor Castle and had sex with a deer called Colin Fruit. He had enormous antlers which made him look like a c***. Hope this helps in some way.
Every single time I fall asleep these days I wake up wearing a little orange party hat that says the word 'b*nder' on it in felt tip pen. Someone is literally following me around and putting it on my head every single time I drop off and it's driving me up the bloody wall. I've got a sneaking suspicion that it might be Nicholas Lyndhurst because he keeps smirking and acting really weird every time I go over to his bungalow to clean his bum. Sorry I didn't answer your question Brad, this is doing my head in and your question was really boring.
What should I do about having friends I don't really like? Stanley
I once met a dog called Bong Eyed Alan who started hanging about with me twenty four seven. At first I didn't mind because he could do a really good impression of Martin Clunes and it made me laugh, but after a while I realised that the guy really was a t*sser of unbelievable magnitude. He used to wear this thing which he referred to as his 'mojo sack' which was basically just a bum-bag full of Hula Hoops and he had an annoying habit of constantly whistling Man I Feel Like a Woman by Shania Twain, all day, every day. One day I had enough and pushed him in front of a fire engine. Unfortunately he didn't die, but the 'accident' did destroy both of his hind legs. Now he's got wheels and he rolls about the place looking like some kind of sh*t wheelbarrow with a head. I hate him. Hope this is of some use.
Which one? The badger or the celebrity? You'll usually find her in Hyde Park at about midnight, sniffing around the bins and eating worms. I don't know about the badger though because we lost touch ages ago.
Going to buy a dog. What breeds are the friendliest and what should I steer clear of? Much loveYola
I wouldn't say any of them are particularly friendly. They can be thick if that's what you mean. If you want a really friendly (thick) dog then you won't do much better than a pug. I once met a pug called Kevin Tent who was bankrupt because he'd ploughed all his money into a ball bearing company he'd started in Chiswick with his brother. Not a wise investment. Nice guy, but what a f*cking idiot.
I’ve been asked out on a date by someone whose name is genuinely Moira Hindley. I like her. But her name IS Moira Hindley. Thoughts?
I once knew an owl called John Wayne Gacy and everyone gave him a wide berth just because he shared his name with an American serial killer but I thought he was a pretty decent bloke. I hung about with him for ages and eventually, after several months, I convinced everyone that John was a decent lad. A few hours later he painted his face like a clown and went and killed a bunch of people. Speaking from experience, my advice would be to err on the side of caution on this one.
What fruits are bad for you when you’re trying to lose weight? I heard bananas and avocados are an absolute no-no…
Don't really like fruit and veg. Never really felt the urge to try it. I once shoved a carrot up my own *rse. That was pretty good actually. Don't know if it helps you lose weight. Don't really give a sh*t to be honest Marcus.
I have a bit of a problem. See, I live in America. Lately our country has gone all to hell and I'm not sure we're gonna make it much longer. Is it worth coming over to london, or should i just wait it out?
I'm afraid you're all doomed Josh. The world's f*cked. Doesn't matter what country you're in, I give it about five years until you humans are all living in holes and drinking your own p*ss. If you're anything like me then you'll probably bloody love it. Yes, unfortunately it's not going to be long until your supposed "civilised" society caves in and collapses like a neutron star until you're all just squatting in caves with your fingers up each other's ars*s mumbling gibberish about The Only Way is Essex and Jedward's new haircut.
My flatmate smells like a dead rabbit. How can I tell him without hurting his feelings?
If you don't hurt this leviathan's feelings then he'll never learn. After a while he'll forget that you subtly placed a can of Lynx Africa on his bedside table and continue his eye watering campaign against the senses. He'll carry on wandering about smelling like tramp's ball bags and nothing will get sorted. You're much better off sitting him down and telling him that every time he comes anywhere near you you feel like coughing up your own lungs and booting them out of the window just so you don't have to breathe in any more. Tell him that very thought of his stench can result in grave consequences. Tell him you once simply thought about how bad he smelt and it gave you a violent nosebleed even though you were in the Norfolk Broads on a canal boating holiday with your parents and he was still in London. That should get the job done. Also if you're lucky you might get to see him cry. Always funny seeing a fat man cry isn't it?
As part of my university course I'm required to do a year long placement with a business, but I can't get one to save my life. I've had a few interviews but got no further. Any words of wisdom?
My guess here would be that you're probably not the full ticket if you literally can't find a single place that will let you in the building to empty the bins for a couple of weeks. Even though the world has supposed to have moved on and become more PC, people are still going to be uncomfortable employing people like you I'm afraid Mike. The last thing a busy company needs when they're up against it is to have to deal with you pooing and weeing in the stationary cupboard and stapling your eyelids closed when they've got deadlines to meet. I'm surprised your "university" got your hopes in the first place. Perhaps you'd be better off staying in your room with your jigsaw puzzles instead mate.
I get really sweaty palms. Any time it comes to a handshake I get nervous about them and that makes them worse. Help me Gus
Not an expert on palms because I've got paws mate, so I might not be the best person to ask. My paws are in pretty bad nick though to be honest. You know those sort of spongy pads animals like me have on our feet? Well the other day I burst one of mine open after Martin Clunes glassed me in his front garden and bunch of ants came streaming out. Apparently they'd been living inside me for weeks as though my legs were some kind of bloody halfway house. Infuriating. You ever had that problem Keiren?
Got to buy the girlfriend’s dad a bottle of whisky for his birthday. What’s good Gus? I haven’t the foggiest
Only had whisky once. A tramp gave me some on Hampstead Heath. It was quite nice until he tied me to a tree and made me watch him cut off his own legs whilst he sang 'Torn' by Natalie Imbruglia. That was a funny old evening. On second thoughts that might not have been whisky, it might have been crystal meth. That's a good point actually. Make sure you buy your girlfriend's dad a bottle of whisky and not just a load of sh*tty meth.
Gus, my gums bleed every time I brush my teeth. I mean every single time. My dentist tells me to swill my mouth with salt water before every brush but it's just not doing the trick. What's the secret to healthy gums?
I wish people would stop asking me questions about hygiene as if I'm any sort of authority on the subject. I'm hardly in tip-top condition myself. My gums are black and although I haven't looked, I'm very aware that there are wood lice living in the holes where my teeth used to be. Every time I sneeze they fly out and go all over Martin Clunes' computer keyboard.
I'm far more concerned about the condition of my genitals at the moment. I finally plucked up the courage to look at them the other day and it made me cry. They look like a couple of little, shattered acorns that have been booted around a playground for a couple of hours.Not in good nick. Not in good nick at all.
As a child I lived near a large field and for many years wild rabbits used to live there. One day they all disappeared and never returned. My mum said it was the disease myxomatosis that killed them. Is this correct? Or did they all run off with the milkman?
