For the Downtrodden and Erotically Challenged

[MathGirl]

Biblical BM in B

Dear B and MG,

I'm turning to you for advice, because I've exhausted all other resources. I've taken my problem to a gastroenterologist, a sewage engineer, and a professor of theology without a definitive answer. You, dear B and MG are renowned for your wisdom and expertise in all areas, so I present my dilemma to you for a definitive answer. Although this is different than what your readers usually write to you about, I'm sure you will agree that it's extremely personal and troublesome.

It's hard to state my problem with delicacy and good taste, but I'll try. It all started two days ago. I had been constipated for six days, and I was feeling like three day old roadkill in the summer; swollen and about to burst. In desperation, I swallowed six Correctol tablets, thinking that one per day of constipation was about right. Well, I got relief in a bit way! I produced a single ummm.... turd that must have started at about my tonsils and would have measured about eight feet if it was straightened out. Needless to say, I was greatly relieved, but I'm not writing this as a laxative testimonial.

When I looked down to see what I had produced, I was astonished at what lay there in the bowl. It was a perfect, three dimensional representation of Moses coming down from the mountain carrying the Ten Commandments. Charlton Heston's face is just as clear as in a photograph. I was still a bit light headed from the straining, and I almost flushed before I realized the signifigance of what I'd produced.

I took several photographs (enclosed), then I called in a professional photographer to document it thoroughly. Her first reaction was, "You want me to take a picture of .... WHAT?" She was quite impressed when she saw the actual subject, though, and did a wonderful photographic study. Needless to say, this has caused quite a stir in the neighborhood.

My question to you, B and MG, is this: Was my lower bowel the recipient of a divine visitation? If so, what should I do about it? We only have the one bathroom, and I hate to flush it away. My husband and I are getting tired of walking down to the Chevron station each time we need a toilet.

I hope you can respond to this posthaste, because the artifact is becoming indinstinct from immersion in water, and the smell is keeping us awake at night.

Hopefully,
Biblical BM in Boise
_____________________________________________
DearB- How amazing to have all this occur on the seventh day! While it may be tempting to try to extend the moment of epiphany by retaining this artifact, I would encourage you that it is time to move on, so to speak. Keep the pictures and journal about this experience, but you need to let your miracle rejoin the cycle of life. You must resist the temptation to allow this brief glimpse of the supernatural keep you from fully experiencing every day. b
____________________________________________

Dear BM,

Just who the hell do you think you are wasting our valuable time with nothing more than an Old Testament turd? Good grief, woman, we get letters about religious BMs on a daily basis. Also this month we've had descriptions and pictures of dumps resembling the Battle of Getttysburg, the Mona Lisa, and one of Shaquille O'Neal buggering George W. Bush. That last one is not a pretty sight.

Get on with your life, sister. I'll let Bridget have the photos you sent. She likes that sort of thing and keeps an album.

MG

 

[MathGirl]

Personal and Confidential

Personal and Confidential to Anonymous in Arizona:

Stop pestering that poor animal at once, Phil Johnson! It's creeps like you that give sodomites a bad name. If I ever hear of you doing something like that again, I'll personally come to 234 Meatus St. in Fornyx, AZ 80654 and give your natchers a good yank.

Best wishes always,
MG

Ps. Say hi to Mary Lou and the kids.

 

[MathGirl]

Fucked up in Fargo

Dear B and MG,
You must help me. I'm hopelessly obsessed, and I fear for both my sanity and my future. I'm an outwardly normal high school boy. I have a fine family life, and I'm a good student. My problem is my math teacher. Let's call her "Ms Smith." Her real name is Rebecca Farnsworth, but I'd just die if that information was ever printed in your column.

Ever since I took Algebra I as a freshman, I've been fascinated by Ms Smith. Although I don't like math, I've taken every course she teaches, and now I'm a senior. I take classes I hate just to be near her for an hour each school day. I literally run to get a front row seat in her classes.

Let me tell you about her. Ms Smith is a nice lady in her mid thirties, married, and she has two small children. She attends the same church as my family does, and she sings in the choir. It's Ms Smith's body that has me so disturbed. Above the waist, she is normally built, and reasonably attractive. From the waist down, she is built like a sumo wrestler. Her trim waist flares out into enormous hips and two massive buttocks, and she walks around on legs which would be the pride of an NFL interior lineman. Her remarkable body ends in tiny feet which are always shod in 'sensible' size three oxfords. It looks as if her body abruptly tapers to a point at the bottom. I'd say her measurements are about 36-30-2. The last figure in meters. I privately think of her as "Becky Buttocks."

