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 protected] 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.
Hope this helps.
Thinking about moving back to Hull, Gus. I’ve seen enough of London. Be good to know your thoughts
Hull is absolutely sh*te. It looks like the ninth circle of hell and the whole place smells like Jean-Claude Van Damme's underpants hamper. It's fantastic.
I’m drinking a dozen Diet Cokes a day. There’s next to no calories but what other health risks are there?
It'll probably just rot your insides until your stomach looks like a knackered old bin liner. Chill out.
Hi Gus. I’ve been trying to become an actor for 12 years now. I’ve been in two adverts and played a part in Judge John Deed. That’s your lot. Time to call it a day?
Yep. Sounds like you're a load of old sh*t. Enjoy the rest of your life working in Starbucks.
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.
In a nutshell then, no. Don't bother, Mikey.
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.
Hope this helps.
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.
It’s my mum’s 50th coming up and I want to do something a bit different. Not just a big present or a surprise party. Got any ideas?
It's nice to do something different. Something that no one would ever think of. Why don't you go over to her house on the morning of her birthday and smash her in the legs with a monkey wrench?
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.
Hope this of some use.
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.
Who let the dogs out?
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.
What's the key to a cracking carbonara?
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.
A local idiot, who hangs around near my work, keeps hurling strange abuse at me, particularly that I look like snooker legend Steve Davis. What should I do?
Haha. I know an otter who used to look almost exactly the same as Steve Davis until he got run over by an ambulance and now he looks almost exactly the same as Bruce Forsyth which is weird.
Do you have any advice on dressing for a job interview?
Not really, no.
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.
Drop crotch jeans, yay or nay?
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.
Hope this helps though doubt it will.
My mate reckons he could do you in a fight.
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 Labyrinth in 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***.
Hope this helps.
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.
Hope this is of some use.
My Greek neighbour has a habit of putting a stuffed fox on the roof of his car whenever he parks the car in his driveway. Thought you might like to know.
John (in Canada)
Dear Gus, I have a family of slowworms under my shed, how do I get rid of them, the wife's terrified of the blighters?
I once met a slowworm who shared his name with Paul Gascoigne. His name was Paul Gascoigne. Hope this helps.
I saw my mates girlfriend out a few months ago. I've always had a bit of a thing for her and it turns out the feeling is mutual.
Anyway we ended up doing the dirty. Twice. I like this girl, so do I see her on the quiet or man up and have a chat with my mate?
This is a no brainer isn't it? If you tell your mate then he's likely to beat seven shades of sh*t out of you isn't he? I'd probably keep it a secret and carry on bumming his Mrs.
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.
Hope this is of some use.
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.
I've been thinking about going to Uni in London from Australia, pending saving the huge pile of school fees. Any thoughts? What are some pros and cons of London life.
Hope you're behaving,
Pros - there's a yoghurt covered in wasps behind Costcutter at the moment.
Cons - Martin Clunes has got a new air rifle and he doesn't seem to be using it wisely or compassionately.
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.
Dear Uncle Gus,
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.
Hope this is helpful.
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.
Those are my thoughts.
Need a good wallet. What do you look for in a wallet?
I'm going to tell you exactly what I told Angela Rippon:
1. Force a long piece of cable or twine through a vole/rat/stoat (any large rodent) so that it comes out of the b*stard's back passage and wait for it to die.
2. Make a small incision in the rodent's torso and cram it full of all your chocolate biscuits.
3. Simply wrap the length of wire around your midriff, wearing the c*** like a sort of bumbag, and you've got a nice little wallet that looks great and costs absolutely f*ck all.
All the foxes wearing them at the moment and Rippon swears by it. She literally thanks me every time I go over to her bungalow.
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.
Hope this is of some use.
Portugal or Spain for a last minute holiday?
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.
For that reason alone, my vote goes to Portugal.
I’ve just had my A-Level results and I’ll be honest, it’s not gone well. Uni is out of the question. Am I best off going for manual labour training?
Last week I got bummed by a gang of bin men. As long you don't end up going down that route you can do what you want mate.
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.
I can’t get my book published. What’s a good way to get an agent to do what you want them to do?
Tell me about it. No one will print my book because it's mainly about raping geese and I use the word c*** too much.
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.
I heard women dig the stubble look, but at 29 I still can’t really get much. Any short cuts you can offer my furry pal?
My mate Sexy Chris (an owl) has recently grown a moustache. I keep trying to think of something nice to him say but I can't seem to stop calling him a c***.
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.
Which kind of crunch is best for targeting the abs where the navel is? Tom
My guess would be a Crunch Corner (apricot) covered in wasps but I wouldn't want to put money on it Tom. I'm not exactly 100% on this one.
What is social psychology? Brad
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.
Can you introduce me to Fearne Cotton? Tony I
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.
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
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 i