My thick mate Rubbish Les licked a fuse box once and his eyes went all red and weird. For a laugh, I told him that he had myxomatosis. I told him that the only way he could cure it was to p*ss into his own eyes as often as possible, He did this for about 3 weeks until his eyes got really badly infected and he sort of went blind. A few days later he got run over by a police motorcycle* and broke both his hind legs. Obviously I knew it wasn't myxomatosis because he was a bloody fox. He died not long after that and I can't help feeling that it was partly my fault. I don't know if this really answers your question. I don't really give a s*it to be honest, Olivia.
Our Sunday League team had a woeful season last season. As we prepare for the kick-off of our 2012/13 games we’re at loggerheads on what formation to play. Is the wing back system really dead?
This question got me thinking about my mate Sexy Chris (an owl) who got a picture of Kurt Cobain tattooed on his wing back a few weeks ago. Despite the fact that it makes him look like a f*cking tosser it also got a bit infected and now he smells like a whore's underpants. Also the feathers won't grow back so when he takes off he can't fly in a straight line. The other day he flew off a post box and smashed straight into the side of a bus shelter. Me and my mate Vile Clive laughed so hard that our claws fell out and our feet started bleeding. I don't really follow football because I have four legs and I live in a bin with a moth called Dennis Bennett. I once met a goose called Liam Finger who told me that the only reason geese fly in formation is for a bit of a laugh. He said he finds the whole thing a bit embarrassing because all the other birds think they're a bunch of c****. That's literally the only thing I know about formations.
Gus, I've got a baby on the way and I'll be honest, fatherhood worries me. Are you a dad, Gus? Any tips?
I think having kids can probably drive you up the wall. Me and my siblings were a bit of a handful when we were young and one day my old man had a funny five minutes and killed all of my brothers and sisters (Mum went absolutely mental). I think if I could give you any advice it would be to try and avoid getting so angry and stressed out that you start slaughtering all of your nearest and dearest.
I'm not a dad as far as I'm aware, Matt. A few years ago I was going out with a vixen called Gabby Yeast and after a few weeks I got her pregnant in a skip full of bricks and wasps (romantic). For a few weeks I was terrified but after a lot of deliberation I decided to do the right thing and run away to London. Not that long ago I found out that Gabby was shot dead shortly after I left (Apparently she was turned into a really posh hat). So at least in this case there's a happy ending.
Can't cook for toffee, Gus. I have a dinner date at my place this weekend, though. What should I rustle up? She likes fish.
I'm not much of a cook myself, Tony. The other day I sucked Bisto out of a prostitute's wig. That was my dinner. You're hardly going to see it on one of Jamie Oliver's menus any time soon (You might find it on one of Heston's I suppose). Fish can be nice, but the other day I went over for a candlelit dinner at Cwis Packham's bungalow and he'd cooked a massive, f*ck-off bowl of eels. I could tell he was up to no good because he kept laughing and shooting warm milk out of his nose. When I bit into one of the eels I quickly discovered that Packham had filled all mine up with broken glass and bits of barbed wire. I spent most of the evening bleeding out of my arse whilst Cwis p*ssed himself laughing on his bean bag. He can be such a f*cking arsehole. Have you ever eaten wasps? They're delicious. Perhaps in some kind of flan.
My iPhone 3 has conked out for the last time so I'm in the market for a top new phone. What's good these days?
I don't have a phone so I'm not going to be a lot of help. I use the internet on Martin Clunes' PC when he goes out to his paper round. The only phones I know about are the red ones that stink of p*ss. Me and Emma Bunton spent all of Christmas Day together in a phone box last year. We spent the day licking ketchup off the window pains and looking at all the pictures of girls with their tits out. She said it was the worst Christmas ever and started crying. I thought it was alright.
Gus, I realise this isn't really an agony uncle matter, but please tell us your surname.
I can't remember. I was too young when my parents died. I think it was something like Trumpet or something sh*t like that. Don't know.
Dear Gus. Can you wangle me some Olympics tickets?
It may come as a surprise to you to learn that I'm not actually an ambassador for Olympics this year and, as such, don't have an unlimited access to tickets.
Me and my mate Geoff Lung have tried to get into the spirit of the whole thing by chewing a few power lines and digging a few holes, so hopefully at some point there'll be a nasty accident and someone will get killed but I wouldn't get your hopes up.
To be honest I'm totally fed up with the Olympics already and it's barely even started. Yesterday I was having a nice little wander up the towpath when Lord Sebastian Coe kicked me in the b*llocks and spray painted the olympic rings onto my belly before hopping back into his kayak and f*cking off up the canal. Genuinely unbelievable when you consider he's pretty much in charge of the entire bloody thing. You'd think he'd have bigger fish to fry.
Dear Gus, I'm just about to turn 32 and am considering purchasing a BMX to ride along the promenade. It reeks of a quarter life crisis, doesn't it? Do you think i should be concerned? And my wife says I need to wear a helmet.
Dan (from Southsea)
It's not a quarter life crisis is it mate? Not unless you're planning on living until you're 128. The only thing that reeks round here is denial. Denial and really, really old ham. Stop p*ssing about on your BMX and sort your f*cking life out Dan.
The Battery on my Alfa Romeo is constantly flat. I have to jump start it every morning. It's a 159 diesel. Five years old. Any pointers?
Don't really know what you're on about mate. My mate Sexy Chris (owl) ate a battery once for a bet. At first it didn't do anything, but later on, whilst he was evacuating it from his bowels, it gave him a little electric shock on his bottom and he fell off a lamp post and landed on a Vauxhall Frontera and sh*t himself. I laughed so much that burst a blood vessel in both of my eyes. It was f*cking funny.
I've got a recurring ankle injury that's keeping me out of sports. Squash, football, tennis, all out of the window. Docs can't seem to work out the issue and it's getting me down. What upper body exercises could I be doing. (Not very keen on the gym)
I like your style. Positive attitude. Good lad. I had a similar problem once when Cwis Packham from Springwatach broke both of my front legs with a pair of handcuffs during a sex game that got out of hand (Which it usually bloody does with Packham to be honest). I had to spend a couple of days walking about on my hind legs which didn't come naturally I can tell you. On one occasion an old lady saw me walking around her garden on my back legs and she started crying and phoning the police. At one point I think she hurled a Toby Jug at me and called me ****.
Off on my hols. Need a good book to read. Any thoughts?
I'm writing a book at the moment about a fox that can travel through time. I'm calling it 'Timewolf' and I reckon it's going to be the next big thing. It's going to be a bit like 'Fifty Shades of Grey' except it's about a fox who can travel through time in a bin. If it ever gets turned into a film then I'm going to play the protagonist and I'm going to get someone like Martin Clunes or Felicity Kendal to play the bad guy.
We've got mice. I see droppings in the kitchen but have no idea how they're getting in. Glue traps are cruel, right? Any sure fire ways of getting rid of them?
