Uncle Drago's agony column

[Pinno718]

Dear Unkal Tony Drago

Re.: Snookered

I find this all deeply concerning. If you scroll back only a few pages, you will see that gentleman stalkers like us up and down and across the land (and water) are having to do flips and twists to get a date. I mean, how many men must suffer road and scrotum rash, testicular disengagement, p40 cabinet paper, paraffin and wire brushes just to get some romance?
Are we in the era of prohibitive feminism?
Why are these woman folk so hard to please?
Why doesn't a Yugo snap knicker elastic at 500 yards like they used to?
Do I need to change gender?

So many questions, so little Prozac or Beta Blockers left. So many boxes of Viagra gathering dust.
So many flowers wilting.

I'm going to book myself into the Blue Hotel on the boulevard lonely where once it was a love highway with no red or amber - it was green all the way, cruising in an open top Yugo on a beautiful summer evening in Dagenham, the delicate aroma of a fresh coat of Hammarite and burning engine oil, a 6000watt stereo with pre amp, quad core 16 speaker system and graphic equalizer Every vessel and every bolt rivet quivering and vibrating to the sound of Barry White at full blast, the sheer anticipation of a mad, passionate she woman getting shipwrecked on your rock of love in a layby just off the A13 . The wind in the hair (I used to have) and the permanent Wigwam in the trousers...

Oh the memories. I can feel the tear of reminiscence welling up.

You remember those days, don't you? Will you offer a solution? Is there an end to the loneliness?

Yours
The disillusioned.

 

[Drago]

Dear Dizzy Gillespie,

I wellr emember those days. I will offer a solution, and there is an end to your lonliness.

What you need is a goodly helping of crack cocaine and a blow-up doll with a picture of Thora Hird's face attached.

No need top thank me.

 

[Pinno718]

Dear Dizzy Gillespie,

I wellr emember those days. I will offer a solution, and there is an end to your lonliness.

What you need is a goodly helping of crack cocaine and a blow-up doll with a picture of Thora Hird's face attached.

No need top thank me.

I won't. Definitely.

 

[Pinno718]

Dear Uncle Dragoon

I have hit a crisis point. It's an emergency.

Unfortunately, I couldn't rescue Liz the weather goddess.
I set off in a newly painted wheelbarrow. I found it near the railway tracks. I bolted a Briggs and Stratton mower engine to it and two wheels at the back and built a nifty side car out of proper corrugated cardboard and selotape. I put go faster stripes on it and strapped in a glove compartment made from a shoe box which I dutifully filled with condoms given to me at the STD clinic. I found a proper dustbin lid actually made out of actual metal and nailed it to a broom shaft for steering purposes. I even went so far as adding an extra fuel tank made from a plastic urine bottle I found in the hospital bins. It's amazing what you can find in there. I filled my lunch box with all sorts. My mate Johnny lent me his cassette player powered by 4 LR20's for banging tunes on my long journey south. I riveted a speaker to the chassis which doubled up as a seat. It looked the bollox. The cabriolet to end all cabriolets.
I had hope in my heart, lightness in my step and it was as if I was heading into the sun - the closer I got, the warmer and more brilliant it became.
But alas, whilst descending Shap fell in a torrential downpour whilst trying my best to draught a tractor, first my brake stick wore to a nub, then the soles of my Doctor Martens, Doctor Martens, Doctor Martens boots wore away. I glued an extra layer of rubber to the soles hewn by hand from a 205 x 55 15 ex caravan tyre as a back up but it quickly delaminated. Home made hide glue isn't as strong as I anticipated.
When my feet got a little bit warm, I said to myself 'sod it, i'm just going to put them up and bravely descend'. After all, this heroic crusade required heroic action.
Then it all went blurred and the sky caved in.

I awoke some time later with Meat Loaf's Bat out of Hell still ringing in my ears and a sheep looking down at me with a very puzzled expression. I noticed the hole in the stone dyke and the mangled, smoking wreck of my once glorious machine.

Still, you can't rescue them all.

So my attentions have turned to Jo Blythe. I have been watching her properly. She's lost a lot of weight and she needs rescuing and porridge, lots of porridge. I think the ITV directors are trying make her as thin as Lucy Verasamy in some sort of control/contract renewal blackmail/competition coercion tactic. It's terrible really.
I mean they don't bother in Scotland. We have the lovely and very robust Judith who's frame can hold up in even the strongest westerlies on the highest peaks on the slippiest slopes on moss covered granite with the wind and the sleet horizontal.

Jo needs rescuing and as soon as I get these damn itchy plaster casts off these limbs, i'll be in the design shed as quick as... as quick as a 12.5hp single cylinder mower engine coupled to a variomatic transmission system driven with nylon stockings can go.

I need to get to Manchester. I have this 4 wheeled barrow idea with a real plastic passenger seat. How do I crowd fund this new project?

Pinno
Carlisle Hospital, ward 5,, bed 6.