I once saw Ms Smith at the supermarket when she was wearing jeans. Her backside resembled a pair of watermelons in a blue denim gunnysack. A biiiiiig gunnysack. Big melons, too. Thirty pounders. I know that trousers of that size can't be bought off the rack, and she must have had them custom made by the Riverside Tent and Awning Company over on Ninth Avenue. I almost had an ejaculatory incident in my Wranglers. Let's face it, B and MG, if that lady ever had to haul ass, she would need to make two trips.

It's my feeling that a derriere of those dimensions should have its own ZIP Code, or at least its own name. "Hi, I'm Becky, and this is my ass, Elizabeth."

Like all teenagers, I choke my chicken regularly. When I have the old johnson in hand, Ms Smith's butt is always the focus of my fantasies. Today, I was sitting in class, and she had her back turned, drawing triangles on the chalk board. I had a wonderful view of her big, beautiful, bounteous backside, and I couldn't concentrate on her lecture. Instead, I was trying to draw a mental picture of what her panties must look like. I'll bet you could make a cover for a midsize car out of a pair of those babies. I'd give anything to bury my face between those colossal cheeks and go bubabbabababababababrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

My problem, B and MG, is this: Can I ever expect to meet a girl my own age with a build like Beck .... Ms Smith? I'm going off to college next year, and I despair at the thought of not seeing her anymore. I've never seen another woman of her dimensions, and I'm afraid I could never be happy with a normally constructed girl.

Please send a prompt reply, because I graduate soon and my days with Beck.... Ms Smith are numbered.

Fixated on a Fantastic Fanny in Fargo
__________________________________
Dear F- While it is normal to fantasize, anytime that we become fixated upon a physical attribute of a person, we make them less than human in our minds. I urge you to seek counseling regarding your obsession with your teacher's posterior. Perhaps you need to find an outlet for all your energies and frustrations. Joining the intramural leagues at college would be a great way to get balance in your life and allow you to meet more people your own age. b
_________________________________

Dear FFFF,
My goodness, after what Bridget wrote, what more is there to say? I strongly suggest you take her advice to heart. If you follow that course of action, you, too, can become a brain dead advice columnist. While you're at it, you might consider getting a life, you slimy little pervert.
All the best,
MG

 

[sirhugs]

aw c'mon, BK and MG, give the poor guy a break. He lives in Fargo fer gosh sakes. That fact alone justifies any perversion.
Besides which, why is it 'normal' for teen boys to objectify Christina Aguillera, and not a heroiclly sized woman?

My advice to the youth:

skip college- open a cheesecake shop next to a weightwatchers.

 

[MathGirl]

Reply to SH

My advice to the youth:
skip college- open a cheesecake shop next to a weightwatchers.

Dear SirHugs,

Our gentle advice to you, dear, is to piss off and find your own thread. &^*(*&)(_)_+*&& poachers.

Love,
B and MG

 

[sirhugs]

Re: Reply to SH

Dear SirHugs,

Our gentle advice to you, dear, is to piss off and find your own thread. &^*(*&)(_)_+*&& poachers.

Love,
B and MG

aw, shucks. always nice to be loved

 

[MathGirl]

Just a gentle, friendly warning

aw, shucks. always nice to be loved

Dear SHugs,

You're inviting a visit from our aulixiary branch, dear. Best that you take a gentle hint from B and MG. You definitely do not want a lesson from Big Tyrone and Vito the Viper.

All the best,
B and MG

 

[sirhugs]

Re: Just a gentle, friendly warning

Dear SHugs,

You're inviting a visit from our aulixiary branch, dear. Best that you take a gentle hint from B and MG. You definitely do not want a lesson from Big Tyrone and Vito the Viper.

All the best,
B and MG

Vito and Tyrone...are they the guys that played the incompetent kidnappers in the movie "Fargo" ? Or am I confusing them with the mob guys in the Sopranos?

 

[MathGirl]

Reply to a porcine pest

Now a letter from "Paul," a regular at Author's Hangout who is probably lying through his teeth:

Dear MathGirl & Bridget, I address you in name of a friend, who is somewhat embarrassed to bring up this problem. I hope you are able to understand his position (no pun intended). My friend, let's call him mr. Kok (a common name in Holland, where we both reside), recently had new neighbors living next to him. It's a married couple, of which the wife is unusually well endowed. Mr. Kok's problem is that he has a worrysome weakness for well endowed women. In practice, this means he is in a constant state of erection because of this new neighbor. He lets you know his wife is already becoming extremely suspicious. So far he has tried ice-therapy, cold showers, blindfolding as well as playing chess with his mother-in-law, so far to no avail. In desperation, he then addressed to me, hoping you two could come up with some sort of solution, as he has now been arrested seven times on grounds of publicly displaying his hard on, even when he tries very hard (no pun intended) to hide it well. Is there any solution for my friend mr. Kok? Please let me know, Thank you on behalf of my good friend mr. Kok, Paul
____________________________
Dear P, What a good friend you are to intercede on behalf of your friend! In times of trouble having a good friend on one's side can make the difference between heartache and happiness. Since it sounds like Mr. Kok has made every effort to control his instinctive response to his neighbors endowments, it would seem that all he has left as an option is to move. I don't suggest this lightly, as I know that it is difficult to find exceptional housing in The Netherlands, but he must put his mental and physical well-being along with the well-being of his marriage above his convenience. The perfect appartment without his wife will be very empty and he will then have no release for his physical anguish. My thoughts are with you while you help your friend. b
____________________________________
Dear "Paul",
I suppose we're supposed to believe that this is the same "friend" you wrote to us about who had cooties the size of lobsters? One of our regular correspondents saw you standing in line at the hardware store, scratching yourself with a garden rake. Yes, B and MG have spies everywhere.
If your "friend's" wife is really serious about helping her husband, she should do everything possible to deflate his recalcitrant johnson when he sees the neighbor and sprouts a woodie. We here at B and MG recommend that she lay his noolies on a cold steel anvil and give them a sharp rap with a wooden mallet. This treatment is guaranteed to cool even the most stubborn boner. In the unlikely event this therapy is unsuccessful, I'm afraid she will need to remove the offending appendage with a quick slice from a razor sharp bread knife. This may seem a draconian measure, but it seldom fails.
Should your (oops, I mean your "friend's") wife be reluctant to follow the above suggestions, we here at B and MG offer a handy, cost effective alternative. Our "physical auxiliary," namely Big Tyrone and Vito the Viper, offer their services at a reasonable cost.
We wish your "friend" all this best with his persistently pernicious peter.
B and MG

Ps. Good grief, Bridget. You really should get out more.

 

[MathGirl]

Bridget's really in the slammer

Dear Faithful and Gentle Readers,

For the next several days, your pleas for our wisdom will only be answered by MG. Bridget has informed the office that she is engaged in the tawdry business of earning a living.

We hope that Bridget will be checking in with us and offering her empty headed .... oops ... I mean sage advice when she can.

Fromage Jesus von Snodgrass
Secretary to Ms Girl

 

[MathGirl]

A nutter in NV

Now a pitiful letter from a lady in Dung, Nevada

Dearest B and MG,

I'm a librarian for the Sphincter County system. I've worked here at the South Pancreas Branch for over forty years. Recently, though, I've come down with a strange malady that has placed my job in jeoprady. I'm turning to you for the wise counsel I've been faithfully reading for so long.

It all started two weeks ago when I was quitely rearranging books in the reference section. I suddenly experienced a mental image like something out of an old pirate movie. There was smoke, cannon fire, musket shooting, clashing of cutlasses, swinging between ships on ropes, bloodshed and mayhem. I found myself shouting in a bad imitation of Long John Silver in the movie "Treasure Island." Right there in the reference section, I yelled, "SHIVER ME FUCKIN' TIMBERS, COSGROVE. GIT YER FINGER OUTA YOUR BLEEDIN' ARSE AND GIT THEM COCKSUCKERS! ARRRRR" Well, you can imagine my chagrin and the looks I got from the old codgers pouring over the reference material. I was sent home for a much needed snort of Jack Daniels' and a nap.

A few days later, I was reading to a group of small children during our weekly story time. I was in the middle of "Sleeping Beauty" when I suddenly screamed, "ARRRRR, MATEYS. GIVE THAT BARSTID COSGROVE A GOOD BUTT FUCKIN'!!" Thankfully, the kids thought it was just part of the story. It was almost time for my lunch break and I could go over to Frank's for a few belts of Jim Beam with Bud backup to settle my frayed nerves.

Just yesterday, I was behind the copy machine, having a quiet hit on the Smirnoff in my purse flask, when it came over me again. The Head Librarian was walking past when I shouted, " ARRRR. GODDAMN YER EYES, COSGROVE! I CATCH YE MESSIN' WITH ME FUCKING PARROT AGAIN, AN' IT'S KEELHAULING FER YE!" Needless to say, I got a stern look from Mr Putz.

I'm desperate, dear B and MG. What's happening to me? I fear for both my beloved job and my sanity. I'm here by the do-it-yourself surgery section where I keep a pint of Old Grandad for emergencies, and I .... oh, dear ... I'm afraid it ...."ARRRR, COSGROVE! BELAY THAT FUCKIN' CANNON, ER YE GITS A TASTE O' ME PEGLEG UP YER ARSE.!!