Glue traps are cruel. I once got into some tosser's kitchen via the dog flap and they had sticky mouse traps all over the floor, I got them stuck to every one of my feet and it looked like I was wearing slippers. On the walk home I slipped over, fell into the canal, cracked my head open on a narrowboat and went over a weir.
All the coots and moorhens p*ssed themselves laughing and called me a fat pr*ck for about four months. I had an absolute shocker.
I think the best way to kill mice is with a harpoon.
My husband is a compulsive spender and has constantly gotten us into debt for many years. We had to go bankrupt once and he still did not learn because it was just a way out. He has had to refinance our home twice to get money to pay off his credit cards and it looks like he is in debt again. I must be a jerk to have stayed all these years (39). I resent him because of it, yet feel powerless to do anything. I never left him because of fear I guess and of course when my children were little to keep the family together. I really can't stand it any more. Any financial security we might have is going down the drain. I don't want to refinance again because I know that is enabling him. What can I do and where can I go for help? I know he has the problem, but I feel somewhat responsible because it keeps going on. Thanks.
Your husband sounds like a f*cking ars*hole.
Hope this helps.
Friday 20th July
Where should I live, London or San Francisco? I have given it a lot of thought, but I'd like a foxes point of view.
It probably won't come as much of a surprise to learn that I've never been to San Francisco Catherine because I'm a bloody fox.
I once met a rat called Ian Gunter who'd come over from America on a boat and he was right knobhead. He kept doing an impression of Austin Powers and saying "Let's put another shrimp on the barbie" because he didn't know the difference between English and Australian. I cannot tell you how much I hated him. After about 3 hours I was left with absolutely no choice but to kill him, f*ck him and then eat him.
For that reason alone I would probably stick with London.
I need a new front door (my one is rubbish) and my mother found me one for free from one of her friends. The thing is it was about 6 inches too short, so I put it on ebay and now I've just gone and made £155. Do I tell my mums friend and give her some money or should I go with my gut instinct and spend it all myself?
Any advice would be appreciated,
Think you've just broken the record for the most boring question on this column so far.
After a heavy night i got up for a drink of ribena, reached out for the bottle in my dark kitchen and there was a huge slug on the bottle! i was really shocked and upset as you can probably imagine and have been scared to pick anything up in my kitchen since. I don't know how they're getting in or who they think they are coming in in the night like that. Any advice?
I'm afraid this is just a sign of things to come. Apparently it's just going to rain forever now so you might as well get used to it Poppy. This week I actually had to move out of my bin. I mean I like sleeping in filthy water full of old condoms and packets of Frazzles as much as the next guy, but it was getting to the stage where I kept drowning and it was getting on my last nerve.
As you've probably noticed the sh*t weather is here to stay. This is our life now. Some of the clouds have already started to develop a thin film of limescale on them and it's only a matter of time before the sky crusts over completely like some sort of filthy, grey, ceiling. After that it shouldn't be too much longer until slugs rule earth.
I know it sounds unlikely, and I can't really explain the science behind it, but I can assure you all that it won't stop raining until one of you humans puts David Cameron's head on a great big fucking spike. It also probably wouldn't hurt to hang, draw and quarter Jeremy Kyle whilst you're at it.
It's my 10 year anniversary coming up with my wife. What should I get her for a gift?
February marked 10 years of friendship between myself and Martin Clunes. He celebrated the occasion by booting me into the canal and calling me a fat bender. Classic Clunes.
I don't know what you should get her really Sven. According to your archaic rules, a 10 year anniversary is also known as a tin anniversary. If she's anything at all like old Gus then she'd probably be over the moon with a tin of sausages in brine.
I have quite a busy life, work hard and don't drink coffee or anything yet I find it really hard to get to sleep. Got a tips for a good nights kip?
Well I sleep in a bin full of wasps next to one of the busiest intersections in London, so I wouldn't know much about getting a good nights sleep either.
A few weeks ago me and my mate Violent Clive ate a bag of rancid ham out of a skip behind Cash Converters. I don't know what was wrong with it but it made us both go bonkers. Violent Clive ate his own legs and I crawled under a Nissan Almera and travelled through time. We ended up staying awake for about 80 consecutive hours. I was pretty convinced that my heart was going to explode after about 50.
I'd probably recommend murdering a few hens. That usually tuckers me out.
I've started dating the most beautiful girl in the world. Every time I see her my legs turn to jelly and my chest feels like it's full of butterflies. I've never been happier. How do I tell her how much I love her without coming on too strong?
Grow a pair of b*llocks mate. Jesus Christ.
Friday 13 July
My parents want me to go to uni but I’m not sure it’s the right move. Surely I’ll just end up in debt and fatter. Your thoughts please…
There's a halls of residence quite near me and sometimes I pop in when they leave the windows open. The place is a f*cking pigsty. There's litter and food all over the floor, rubbish everywhere and it smells like a whore's underpants. I love it. One of the rooms has the word 'Gavin' written on the walls in human sh*t. It's literally one of the best places I've ever been in my life. If you enjoy living in squalor as much as old Gus then you should definitely get involved in university. And don't worry about debt or the future. From what I can make out from the state of the country, I don't think it will be too much longer until you humans are living in a barren, post-apocalyptic wasteland, sitting around in the dirt, naked, eating grubs and fighting each other with pointy sticks over the last bottle of water. So that'll be something to look forward to.
What’s the score on double denim these days? I can’t keep up.
My mate Dave wears a lot of double denim and needless to say it makes him look like a right bender because he's a fox. I think it's just going to be one of those things that come in and out of fashion every few years thanks to d*ckheads. I reckon on the whole you're best off avoiding fashion trends because they'll usually end up making you look like a pleb at some point. Some of the owls in my neck of the woods have started getting their ears pierced recently and my mate Sexy Chris got a tattoo of Kurt Cobain on his left wing. I mean it really is impossible to find the words to describe just how much of a **** he looks at the moment. Last week I saw a hen wearing brogues (no socks) as well. I don't know what's going on. Everyone's gone bonkers.
I’m tempted to buy a Macbook Air but everyone says it’s a waste of cash and I’ll only use, like, 4% of all its capabilities. What’s the dealyo-yo? Buy or not?
I don't know much about computers. I pop in and use Martin Clunes' computer when he goes out dogging and it's a pile of old rubbish. Clunes still has dial up internet which gets on my nerves and every few seconds a message comes up saying that the computer is infected. My mate Violent Clive says it's because I stuck my willy in the floppy disk drive but I don't think it is because I only did that like twice and it wasn't even turned on.
Truth is, Gus, I’m not much of a looker. Some people say I look like Everton’s Tony Hibbert, and Everton fans say Tony Hibbert looks like a shoe, which can’t be good. How do I get people to ignore what I look like and take me for the beautiful person I am on the inside?
