We Are All Doomed

Recently I struck a technical problem with one of the gizmo’s I owned so I fired up the old googlebox to see if I could find a solution in one of the various online forums. Not really being a denizen of forum’s it was somewhat of an education and not in a good way. If you ever want to know why testosterone levels are dropping in men don’t look at the rise of synthetic eostrogens in the environment look at friggen internet.

I got in no particular order of nancyboyness –

1. My cat Tiddles is going in for an operation on his foot tomorrow can everyone say a pray for him.
2. I don’t know if the girl in the next cubicle likes me and if I should do something about it.
3. I am not able to do (insert meaningless task here) because immigration wont let the girl I met in Thailand into the country. How can I convince them that we want to get married.

That fat muppet Oprah has a lot to answer for in convincing people that the best way to deal with a problem is not to actually deal with the problem but to share it with the entire planet.

So, in the spirit of caring and sharing here are my responses.

My cat Tiddles is going in for an operation on his foot tomorrow can everyone say a pray for him.

Mate…it’s a friggen cat. Don’t you know that outside of owning a 1970’s Russian nuclear reactor owning a cat is probably the greatest environmental mistake you could make.

I could imagine the boys on the Kokada Track sitting there waiting to repel the next Japanese human wave attack when Stan turns to Jock and says – listen Jock my cat needs an operation can we say a prayer for him. Jock probably said no worries sport after we have repelled this attack, survived this shithole and saved our country from invasion we will all sit around the campfire, hold hands, sing a round of Kumbaya and say a little prayer for your cat. Obviously, that is obviously the most important thing in the universe right now.

I don’t know if the girl in the next cubicle likes me and if I should do something about it.

Here is a tip for you Romeo and it is something we used to do in the olden days before we started using moisturiser, toners, fake tan, and putting product in our hair…….ask her. By ask her I don’t mean picking up your friggen phone and sending her a text message – although sending her a photograph of your meat and two veg might convince her that you are a man and not some sad little emo waiting for your voice to drop. Man up, put your hands in your pockets to protect your assets – that is if they haven’t shrivelled up from working over your Nintendo too much and wander over to her.

Its not hard, although in your case it probably never will be. Better also see the local GP about those testosterone patches.

I am not able to do (insert meaningless task here) because immigration wont let the girl I met in Thailand into the country. How can I convince them that we want to get married.

Dear I bought myself a wife, good luck with this one. You see immigration officials whilst most likely being overweight, lazy, lacklustre peanuts have probably seen this before. You know when your mother used to tell you this is for your own good when she hit you over the head with a frying pan. Well, this is one of these moments. So to save yourself the embarrassment of –

1. Finding out she is actually a man
2. Having her leave two weeks after the wedding taking with her your prize collection of fake porcelain dolls

Take the advice of the immigration folks and let this one go. You can always go online and tell everyone your sad tale instead of keeping it to yourself. Alternatively, you could register with a new dating service I am setting up. Just go to www.Imasadbastard.com and fill out the form.