Hopefully,
Nettled in Nevada

Ps. Lately I've had the curious loss of feeling in my lower right leg; like it's artificial. I've also noticed wood splinters in my sox.
_________________________________________

Dear NN,
My goodness and shiver me timbers! We're experiencing what seems to be an epidemic of something. I believe this has gone beyond the well documented Cosgrove-Pile Syndrome. We seem to have an entirely new disease entity that's not described in the medical literature. Oh, excuse me for a moment ..... "AVAST, COSGROVE, BELAY THAT SHIT! ARRRR. GIT THE WORDS RIGHT, YE ARSEHOLE! IT'S "YO HO HO AN' A BOTTLE A RUM." YE STUPID FUCKER!"

Oh, dear, this is getting serious. I'll consult with my most trusted and esteemed doctors and faith healers at the University and try to get some information on this curious syndrome.

In the meantime, NN, take my advice. Don't worry and keep your mouth shut. Above all, get as much alcohol into your feeble system as possible. I suggest you try Bridget's favorite cocktail, eight ounces of cheap vodka in a fairly clean jelly glass.
Best Wishes,
MG

 

[pop_54]

Umm excuse me

Dear MG & BK.

I have a slight problem, I've already taken advice from a doctor, but I wondered if you'd agree with his comments, let me explain.

A while back my wife and I visited one of these herbal doctors, you know all natural stuff and that.
The reason for our visit was I suppose vanity; well the normal doctors had turned us down saying we shouldn't worry about our little problems.

My good wife Deloris was a bit flat chested you see, very small boobs indeed, she was so self-conscious about it and wouldn't wear a bathing costume or anything like that.

My problem was a lack of hair on my head, I was completely bald; all my work colleagues were taking the piss out of me, slapping my head and such like.
So Deloris and I decided we should seek medical help for our problems.

As I say the normal chaps just told us no way and recommended we forget it, but a good friend introduced us to a herbalist by the name of Thripp Sedgewick, I don't know if you've heard of him.
He immediately responded to our dilemma and prescribed some lotion for us both to rub into the effected areas, he did warn us to take great care with the dosage and under no circumstances mix the hair restoring lotion up with the boob development cream.

Well Deloris and I have always been very adventurous and hot natured and we developed our lotion dispensing into a little game, Deloris rubbing the head lotion on to me, and me of course massaging the tit lotion into her chest. It was all very stimulating often resulting in much more adventurous sexual activity. We've always been very sexually active you see, borne out by the fact we actually have 2 children.

In our excited and aroused state we must have mixed the creams up somehow and the result has been even more embarrassing and devastating.
Deloris wound up with a very hairy but still flat chest.
I unfortunately came off worse and have grown a large perfectly shaped tit on top of my still bald head; it's very embarrassing indeed, I have to wear a hat.
Trouble is the tit is so large now normal hats won't cover it right up.

We tried to find the said Mr Sedgewick, but he appears to have vanished, we therefore went to our normal General Practitioner, Dr Molesworthy, unfortunately he has not been much real help.
My wife's problem was easy to rectify with some hair removal cream, but he claims my problem is irreversible.

When I asked him what I should do, he just smiled and said, "The only thing I can suggest is that you paint it blue and join the police force."
I just wondered if you agreed with his diagnosis or could think of anything else to help me.

Thank you in anticipation: Reginald Sebastion-Melmoth the 3rd

 

[Guest]

Re: Umm excuse me

Dear MG & BK.

I have a slight problem, I've already taken advice from a doctor, but I wondered if you'd agree with his comments, let me explain.

A while back my wife and I visited one of these herbal doctors, you know all natural stuff and that.
The reason for our visit was I suppose vanity; well the normal doctors had turned us down saying we shouldn't worry about our little problems.

My good wife Deloris was a bit flat chested you see, very small boobs indeed, she was so self-conscious about it and wouldn't wear a bathing costume or anything like that.

My problem was a lack of hair on my head, I was completely bald; all my work colleagues were taking the piss out of me, slapping my head and such like.
So Deloris and I decided we should seek medical help for our problems.

As I say the normal chaps just told us no way and recommended we forget it, but a good friend introduced us to a herbalist by the name of Thripp Sedgewick, I don't know if you've heard of him.
He immediately responded to our dilemma and prescribed some lotion for us both to rub into the effected areas, he did warn us to take great care with the dosage and under no circumstances mix the hair restoring lotion up with the boob development cream.

Well Deloris and I have always been very adventurous and hot natured and we developed our lotion dispensing into a little game, Deloris rubbing the head lotion on to me, and me of course massaging the tit lotion into her chest. It was all very stimulating often resulting in much more adventurous sexual activity. We've always been very sexually active you see, borne out by the fact we actually have 2 children.