How to muster up the courage to carry on living when your face looks like a knackered old kettle? Seems like not a week goes past in this column when I don't get asked this question. I just Googled this Tony Hibbert and yes, not a strong look. The main problem with being hideously ugly and looking like something from The Hills Have Eyes is that it affects other people. This is what you gargoyles don't seem to understand. Walking around scaring children and making everyone feel queasy is actually very selfish. It's all very well staggering around squinting and drooling and telling everyone to love you for who you are on the inside but the truth is it's not our problem mate. You should do the decent thing and stay at home for the rest of your life. Give our bloody eyes a rest.
My parents bought me some god-awful cufflinks (Scrabble tiles with my initials on, I mean Jesus wept) which I instantly gave away. Needless to say my Dad’s 60th is in-bound and they’ve both commented on me wearing the bloody things. Do I need to go out and buy a pair, or do I need to grow a pair?
A couple of months ago it was my mate Sexy Chris' birthday. For a laugh I bought him a Pyrex jug, a Le Creuset casserole dish and a thing for measuring pasta. He was furious because he'd been telling me for ages that what he really wanted was a dead mouse. He got so angry that he started crying and I laughed so much that I got a nosebleed.
Here are your three options...
1 - Go and buy some more
2 - Steal the relevant tiles from a game of scrabble in a pub and then glue them on to some sh*t ones you bought from Argos
3 - Tell your old man to go f*ck himself. No one would blame you.
Got a hot date. Get in. Alas, she’s picked the venue and it’s a movie pub quiz type thing. I know nothing about movies and really don’t want to bring nothing to the table. What should I do? Gimme a list of films I should brush up on and I’ll get watching.
I've only ever seen one film. Cwis Packham puts it on almost every time I go over to his bungalow. It's called Big Natural Boobs 12 and I must have seen it about 200 times now. It must be good or Packham wouldn't watch it so often. I would suggest saying this for every answer until you eventually get it right. Hope this helps.
The family dog has gone to the great kennel in the sky. I’ll level with you Gus, I liked Oscar, but I’m not crestfallen to see him go. Anyway, my daughter and partner think we should get another dog but it’s my wallet that takes the hit and my arse that’s scooping up all the poo in the garden. How can I swerve this one?
You shouldn't be using your arse to scoop up dog dirt. Get a little bag and use your hands. I'm not surprised you're glad that the little b*stard's dead. Very unorthodox.
I live in a town where there are loads of massive, menacing seagulls. Everyone hates them but apparently they’re protected so you’re not allowed to kill them. Any tips for getting rid of them?
I suppose you could strap a bomb to your chest, cover yourself in chips and blow yourself up on the end of the pier. That might take a few of them out. If you don't fancy martyring yourself for the cause then I'm afraid I'm out of ideas Kate.
I have just been invited to an interview for this job as a barrister. However, I have a holiday to Copenhagen scheduled and really don't want to miss it, or p*ss off the friends who I'm meant to be going with. It is my dream career, but it's for a chambers in Birmingham, not London, and I'm not very confident about getting through the first round. What do I do?
I have absolutely no idea what the f*ck you're talking about.
Hope this helps
Friday 6 July
Last weekend, I was looking after my nephew for the day and while he was feeding the ducks, a swan bit his hand. He was upset but the swan showed no remorse. I'm personally finding the situation pretty hard to move on from. What should I do?
Everyone thinks swans are hard but they're not, they just had a lot of good PR in the 1980's. They can't break your arm with their neck. They can't even open a jar of pickled onions. They're a bunch of big white pussies who go around beating up little kids. You've seen it for yourself Tom. If I were you I'd go back to the duck pond under cover of darkness, find the swan who did it and give him a Chelsea smile. No one would blame you.
I've just turned 30 and my mum is really laying on the guilt about her having no grandchildren. Problem is, I don't have a boyfriend to even make a kid with so how do I get her off my back?
Your mum's just p*ssed off that she's given birth to a daughter who repels men. It's not your fault that your face looks like an old shoe and no one wants to have babies with you is it? Just tell your mum to p*ss off and then go and buy another cat to add to your ever expanding collection.
My girlfriend keeps "treating" me to a series of home-cooked dinners. She seems to think she's a bit good in the kitchen but she's absolutely awful. I'm really bad at pretending to enjoy something when I really hate it and I'm worried that she's starting to guess. Have you got any tips mate?
Even though it can be nice to, sometimes, avoid hurting people's feelings, it's usually better to get this sort of thing nipped in the bud before you end up ruining your entire life. Imagine having to eat the vile slop which spews out from your dreadful girlfriend's cooker morning, noon and night. Every day forcing the rancid, grey, slurry down your throat with a pained smile on your face whilst resisting the temptation to lob it into her face and call her a useless c**t. Not ideal. Point is we all have different taste buds. The other day I went for dinner at Martin Clunes and Emma Bunton's flat. Being a polite guest, I brought a bottle filled with p*ss and a Crunch Corner covered in wasps. Clunes did his best to force it down but I could tell he wasn't really enjoying it. He'd have saved himself a lot of bother if he'd have just told me it wasn't his cup of tea and I wouldn't have really given a sh*t. Just tell your girlfriend that she's b*llocks at cooking and fire up the kettle for a Bombay Bad Boy.
I have an on-going problem with dry skin. Do you know of any home remedies?
My mate Sexy Chris has terrible dandruff for an owl. Sometimes when he flies away it looks like it's snowing. It's quite magical. He reckons dry skin can be cured by listening to five or ten minutes of bongo music every day, but he also reckons that he found a cure for cancer by mixing TCP and Lucozade, so he probably isn't really worth listening to. He's a f*cking idiot.
My boss (who's a bit gross) keeps staring at me in a strange, leery way. I keep talking about my "husband" really loudly (I don't have a husband) but he won't stop. I'm finding it tough not to get angry with him but I don't want to lose another job. Have you ever had a similar experience?
Not really Amy. Sometimes Cwis Packham looks at me like he wants to bum me but then I just tell him that I saw a Pied-billed Grebe or a Broad-billed Sandpiper and he'll usually get distracted. If he's really into birds then perhaps you could try this method as well. And if talking loudly about your pretend husband doesn't work then perhaps you could try talking about the terrible condition you keep your underpants in. Refer to them as 'skid city' and tell him that you're going to have to burn them when you get home because you don't think the washing machine is up to the job. That'll probably see him off.
Never easy is it Ryan S? We've all been there though lad. Not so long ago I was sort of going out with Emma Watson (The fit wizard from the Potter films). We'd used to wander up the canal together kicking seven shades of sh*t out of all the swans and that, but after a while it wasn't enough for her. One morning I woke up in her caravan and she'd dyed me pink. She thought it was pretty funny but I was f*cking livid. I told her I didn't want her dyeing me ever again and stormed out. Whilst I was walking home a hedgehog called me a fat b*nder which just added insult to injury. After a few hours I calmed down and went back to apologise for over reacting but it was too late, she'd already replaced me with a bichon frisé called Darcy. She dumped me right there and then and the pain has never really gone away. I suppose you could try doing yourself in, Ryan. That's about all I've got mate.
