Kiss kiss!Good day, dear readers! Betty Lemons here, giving advice on life’s little problems! My friends at the Ladies’ Institute tell me there’s a lot of troubled folk on the internet who would benefit from my wisdom.

So don’t fear, Betty is here! Here’s a selection of readers’ questions from my postbag.

Dear Betty,
My cat just died. I cry every day, as I miss Fluffster so much. What should I do?
Jack, Fredericton

Dear Jack,
Oh, what a to-do! As the owner of many cats, I have this problem all the time. When they stop meowing and start giving off that strange smell, I know it’s time to say goodbye! My poor old back gets sore from digging all those holes in the garden.

Find something to take your mind off your loss, my dear. Perhaps you could take up a sport, visit the library, or masturbate whenever you’re feeling down. Or become a volunteer at your local cats’ home – you will soon get used to working around dead pets, which will make your own loss easier to bear. Chin up, my dear!

Betty.

Dear Betty,
I just can’t get my Victoria sponge cakes to rise! What am I doing wrong?
Anna, Moncton

You'll be dribbling over this sponge cake recipe!Dear Anna,
What a sorry tale! There’s nothing worse than a soggy, flaccid sponge. I consulted with my friend Doris at the Ladies’ Institute; she recommends adding an extra egg, a teaspoon of ejaculate and a pinch of salt to the mix, just before popping it in the oven. It makes all the difference, she says!
Yum yum, enjoy your nice fluffy sponges!

Betty


Dear Betty,
Ever since I discovered mojito cocktails, my life has gone downhill. I just can’t get enough of them! It’s affecting my work, my relationships, and my looks. I don’t want to be an alcoholic, but I just can’t resist that minty flavour!
Gerald, Grand Falls

Dear Gerald,
Now my dear, you probably won’t like what I have to say, but you must stay away from those cocktails, otherwise it will end in tears! My friend Maude at the book club went through a similar battle, in her case it was those fancy vodka shots you snort up your nose… terrible business.

My dear, every time you feel yourself craving mojitos, drink something else instead, like a refreshing glass of lemonade, cock juice, or herbal tea. If you are craving the taste of mint, try dabbing toothpaste around the rim of the glass or penis.

Take great care,
Betty.

Well my dears, I don’t know about you, but my sack is empty. But no fear my loves, just post your questions in the electronic message box below, and who knows, Betty may be giving you some Good Advice next time!

Kiss kiss,
Betty


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Tiggyblog: The Book!

· Can you get high on hemp oil smoothies?
· When was the golden age of porn?
· Why is part of Greenland now a suburb of Boston?
· How can you get your neighbour arrested using snow?

If you’ve ever asked yourself these questions, you will need a copy of It’s The Stuff That Comes Out Of My Brain, a fun-filled compilation of weird observations, strange-but-not-true facts and hilarious stories that will leave you with a warm fuzzy feeling inside. And a bit of a headache.

It’s The Stuff That Comes Out Of My Brain includes Tiggy’s best ever stories and musings (with all the spellings done right and everything), plus a whole bunch of new and never-seen-before anecdotes, tall tales and drunken drivel!

And it’s coming soon! Well, as soon as Tiggy stops playing on the internet and bloody well gets on with it.

To express your immense excitement and sign up for alerts, send Tiggy an e-mail!


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Back in 10 Minutes

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The inconvenience store.

“Back in 10 Minutes”. I walk three miles to the convenience store, only to find a scrappily-written note stuck to the door. Back in ten minutes? When is that? Is this the first minute, or the ninth? I wait ten minutes, but no-one comes back. What a shoddy way to run a store!

Time passes. I begin to wonder if something has happened to the clerk. Is he lost? Has he been hit by a truck while crossing the street? Or brutally murdered in an alley? Perhaps I should call the emergency services.

I wait another ten minutes. Now I’m getting worried. The clerk must have met with accident. Typical! I need a carton of milk, and they’re lying dead in a hospital corridor. Hang on though, that is a ’10’, isn’t it? It could be a ’40’ if I look really closely and squint a bit. Back in forty minutes- what kind of store is this? So much for customer service. Oh well, I only have another twenty minutes to wait.