In our excited and aroused state we must have mixed the creams up somehow and the result has been even more embarrassing and devastating.
Deloris wound up with a very hairy but still flat chest.
I unfortunately came off worse and have grown a large perfectly shaped tit on top of my still bald head; it's very embarrassing indeed, I have to wear a hat.
Trouble is the tit is so large now normal hats won't cover it right up.

We tried to find the said Mr Sedgewick, but he appears to have vanished, we therefore went to our normal General Practitioner, Dr Molesworthy, unfortunately he has not been much real help.
My wife's problem was easy to rectify with some hair removal cream, but he claims my problem is irreversible.

When I asked him what I should do, he just smiled and said, "The only thing I can suggest is that you paint it blue and join the police force."
I just wondered if you agreed with his diagnosis or could think of anything else to help me.

Thank you in anticipation: Reginald Sebastion-Melmoth the 3rd

Dear RSM,

What a horrifying dilemma! While a career in police enforcement is certainly respectable, I worry about the longterm effects of epidermal exposure to cadmium.

I recommend that you seek out a plastic surgeon who specializes in breast reductions. It is amazing what they can accomplish, and if your doctor says you need it for 'health reasons' your insurance should cover it.

b

 

[MathGirl]

Good grief, Bridget

Come to the party, Bridget. That's the third "we accidentally switched medications" letter we've had this week. And it's only Tuesday.

You never learn, do you? You let these foreigners who can hardly speak or write English suck you into these ridiculous and totally implausable schemes, and you bite every time.

It's no wonder you lost the bet on the horse race and made the same bet on the instant replay.

Give me strength, Lord.
MG

 

[MathGirl]

Poor, pesty Pete

Dear B and MG,

This problem is very difficult for me to tell you about, but I'm at my wits end. I've been to urologists and psychiatrists, but they don't believe me. I know you specialize in cases that other experts have given up on, so I turn to you as a last resort.

The difficulty is with my ..... my ...... my penis. For the sake of confidentiality, let's call him "Pete." His name is really "Big Edgar" and my wife refers to him as "the little fellow." Starting about a year ago, he started developing his own personality, and it's gotten steadily worse. Now, he has become so independent that it's like carrying a separate and distinct person around in my trousers.

As I said, it all started about a year ago. My wife and I were watching "Schindler's List" on TV. I was sitting, and she was laying on the couch, using my lap for a pillow. Towards the end of the movie, my wife looked up at me and said, "Your dick's crying." I unzipped, hauled Pete out, and sure enough, he was bawling at the sad movie. Sobbing sounds were coming from his little slit, and if he'd had shoulders, they would have been heaving. Even his little circumcised foreskin was trembling.

Since then Pete has become more of an independent entity, and I now have almost no control over him. Whenever I take him ... I mean, when I go to a doctor about it, he acts like a perfectly normal schlong. I become furious when he does that, but I can't beat him up for it, because ..... well, he's my pecker. The psychiatrists listen patronizingly to me, charge $500 an hour, and prescribe Xanax and Valuim. The pills just make me sleepy and don't seem to affect Pete at all. He can be such a dick!

Pete is a big baseball fan and is fanatic about the Dodgers. He seems to be able to pick up baseball broadcasts right out of the atmosphere. I sure don't let him listen to Dodger games, I'm a Giants fan. The other day I was standing in line at the grocery store, and there was a high pitched scream from the area of my groin. The other people gave me strange looks, but I just played dumb. I found out later that Paul LoDuca had hit a home run.

Now here's the worst part of the whole mess. Pete has developed claustrophobia and won't go into dark, confined places. You can imagine the effect this has on our sex life. If my wife and I want to make love, Pete does his overcooked spaghetti impression, and I've got nothing but a limp weenie. He loves handjobs, but my wife doesn't get much out of that. He certainly has a sex life of his own, though. Last night I was helping my wife with the dishes, and Pete suddenly went all woody on me. I had to take him out of my pants, because it was painful. Well, I didn't feel a thing, but he did his hyperinflated crowbar impression and ejaculated all over my wife's freshly waxed floor. I thought she was going to whack him with a soup spoon when he did that.

My question, B and MG, is this: Am I going to have this recalcitrant rod for the rest of my life? Is there anything that can be done to give my wife and I back our erstwhile Old Edgar? Please help me, because I just can't go on like this.