I guaranteed a girl I could get her into Wimbledon in order to score a date with her. At the time I had a lead to getthe tickets but things have gone pear-shaped and it’s a no-go. How do I break the news without losing the date? Joe
Did you mention tennis? Because you could still take her to Wimbledon. Just take her to the Chicken Cottage near the station. In fact, take her behind the Chicken Cottage because there's a bin there that's absolutely teaming with wasps. It's great. If she's anything at all like me then she'll bloody love it. If you did mention tennis then I reckon you've properly f*cked it up. Hope this helps.
I'm not much of cook to be fair, Aaron. Last week I licked some fungus off the chimney of a brothel. That was my dinner. I suppose, and I'm just sort of throwing ideas out there, the key to a good bolognese would be some kind of old frog. An old frog and maybe a bit of soil? I don't really know if I can help you out on this one. Sorry Aaron.
16 years ago I killed a squirrel with an air rifle. I never meant to hit it, I never hit anything with that damn rifle, but this time I did. I was mortified. It was just, kind of, having a fit on my lawn after it took the pellet to the gut, and I had to partake in a sort of mercy killing. I forgot all about it for a few years but suddenly it’s tearing me up again. From nowhere. Vivid nightmares and stuff. What should I do? How can I cleanse myself of wrong doing.
I’m on the hunt for an engagement ring. Problem is they say you should spend a month’s wage, absolute minimum, on it. I don’t have the money. I’ve got bills, I’ve got expenses, I’ve got a life to live. Surely she’d be happy with whatever I get her, right? H. Samuel. Anything. No?
A few weeks ago I accidentally proposed to an owl. It was really embarrassing because I'd never even met the pr*ck. It just sort of slipped out. Luckily he said no, but once the ducks and geese caught wind of it they wouldn't stop laughing at me and giving me a hard time. In the end I had to make an example of one of the ducks by giving him a Chinese burn until he started crying. Anyway, I've lost my train of thought. I suppose you're going to have to cane it into the red on credit cards and then kill yourself if it all gets a bit too much.
I need your help. I was awoken at 3am by my weird housemate. He was stood at the end of my room, fully naked, wearing only a Margaret Thatcher mask and holding a plate of sausages. He asked if I wanted any, and then walked out. Im scared, what shall I do?
He sounds quite poorly. My mate Bill Tod started acting weirdly a few weeks ago. He ate his own legs and kept telling everyone that he didn't believe in snails, so we killed him. On the other hand he may just be sleepwalking. Martin Clunes will quite often turn up at my bin in the middle of the night, naked as the day the he was born. He'll usually just curl up next me and fall fast asleep before waking up a few hours later in tears and running off back to his bungalow. I suppose the best thing to do, under the circumstances, would be to film it. Hope this helps.
I recently hit and killed a pigeon with my car. I felt really guilty but I drove off and left him dead at the side of the road. I’ve been wondering what will have happened to his body? I’m hoping all his pigeon mates got together and gave him a really nice burial. Please ease my guilt by confirming this.
Hi Helen. Firstly, I wouldn't worry about it. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Pigeons are a right bunch of pr*cks. They're obnoxious, spineless, thick, bullies. They smell like really old eggs, their fashion sense is abysmal, and if they're not involved in drug smuggling then you can bet your bottom dollar that they'll be immersed in some kind of human trafficking ring.
Secondly I very much doubt that any of his mates would have the nous, let alone empathy, to give him a good send off so here's how I think it probably went down.
Five general stages are used to describe the process of decomposition: Fresh, Bloat, Active and Advanced Decay, and Dry/Remains.
The fresh stage begins immediately after the heart stops beating. Since blood is no longer being pumped through the body it drains to the dependent portions of the body, under gravity, creating an overall bluish-purple discolouration termed livor mortis.
The bloat stage provides the first clear visual sign that microbial proliferation is underway. In this stage, anaerobic metabolism takes place, leading to the accumulation of gases.
Active decay is characterised by the period of greatest mass loss. This loss occurs as a result of both the voracious feeding of maggots and the purging of decomposition fluids into the surrounding environment.
Decomposition is largely inhibited during advanced decay due to the loss of readily available cadaveric material Insect activity is also reduced during this stage. When the carcass is located on soil, the area surrounding it will show evidence of vegetation death.
During the dry/remains stage all that remains of the cadaver is dry skin. No one will remember his name. No one will care that the t*sser ever even existed.
Hope this is of some comfort to you. Enjoy your weekend.
Hey Gus. I have pigeons at the bottom of the garden that constantly make that bloody cooing noise and fly aroundcrapping everywhere. They aren't scared by next door's cats and seem to be taking over my garden, anysuggestions?
I'm going to tell you exactly the same thing that I told Kate Winslet when she turned up at my bin recently in floods with exactly the same problem. Pigeons can be a problem. They're ignorant and when they're in a group they can act like bullies. We all know that. But don't forget that pigeons are also incredibly stupid and gullible. Last week I convinced a pigeon to commit suicide. I told him I'd let him have a go on my motorbike if he did. I don't even have a motorbike anymore.
Just use your imagination and it shouldn't be too hard to out smart the pricks. I once said something to a pigeon that was so hurtful that his heart actually exploded.
My girlfriend likes to talk dirty to me in bed, the problem is she's just too offensive and I don't enjoy it. I feel quitehurt by the things she says. What should I do?
Please help mate.
Why don't you grow a pair mate? Man up. Why not try upping the ante? Bring a gun to bed or a massive, f*ck-off sword. That'll spice things up a bit and it will show her who's wearing the bloody trousers.
Hi Gus. I recently got a letter saying that I owed Council Tax from a house I lived in 3 years ago when I was astudent. I thought it was a good idea to phone them and tell them I intend on not paying any of it and now I'mgetting letters from Bailiffs. Unsure of what to do now, can you help?Henry C
There's a bunch of orange fellas who I'm quite a big fan of and they're called Buddhists. Buddhists don't believe in having possessions, Henry, and as such no one can take anything away from them apart from their soul. The only things that belong to me are an old shoe, a tampon and a little box full of slugs (I'm pretty sure I don't even have a soul, apart from the one on the f*cking shoe) If anyone ever comes into my bin and tries to take any of my things away from me then they can f*cking knock themselves out because it's just a load of old rubbish. I suppose my advice then is get rid of all your stuff and live in a bin with a box full of slugs. Hope this is of some use.
Hi Gus, what would you do if the guy you liked said it was too awkward between us both to carry on seeing eachother? Any advice on how I can get things back to the way they were before? Is there anything I can say to him?