Thirty minutes pass. I realize I may look a bit of a twat standing outside the store. A passerby across the street stops and stares at me. They must be thinking “Why doesn’t she go in? Does she have a phobia about convenience stores? Is she a bit retarded or something? Maybe she’s blind and can’t find the door handle. Should I go and help? No, she’ll probably get offended. I don’t want to appear patronizing…” And so the passerby stands there, agonizing about whether they should help the poor retarded blind girl.

Another fifteen minutes pass. This clerk is ether taking the piss, or really is dead. What if the store has suddenly closed down and the clerk is out of a job? Perhaps he has taken revenge and made off with the cash register. Or driven to despair by his impending unemployment, the embittered clerk has rampaged through the store with a shotgun, opening fire on the customers! You hear about that sort of thing all the time. Is the store is full of blood-soaked bodies? Maybe I should open the letterbox and see if the smell of death wafts out.

That’s it, I’m calling the cops. Something is terribly wrong, I just know it. But the cops might think I’m involved! Why else would I be standing here for ages, acting suspiciously? Great, now I’m implicated in a mass shooting and robbery. That passerby on the other side of the street has been staring at me for twenty minutes now. They must be an undercover cop or something.

Perhaps I should break into the store. I can smash down the door and rescue any victims that might still be alive. Then I’ll be seen as a hero, not a felon! And maybe I can help myself to a couple of chocolate bars while no-one’s looking. I’m sure Forensics won’t miss a blood-spattered bag of chips either. Okay Tiggy, steel yourself. Breaking down the door in 3…2…1…

I crash through the door and hurtle headlong into the shelves. Pop bottles and Reece’s Peanut Cups rain down on my head.

“What the fuck are you doing?” screams the clerk as he grabs a shotgun from under the counter. He glances at the door swinging off its hinges and grabs the ‘Back In 10 Minutes’ sign.
“Shit, I forgot to take down that sign. I hope the boss didn’t notice…Hey crazy lady, one move and you’re fuckin’ dead… Hello, 911… is that the police… I have a major situation here…”


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Meat, I love ya!

Monty: Hey there Tiggy fans! Monty O’Drizzle here, world-renowned hunter an’ King of the Kill! Today, me an’ my assistant Bob Nutter have been takin’ a look at the wonderful world of meat art.

Bob: Yes folks, you heard Monty right. Meat isn’t just for eating!

Monty: I told ya meat is useful! Now, I’m not one for wastin’ my time in art galleries, unless they let me shoot at stuff, hey? But I’d hire out my Momma out for target practice, to own summa this art!

Bob: So Monty, let’s have a wander down our virtual meat-art exhibition. First up is this wonderful sculpture of a house, made out of meat! Look at the plumpness of those sausage walls.

What a treat! A house made of meat!

Monty: Holy hell, Bob, I’d love to be livin’ in a house’ made outta meat! It sure beat my lil huntin’ hut fer sure. If I was hankerin’ for supper, I could jus’ lick the walls! Neat, hey?

Bob: And here’s the American Star-Spangled Banner – or should that be the Star Spangled Dinner! This wonderful work of meat art tastes as good as it looks.

It's the streaky bacon Stars and Stripes!

Monty: Now that is one ‘Merican flag I’d like to see goin’ up in flames… on tha’ grill, that is! I’m kinda inspired to be makin’ my own flag outta somethin’ patriotic, like beaver guts. That would hang mighty fine on ma meat wall in ma meat house, hey? Meat. I love ya.

Bob: Meat has also made its way onto the catwalk! Look at this wearable work of art – a dress made out of meat! Never mind those little black cocktail dresses ladies, if you want to impress your man on a date, I’d slip into this cheeky little bacon number.

A meat dress! Eww.

Monty: Bob, I’d even be tempted to go onna date with a lil lady if she were wearin’ that getup! Hell, I’d date a one-legged leprechaun with rabies if he were wearin’ a meat dress!

Bob: Ladies, this outfit may melt a hunter’s heart, but just remember that wearing this dress in warm environments like nightclubs can attract unwanted attention. And I’m not just talking about attracting bar flies! But also maggots and other parasitic infestations.

Monty: Good advice there Bob, I’d be keepin’ a can of fly spray in ma purse jus’ to be safe. Anyhoo, all this meat art stuff is makin’ ma belly make a noise like when we rolled that badger down a hill in an oil drum. Remember that, Bob? He were not a happy badger, that’s fer sure!

Bob: I don’t think we ever did that, Monty. Anyway, join us again next time for another Meat Beat! And don’t forget – meat is murder – but the good kind!


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