Trustingly,
Unpetered in Utah
___________________________________________

Dear UU,

My goodness, that's a new one. I don't believe we've ever had a letter from someone with a sapient schlong before. You've identified Pete's weak spot for me, though. He's a fan of the LA Dodgers, and he gets enthused about even spring training games. Ask Pete how he'd like the radio reception if he was encased in a lead lined jockstrap during the broadcasts of all games through the regular season. I think you'll find that he will become much more cooperative. Dodger fans are not known for their intelligence, but if you speak slowly, he'll get it.

Dodger fans, low lifes though they may be, will gladly walk through fire for their miserable team. I'm sure Pete will enter a warm vagina with alacrity if you threaten to remove his lifeline to his baseball team. Personally, I wouldn't touch a Dodger fan with a ten foot pole, but your wife is probably hard up.

Best wishes,
MG

 

[MathGirl]

A letter from the Big Guy

Dear B and MG,

I'm a fun loving guy from a country in the Middle East. One of those fellows you Yankees refer to as wearing a piece of tattered cloth on their head. Ha ha. I love the humor of you people in the Great Satan. I'm writing you because I'm having trouble with my sex life.

The problems started with my wives. None of them will have anything to do with me, because they say my handsome moustache looks like a black cat turd suspended from my nose. Even old Jasmine shuns me, and she will go down on a diseased goat.

Being shut out in the harem, I returned to the sexuality I loved so much as a young man; camel fucking. To me, there's nothing more sensuous than a svelte dromedary cow in heat. Their facial expressions are soooooo sexy. I always selected my wives based on their vaginal resemblence to that of a camel. Alas, I'm older now and I can't climb the ladder as I could as a lad. Of course I always used female camels, you infidel. I'm not queer, you know.

As a last resort, I've been using a fellow fanatic as a butt boy. He is a bit long of tooth for my tastes, but in my position, you take what you can get. In his position, he gets chapped knees. Ha ha, a little ethnic humor there. Lately, though, my beloved Osama has developed a supurrating rectal disease, and even my jaded tastes are offended.

My question to you, dear B and MG, is this: Am I destined to spending my declining years using my right hand as my wife? You know what we ra.... True Believers use our left hands for, of course.

Just call me,
The Big Guy in Baghdad
_________________________________________

Dear Sad.... Big Guy,

My solution to your problem is simple. Add a little variety to your sex life, and use the old southpaw as a refreshing change. It will remind you of anal sex with your "beloved Osama" and bring some spice to your onanism. Another suggestion is to snort some fresh camel dung while choking your chicken. That odor will remind you of the sexual experiences you enjoyed in the corral during your halcion days.

Actually, I don't believe your sex life should be your primary concern. Gazing into my crystal ball, I can see your natchers being used as ping pong balls by some gentlemen wearing clothing marked "USMC."

All the best,
MG

 

[MathGirl]

Personal and confidential to BG in B

Just a little postscript here, Big Guy.

Here's an English word you might want to practice. It may come in handy in the future. It's pronounced "INCOMING!!!"

MG

 

[pop_54]

Hullo peeps

Hullo Em Gee und Bee Kay.

Veery surry bot mi Eeenglesh am not veery goud, und I dunt taulk Ameericann eevun.

Mi naim am Valter Vallentine Victor Bosarsek, I ar frum Eeesturn Urupp.

Awl uv thee gurls heer am bluddy ugglee und bilt lyke brik schitthouses.

Mi gurlfrend Tatrianna am sow ugglee hur muthur add too fede hur wiv u catipult wen shee wus u baibe.

Inn fakt wen shee wus bourn thee dilivury ners pikd hur upp und thenn slaapt hur muthur.

Thee bigg trubbel am shee dunt lett mee doo enny seks wiv hur und I ar allwies dooin u wannc instedd.

Cood yu elp mee too cum too Ameerica lyke u illeagle immigruntt und thenn I coud doo sum seks wiv pritee gurls lyke wot yu am.

Pleez elp mee mi ryte and am gettinn blisturs wiv thee wanncin.

Fank yu: Victor.

 

[Guest]

Re: Hullo peeps

Hullo Em Gee und Bee Kay.

Veery surry bot mi Eeenglesh am not veery goud, und I dunt taulk Ameericann eevun.

Mi naim am Valter Vallentine Victor Bosarsek, I ar frum Eeesturn Urupp.

Awl uv thee gurls heer am bluddy ugglee und bilt lyke brik schitthouses.

Mi gurlfrend Tatrianna am sow ugglee hur muthur add too fede hur wiv u catipult wen shee wus u baibe.

Inn fakt wen shee wus bourn thee dilivury ners pikd hur upp und thenn slaapt hur muthur.

Thee bigg trubbel am shee dunt lett mee doo enny seks wiv hur und I ar allwies dooin u wannc instedd.