A few weeks ago me and my mate Double Denim David were over at Cwis Packham from Springwatch's caravan when the whole evening took a nasty turn for the worse. Cwis had had one too many Bacardi Breezer's and he started putting makeup on me and Chasing Dave around on a little tricycle whilst shouting facts about wasps through a vale of tears. The entire evening was a complete washout and the next day I decided I should probably give Packham a wide berth for the rest of my life. To say things were awkward would be a bit of an understatement. A few days later he swung by my bin with a bag full of sausages which he'd pinched out of the bins behind Aldi and we made up instantly. Now me and Cwis Packham are thick as thieves again and we're going over to Emma Bunton and Martin Clunes' bungalow this weekend for a Chinese. Maybe you should buy this prat some sausages or something.
I'm embarrassed about my genitals. It's short and fat like a tuna can and has earned me the nickname John Westfrom my mates, its really embarrassing. What can I do?
Yep. Same here. Mine looks like a shattered acorn and my bollocks look like a couple of black eggs. Not a strong look. My advice would probably be to stop getting it out in front of your mates. I'm surprised they don't call you worse things than 'John West' if every time you go out for a nice meal at Pizza Express you're constantly standing on the table, revealing your disgraceful genitals to all and sundry. Try staying at home for a few nights and having a think about what you're doing with your life.
Recently I went to an open house at my city's local zoo. At this open house they had an array of furs available fortouching/feeling/whatever. I then noticed a fox's pelt was one of these furs (I felt it and it was very soft). Anyways, how do you feel about the killing of foxes for their fur, and how do you keep your fur so lusciously soft?'
FOR GOODNESS SAKE ABIGAIL THIS IS AN AGONY UNCLE PAGE NOT A F*CKING Q&A. COME ON PEOPLE THIS IS CRAP! How do I feel about the killing of foxes for their fur? Depends who the fox is. On the whole I take a pretty dim view obviously. How do I keep my fur so soft? The other day I noticed that I've got moss growing on me now. My mate Colin Rice says I should be more concerned. He says that you shouldn't have actual moss growing on you if you're still alive. My fur looks like someone's bollocks after they've been in a really bad house fire.
Gonna have me a pizza tonight. Dominos or Pizza Hut?
Couldn't give a f*ck Luke.
Friday 15 June
I've saved up enough money to put the deposit down on a house but I don't know whether to get a garden or not? I really enjoy having a garden in the summer but I could get a larger place if I go without. What should I do?
Well I live in a bin full of knackered old light bulbs behind Martin Clunes' garage so I wouldn't exactly describe myself as a guru when it comes to housing. I suppose my only advice would be that it's nicer to do your poos outside your house rather than inside. I've learned that one the hard way. One very cold winter I did all my business inside the bin and after a few weeks I got really poorly and my eyeballs went a sort of jet black colour. So maybe you should get a garden.
I've started seeing this really nice girl. We've been going out for a few months and it's going really well. Problem is, I want to be honest with her about my criminal past but I don't want to ruin everything we have. I've completely changed and put all that behind me now. What should I do?
This is pretty much a no brainer I reckon. If you start telling her that you absolutely love killing people with your butterfly knife then she's going to get the hump and then you wont be able to have sex anymore. Why not try lying to her for the rest of your relationship? Hope this helps.
My best mate won't speak to me anymore because I've started going out with his ex-girlfriend. I really miss him but I really love her. What can I do?
Well firstly, fair play to you. Sounds like you've acted like a right arseh*le. I once had a similar problem with my mate Massive Tom when I ******** his girlfriend under a fire engine. There's usually only one way to sort these sort of things out and that's to have a fight and clear the air. Just agree to meet in a car park or something and go for it. You'll feel a lot better about things afterwards. I ended up killing Tom because I'd brought a blade along and he hadn't. That's a good point actually. Bring a weapon along to the fight. Hope this is of some use
Gus. My son's just got his ear pierced after I asked him not to and he's only 14 years old. I want to be a cool and liberal parent but I also want him to respect my rules whilst he's under my roof. What can I do to find the balance?
At that age teenagers go through a lot of phases. They usually end up growing out of them after a while and having their parents telling them that they can't do something will usually only make them do something worse. When we were younger we'd used get our ears pierced by sneaking up behind fishermen when they were casting off even though the elders told us not to. The result was a trendy fishing lure in the ear and instant respect from our peers. Unfortunately many young foxes lost their eyes or got ear infections and died. Shortly after that my mate Violent Clive started wearing a leather jacket to try and look cool but it never really took off because a fox wearing a leather jacket looks like a right c**t. Anyway, I've lost my train of thought. Good luck with your dreadful son.
I really want kids but I'm only 18 years old and don't know if I'm ready yet. Should I just go for it or wait a bit longer.
My parents had kids when they were a bit too young (3 years old) and they ended up killing and eating most of my siblings. It's difficult to grow up with a whole load of respect for your parents once you've discovered that they've devoured all your brothers and sisters. Point is it's a big decision and you have to go into being 100% certain that you're not the kind of person who's just going to go and f*cking kill everyone when things get tough.
I love teenage mums though. It's you lot who bring your fat, useless kids up on KFC and Chicken Cottage and keep the streets of London littered with chicken bones and coleslaw so knock yourself out I reckon.
Last weekend a man (a bell end) ran up to me, wrestled me to the ground and shaved a union jack into my stomach before lobbing me into the Thames. I could f*cking do without that sort of thing to be honest. I've also spent quite a lot of the last week choking on bunting, but on the whole I don't have a problem with Queen. Sometimes I pop over to the palace and she'll potter out in her dressing gown and scrape the rest of Prince Philip's Super Noodles onto the patio for me. She's alright.
The same however cannot be said for the Prime Minister. Anyone who lives on the streets will know that Downing Street isn't a safe place to be anywhere near at night, for it's at night that David Cameron hunts and feasts on the blood of his victims. My mate Sexy Chris said he saw Cameron eating a pelican whole, in St James' Park last week. He told me how he span a sort of web, captured the poor b*stard and then ate it in one go by dislocating his jaw like a sort of python. Royalist it is then.
My chinchilla Diego is an absolute dick. He hates me, and no matter how much I try and love him he repays me by throwing it all back in my face. How do I tame such an unruly creature?
Unrequited love can really get you down. I used to fancy this right proper vixen called Bunty Hoven but she wouldn't even give me the time of day. She'd potter about down by the canal with a different fancy man each week but never with old Gus and it used to make me sick to the stomach. There are, however, loads of things you can do to get someone's attention. The first and most classic is to completely change your personality. You could do this by dressing more provocatively around Diego, or perhaps you could buy a nice hat. I got myself a new tattoo (by jamming my haunches onto a hot exhaust pipe. It came out looking a bit like a bear sat in a rowing boat. Bunty Hoven said it looked stupid and called me w*nker so it didn't work on that occasion. Another option is to try and make the other person jealous. Perhaps you could get a rat or something and shower it with affection. I started going out with a moth to try and make Bunty Hoven jealous. She didn't care, in fact I think she just laughed and called me a pr*ck, but eventually me and that moth fell in love and got married. It's one of the all time great love stories. Hope this is useful.
