Thursday, 1 November 2007

Ha, ha, ha, hate you...

Ask Graeme, and he will do his best to provide you with a comprehensive answer.

Q: Dear Graeme, when disembodied voices in TV adverts for cleaning products say that said products get rid of 99.9% of bacteria... does that mean the companies do not make themselves responsible for the potentially lethal remaining 0.1%?

A: Yes, that's exactly what they mean. They also imply that, if you try to sue them, they will send hairy-chested, halitosis-suffering thugs in polyester suits to your doorstep. These men will make you regret ever having been born, sonny.

Q: Dear Mr. Graeme, a few nights ago, upon waking from uneasy dreams, I walked into my parent's bedroom and found them wrestling in their bed. George from the year above mine says they were making babies... were my parents really making love to each other so as to have another baby?

A: No, your daddy wears a condom most of the time and -whenever he doesn't- he likes coming all over your mother's face. Also, after having you, your mommy does NOT want to have any other children with your father, whose genes she now considers well beneath average. A final point, your parents no longer "make love," since you daddy keeps fantasising about your mommy's sister. But, then again, who wouldn't?

Q: Dear Graham, sometimes I feel the whole world is out to get me. I feel so alone, and I can never tell who are my real friends and who my enemies. For some reason I still ignore, most people seem to take an almost immediate dislike to me. Could you help me in any way? Please?

A: It's Graeme, not Graham, you cunt.

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