Cood yu elp mee too cum too Ameerica lyke u illeagle immigruntt und thenn I coud doo sum seks wiv pritee gurls lyke wot yu am.

Pleez elp mee mi ryte and am gettinn blisturs wiv thee wanncin.

Fank yu: Victor.

Dear Victor,

I encourage you to enroll in English classes if you are serious about immigrating to the United States. Being comfortable with your new country's language is essential if you want to have a smooth transition to your new life.

Regarding your frustrations, I urge you to invest in a lanolin rich lotion for your private times to keep you from chafing.

b

 

[Dirt Man]

Hal? Is that you?...

ROFLMAO

 

[pop_54]

Re: Personal and confidential to BG in B

Just a little postscript here, Big Guy.

Here's an English word you might want to practice. It may come in handy in the future. It's pronounced "INCOMING!!!"

MG

If they're anything like the smart bombs they used last time, just stand still big guy you've a 50/50 chance they'll miss.

 

[MathGirl]

Tormented soul in the Middle East

Dear B and MG,

Please don't include my name when you publish this. Just call me "Big O." My problem is that I'm having a hard time coming to grips with my bisexuality. Also the nature of my bisexuality is somethat unusual. One half of my sexual nature is boning hogs. The other half is taking it up the dirt road from the Big Guy in Baghdad. I'm not your run of the mill bisexual, I'm sure you will agree.

You see, I've always been something of an outcast because of my sexual preference. My taste for porcine porking started when I was a teenager. The sweet memory of a romantic tryst with a young sow as the moon rises over the desert will remain with me always. The stench from a swinery still causes Big Ali to make a tent in the front of my robe. I remember the horrible cruelty of the other boys calling me, "Osama the pig fucker." It was absolutely true, of course, but it still hurt me deeply.

This caused me to recruit a number of cloven hoof fanciers who remain faithful to me even now. When you see a demonstration by my followers on your Yankee devil television, those signs in Arabic read "Pork Power" and "We Hose Hogs." Of course the Holy Book forbids the eating of pig meat, but it says nothing about slipping the meat to it. Ha ha. A little terrorist fanatic humor there.

Now my question to you, Dear B and MG, unbelieving infidels and Yankee imperialists that you are. Lately, I've noticed a curious odor which seems to originate in my .... bottom. The smell reminds me of being downwind from a pigsty on a hot day. Quite pleasant and rather arousing. Other people, though, are somewhat put off by the stench. In fact, the Big Guy hardly even touches me anymore. He still calls me, "My beloved Osama," but when it's coal chute time, he always seems to find something else to do. Gassing Kurds, shooting a suspected disloyal Elite Republican Guardsman, being impotent with a camel, etc. Does this mean I'm never going to assume the position with my robe up over my head again?

Latey, I've even started messing around with one of the Big Guy's wives. The one known as "Foul ol' Jasmine." This is my first experience with herero activity with a human. The most applealing part is cunnilingus. When I do that to FOJ, it's like having my head up a pig's ass. That scrofulate stench is enough to make Big Ali want to leave my robe and go off on a Jihad of his own. Does this mean that I'm becomine trisexual?

Sincerely,
Big O, Somewhere in Pakighanistan
________________________________________
O-
Your willingness to couple with anyone and anything merely indicates your
self-hatred and lack of self-esteem. I urge you to seek outprofessional
help before you destroy your body.
b
________________________________________

Dear Big O,
I'd say that you have pulled off what Bridget and I call the "hat trick." That means you have three sexual sides, and not a single one of them is somthing that any other human would engage in. Congratulations.

I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, though. From your descriptions of the symptoms, I'm sure that the Big Guy has given you a horrible sexually transmitted disease. It's amazing how many of the BG's cabinet ministers and Elite Republican Guard officers are suffering from the same syndrome. It's probably something the BG picked up from a camel in his youth, and he's been a carrier of the disease all his life. It's too bad you didn't confine your kneeling position to prayer time.

According to this morning's "USA Today," the Vegas line is 7-4 that the STD gets you before you end up at the end of a rope.

Of course you have our most cordial best wishes,
MG

Bridget: You really outdid yourself on that one, woman. Sheeeshhhh. Why me, Lord?

 

[MathGirl]

Terrorist, Schmerrorist

Yet another letter from a tortured soul in the Near East

Dearest B and MG,

I'm a carefree, devil-may-care, modern day, fun loving youth of eighteen. I've climbed the career ladder of terrorism, and I now feel that I've reached the pinnacle: I'm a suicide bomber. Not bad for a lad not long out of short pants, huh?