Hi Gus. My husband and the puppy don't get on. Whenever he sits down she growls at him and won't leave him alone. Been trying to sort it out for six months. One of them has to go, but which one?
Dog vs Man. The age old question. I once saw a dog and a man (Peter Sissons) fight to the death behind a Kwik Fit in Hammersmith. I've never seen so much blood and so many tears. Sounds like a problem with bonding. On a very animal and base level they are both clearly fighting for your affection. My advice would be to kill yourself. After several months of devastating anguish, your husband and this useless mutt will finally find solace in each others company and bond in a way we've seen so many times on the silver screen (perhaps they could both eat you to destroy the evidence). If you're not up that then try opening things up in the bedroom. No one likes to be left out, it worked for me, Emma Bunton and Martin Clunes.
I'm trying to give up smoking but haven't the faintest clue what to do instead. Any tips for hobbies I could replace smoking with would be appreciated. Safe.
Hello Kesh. You Sir are a fool. I love smoking but very rarely get the chance too. Even in London, people who put lit cigarettes into the mouths of urban foxes are few and far between. It happens, but not nearly enough for my liking. However, If you're certain you don't want to die in a hospital bed, gasping for air at the age of 41 then there are some alternatives. Here are my top three tips for things to do with your paws when you're at a loose end:
1. Kill some hens
2. Scratch the grubs out of your hairline. Instead of sparking up simply claw out the white, putrid grubs from your hairline using your claws/fingers. When you've got them into a neat pile you can either squash them, eat them or just flick them into the canal. You'll be just like the Fonz.
3. Moonwalk on the spot. We've all seen it done. My mate Invisible Ryan showed me how to do it the other day and now I can't stop. It's far more enjoyable than smoking and just as pointless, so everyone's a f*cking winner.
I have a problem. Our new manager Richard wants to be known around the office as Dick. I think this is inappropriate, what should I do?
Geoff. It's annoying when people try and rebrand themselves. It makes them looks like c****, that we can agree on. I had a mate called Jonathan Plum who changed his name to 'Jonny Urban' just because he wrote this one dreadful rap about a goose. Point is, is it didn't catch on because everyone thought he was a pr*ck. So why's Richard having an identity crisis? This is the question you need to be asking yourself. What happened to the old Richard? Perhaps he was recently attacked in a tunnel on his way home from work and has subsequently decided to reinvent himself in an attempt to escape his harrowing demons. Perhaps you should ask him if this is the case. Hope this helps.
I have a large ginger cat called Jaffa. He likes nothing more than to go rabbiting (we live in the country). The only problem is he comes back with rabbit fleas around his ears, and I worry about worms. Do you have any words of advice to either of us?
I once met a rabbit called Colin Staple who spent about four hours bragging about the size of his warren and how many girlfriends he'd had in 2010. The man was an idiot and a bore and if we hadn't been at a heron's funeral then I would have had no qualms eating him right there and then, so I can see why someone like your cat would feel compelled to embark on a mission to kill as many as possible. Jaffa sounds like a top lad. I like the cut of his jib. A ginger rabbit murdering, flea bag, what's not to like? My advice to Jaffa would be to keep up the good work but perhaps try and branch out a bit. Why limit yourself to rabbits when it's just as much fun slaughtering hens and rats? My advice to you would be to open your wallet for once and buy some of that flea treatment I've heard so little about.
Cheers for such a wank question. you've let me and everyone who reads this abysmal column down. So congratulations. Basil Brush is a puppet. There have probably been thousands of puppets created in his image and I could obviously tear every single one of them to smithereens. However, I did once know a fox called Basil Shrub (anagram, coincidence) and he was a total legend. I once watched him bum a swan so hard that it turned inside out. I didn't really fully understand what I was watching but it totally blew my mind. F*cking incredible. Inside out. Wow.
I have an irrational fear of rollercoasters but have been roped into a work trip to Alton Towers. How do I avoid looking like a giant knob on the pirate ship?
I'm not really sure what an Alton Towers is? For the purpose of this column I'm going to assume it's some kind of sandwich (possibly containing some sausages). My advice would be to just close your eyes and eat the bloody thing because you never know where the next meal's coming from. There was one time I didn't eat a parsnip because I hate them, but a few days later I ended up trapped in Chris Moyles' wheelie bin for about 3 days and believe me when I say there isn't so much as a fucking morsel left in that thing.
I’m ginger and I get mocked for it. You’re ginger. Do you get mocked?
Yeah I do sometimes. The other day an eel called me a ginger pr*ck which left a bit of sour taste considering he was like a sort of sh*tty brown/grey colour, not to mention the fact that he didn't have any bloody limbs. Embrace it and be thankful that you are completely ginger. I only just noticed the other day that my legs are black and it sort of looks like I'm wearing two pairs of lady's tights. I'd never really thought about before and now I reckon everyone thinks I look like a right bell end. Normally when someone takes the piss out of you they're simply covering up something that they're upset about. Try and find out what this could be. Perhaps their mum has died or maybe they've recently had one of their b*llocks lopped off in an operation. If you can use this sort of information as retaliation then you're in business.
Suffering from bad breath, big guy. You’re hygiene’s not great. How do you keep your mouth smelling like strawberries?
I'll assume that you're being sarcastic. The other day I breathed quite near an old man (not even that near to be honest) and my breath made him go into cardiac arrest. From What I've heard bad breath stems from bad teeth. Have you thought about smashing all your teeth out with hammer?
You have a strong Twitter following. I have 16 followers. Sixteen. Why?
I would imagine it's because you're a bit of a knob. I'm just sort of throwing stuff out there really but I imagine you're the kind of guy who turns up at the party dressed as an owl and ruins it for everyone else by spending the whole night eating mice and then coughing them back up in the form of little pellets full of bones. You probably spend the whole night spinning your head round and talking b*llocks about Satre and Nietzsche just because everyone thinks owls are intelligent. But they're not. They're just big feathery benders. Hope this helps. Sorry if you happen not to be an owl.
I’m thinking about going homeless for a bit. Fancy the freedom, like. Any tips?
It's a really good idea. Particularly at this time of year when it's a lot less likely that you'll be killed off by the terrible frosts. My first bit of advice would be to take it one step at a time. You could start, for instance, by getting a tent and a Levellers hoodie and moving into the Occupy London camp at Finsbury Square in the heart of the banking district. All you'll need to do is pretend you have a political agenda and you're not just some useless c**t who's fucked up his rent payments and you're all set for a new life in a great location in the heart of the city. My second piece of advice would be to start dabbling with heroin (not too much at first) because it's only a matter of time before you find yourself destitute in an underground car park in the middle of the winter and it's not going to be very much fun without a bit of skag to blow away the cobwebs.
