On asking Dr Scary difficult questions
Another delve into the postbag of Dr Scary's Problem Page. And what do we have? Lunatics, that's what.
Dear Dr Scary
I wonder if you can settle a family argument?
We recently took delivery of this year's British Telecom Phone Directory ("Book of the Year. From Aaron A. Aardvark to Zachary Z. Zzyzz, this work is a stunning exploration of the human condition" – Paul Ross).
My initial disappointment that the front cover didn't feature the yummy mummy from the TV adverts in a number of undraped poses soon gave way to the red curtain of blood-crazed anger.
The reason? This:
I am certain this is a picture of smug TV annoyance Nick Knowles, who has clearly sold his soul for a slice of red hot BT action and as many yummy mummies as he can eat.
My charming wife aka The Queen of WRONG is equally convinced that this is merely a smug-looking Knowles-a-like, who plies his trade opening school fetes and posing for phone books while the real thing gets down to the yummy mummy thing.
"You can tell it's him", I say, "you can see the horns and everything, for he is clearly spawn of the Devil."
"Ooh, you liar," replies my clearly deranged wife, "You just drew them on. Just like when you draw all over the TV screen whenever DIY SOS is on. It's a bastard to get off with Windowlene"
And so are evenings are spent with my carefully honed arguments that N. Knowles is the spawn of Satan, whilst the HARRIDAN to whom I am married photoshops his smug, stubbled face onto the bodies of well-hung Italian studs.
Who, we ask Dr Scary, is right?
Aaron A. Aardvark
Fucked if I know.