I've made a holy vow to strap twenty sticks of dynamite to my body and use it to blow up a busload of school children and myself. Hey, if that's not top of the heap, what is? Part of the agreement is that my family will receive $25,000 after the deed is accomplished. Not many guys my age have that kind of earning power, right? The Yankees may be imperialist pigs and lapdogs of the Great Satan, but those dollars walk the walk. Am I right?

My problem is the second part of the agreement I made to participate in this holy Jihad. You see, someone like myself who immolates himself for the Cause is whisked directly to paradise. The warrior then spends eternity at a cool oasis, ibibing sweet drinks, eating the finest food, and making love to beautiful young virgins.

Okay, here's the part I'm having so much trouble with. It's the beautiful young virgins. I assume it means girls, and that's a big problem for me. I'm afraid that I just don't like girls. Ever since Uncle Yassar first buggered me when I was ten, I've always prefered masculine relationships. I've since learned the delights of being on both the giving and receiving end of a good cornholing. The only disappointment was when I was taken to see a man they call the "Big Guy." He not only couldn't get it up, it appeared that he was wearing a black cat turd under his nose.

The thoughts of spending eternity with girls is more than I can bear. I would renege on my vows, but my family has already spent the $25,000 on a used Buick over at Honest Ibrahim's.

My question for you, dear B and MG, is this: Is there a religious sect which needs my services and promises a paradise with nubile butt boys? I'd even settle for hairy, middle aged Greeks. I don't even mind the occasional goat, if he's not too dirty. Anything but girls. Surely someone needs a suicide bomber with my qualifications and has a heaven to match my needs. I even have my own explosives and detonater.

I sent resumes to the Mormons, the Rastafarians, the Vatican, Reverend Al Sharpton, and Oral Roberts, but all I got back were requests for donations.

Sincerely,
Doubtful in the Desert

Ps. I'm considered quite handsome. I'm told I bear a strong resemblence to Uncle Yassar.
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Dear D, It is perfectly normal to question the life that has been mapped for you. As a young man you must fully explore what is right for you, not bowing to the pressures of your family to do that which is unpleasant to you. Perhaps you can go on a personal retreat to determine what you really desire out of life. Remind your family that while you love them, you can't be responsible for their economic irresponsibility. You need to be true to who you are. b
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Dear Doubtful,

My, my, that's certainly a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, isn't it? Unfortunatly, you have entered the suicide bomber employment field when it's a buyers market. Persons with your qualifications and desire are literally a dime a dozen. Classified ads to interview suicide bomber candidates result in lines around the block. Don't waste your time. Even Jimmy Swaggart isn't hiring.

Okay, here's what Bridget and I are willing to do: You get your handsome Uncle Yassar and the guy with the cat turd under his nose together for a little three-way action. Then you strap on your TNT, and do your thing. We will gaurantee you an afterlife with all the delights of sodomy and pederasty you seek. We will also send your family .... oh ... let's say $8.75 in your memory. Hopefully, that will hold good old Honest Ibrahim for a while.

Best wishes, and don't forget to wear ear protection when you push the button.
MG

Bridget, you're really firing on all three synapses today, aren't you. Don't overdo, dear.
_________________________________________________

 

[MathGirl]

Query from a queen

Dear B and MG,

I'm a 28 year old, well adjusted, healthy gay male. I've lived with the same guy for several years, and we have a stable relationship. Everything was fine until recently, and I feel I must turn to you for advice about the situation which has developed.

My lover uses Rogaine to treat his receding hairline, and we got it mixed up with the KY Jelly we use for ... intimacy. Well, now he's bald as a cueball, and I've got a two foot pony tail growing out of my ass. It's embarrassing when I wear short shorts. I can't see back there to trim it, my lover likes it and wants me to keep it, and I sure can't visit a barber to have it taken care of. What am I do to, Dear B and MG?

Sincerely
Hirsute, Hairy Assed, and Harrassed in Hartford
__________________________
Dear H, First off, I would encourage you to get your vision checked. Passion can make us lose sight of the obvious, but in this case the texture differential should have given you pause. Second, stop by the drugstore and pick up some Nair. Make sure to coat any sensitive tissues with a bit of petroleum jelly first and then use the Nair as directed. Your problem will then just be a tale (wink wink)for you to laugh over. b
___________________________________
Haw, haw, Bridget. Your humor is as lame as your br..... Oh, never mind. I just can't believe you fell for the old "we switched medications" line again. You just never learn, do you? Honestly, woman, if your brains were high grade blow, there wouldn't be enough there to get a flea high. Give me strength, Lord.
MG

Ps. Maybe the poor boy could get it teased into a bouffant and pretend it's a bustle.

 

[pop_54]

Poachers are about

Here's a picture for your Eastern friend who fancies a nice Greek in return for his act of freedom fighting, it should help him make the right choice.