Yes I can see that from the photo you've attached. You're head looks sort of like a knackered old computer and your teeth look like the accompanying keyboard after someone's kicked seven shades of shit out of it. Dreadful. Not to worry though because you're in good company. You need to learn to use your looks to your own advantage. When you're ugly people are afraid of you. People are afraid of you because they don't understand you. Why not try starting a gang and using your hideous looks to scare people into doing your bidding? This could be anything from petty theft all the way up to heading your very own child-trafficking ring. Have you ever seen a gangster who looks like a young Leonardo Di' Caprio? Exactly. Martin Clunes has employed this tactic to great effect in my local area. He's forever wandering about Shoreditch, beating people up for their lunch money and people let him get away with it because they're fucking terrified of him.
Flip flops really hurt my toes but they look cooler than slip on sandals. Is it worth persevering?
My mate Double Denim David is probably the go-to guy when it comes to fashion, though, having said that, he tried wearing flip flops once and tripped over, fell in the canal, went over a weir and almost died. As a fox I don't really know much about footwear. I've got these little pads on the bottom of my feet like a cat or a dog. Sometimes they burst and a bunch of wood lice fall out because they've set up shop inside my feet as though my legs are a bloody hotel. That really gets my goat. Hope this is some use.
My dog died last week. I need a companion but can’t cope with the hurt of losing it. What to do?
Losing someone close to you can be tough. When I was a bit younger I killed my own gran for a laugh and I can tell you from experience that that sort of thing stays with you. There's lots of things you can do to avoid feeling sad when someone dies however. My advice would be to get another dog but be sure to harbor a permanent resentment for the arsehole. What right does he have waltzing into your house and stealing the fucking thunder? Never think of him as a replacement, look at him as an inferior to his predecessor. Never fully let him into your heart. You can do this by using both physical and emotional violence (this same theory works great for relationships as well). Finally when he finally croaks it, you'll have built up such a resentment to the useless mutt that you'll be literally jumping for joy. The dog will also probably embrace death's sweet kiss because his life's been an absolute shocker, so I suppose everyone's a winner.
Need to book my summer jollies, Gus, but no idea where to go. Any tips?
One man's holiday is another man's hell so it's tough one giving advice.I myself love London and wouldn't really want to leave, particularly in the summer when everything gets covered in wasps and smells like a whore's underpants. Last time I left London I went to visit some friends in Royal Tunbridge Wells, Kent. I would probably have enjoyed it a lot more if we hadn't spent the entire holiday being chased by a pack of dogs and a bunch of c**ts on horseback blowing little trumpets (my mate Greg Breast was raped and killed). I suppose if you're not a fox then anywhere in the country is fine. My tips for the top would probably be Humberside, Bridgewater or Bracknel because they're all just dreadful.
Friday 25 May
Some badgers keep coming round my garden in the night uninvited, swearing and taking the micky out of my bike.
Hi Anthony. I think we all know that badgers divide opinion. They're a political hot potato that's for sure. They swan about claiming to be 'distinguished' just because they have a few flecks of grey hair. But when push comes to shove they can be very childish, poking fun out of people like you just because your bike's a load of old bollocks. My advice would be to try and catch a couple of the buggers, take them into your basement, give them a bit of a going over with your fists and then hang them from the neck until dead. Hope this helps.
I keep having to ask Transport For London to refund money because it says I haven't touched my Oyster card in properly. Getting fed up with it. What should I do?
I don't really know what you're talking about but a few weeks ago me and my mate Vile Clive broke into a fishmongers (through the dog flap) after it had closed. We found a big bucket full of clams and oysters and Vile Clive stuck his nose in to investigate. Whilst he was rooting around one of the clams closed around his snout with the force of several kilo-newtons and smashed it to smithereens. Now he looks a bit like Owen Wilson and everyone thinks he's an even bigger prick than they did before. Hope this helps.
My cats have been neutered. When will they stop trying to lick what they haven't got?
I don't know what it is with you humans and lopping the bollocks off animals. It's proper f*cked up. I don't know many cats, don't get on with them, but if it was me then I'd lick my dismantled nether regions for as long as I bloody wanted until I felt strong enough to come at you with the force of one thousand suns.
I sit opposite a 23 stone man everyday. His belly has broken his shirt, he falls asleep and dribbles. I can't escape! What do I do?
Hi Isabelle. I suppose I need to know why you have to sit opposite this leviathan. Is he your husband? In which case perhaps you could divorce (or poison) him? Do you do it on purpose? Is it a compulsion? Do you hunt this poor bastard down every single day and spend several minutes sitting opposite him, staring deep into his soul until he starts to weep? If so perhaps you should consider therapy. The fattest person I ever saw was a cow called Ian Balls. Once I went to watch him stand in his field, endlessly pooing like some kind of dreadful, bovine hose pipe. It was one of the best days of my life.
How do I stop my hair growing so quick? Barbers make a fortune out of me!!
Hi Trevor. Not really the person to talk to about grooming. My coat smells so much at the moment that the other day an old man walked past me and was sick (and passed away). My mate Double Denim David gets pretty self conscious when his coat starts looking shabby. He usually wears a bomber jacket or something. Maybe you could buy a hat. Another friend of mine (Chris Hong) fell into a bonfire (trying to retrieve sausages) and burnt most of the hair off his legs and face and it will never grow back and he looks a bit like Andrew Lloyd Webber. I suppose my other advice is to set your head on fire.
I'm trying to impress someone I fancy at work. What is the best way get myself noticed by him?
Hi Arron. The BEST way to get yourself noticed would be to turn up at the office tomorrow dressed as a falcon, armed to the teeth with automatic weapons and embarking on a 45 minute killing spree of your colleagues. Point is, getting noticed isn't always the best thing. I used to fancy this local slag called Bunty Hoven. She used to hang about by the canal with a different fancy man each week but she never seemed to notice old Gus. So one day, to get her attention, I dived into a weir. I broke 3 ribs and almost died and now Bunty Hoven thinks I'm a prick. My advice would be to avoid getting noticed. Follow him home and watch him through his blinds, call him on his phone and then hang up, send him parcels containing your own stools. Over many years he'll start to put two and two together and then you'll be in business.
About a year ago I lost my job but I didn't tell my wife. I've been pretending to go to work and hiding in the woods. Now I'm in a massive amount of debt. What should I do? I'm really worried.
The other day me and my friend Violent Clive went to Hackney City Farm because we'd heard a rumor about a horse with really fat legs. When we got there we were not disappointed. It looked like this horse had gout. It's legs were so fat that it moved like a knackered robot and for some reason, every time it tried to neigh, it fell over because it was so ill. We watched it for about three or four hours. As we were going home we saw a pig run into an electric fence and shit itself. We laughed so much that we both got nosebleeds. It was the best day ever. I know that doesn't really help with your question. Sounds like you're in a bit of a pickle. Best of luck.