Uncle Drago's agony column

[tyred]

Dear Drago,

I need help.

When I was much younger, I never needed any help but now I'm not so self-assured.

My independence has vanished in the haze and every now and then, I feel so insecure.

I'm feeling down.

Won't you please, please, help meee!
Yours faithfully,
J. Lennon

 

[Drago]

Dear Drago,

I need help.

When I was much younger, I never needed any help but now I'm not so self-assured.

My independence has vanished in the haze and every now and then, I feel so insecure.

I'm feeling down.

Won't you please, please, help meet!
Yours faithfully,
J. Lennon

Dear Jack Lemon,

I think you need a holiday. I saw an ad today for an air bnb at a nice looking place called the Dakota building in New York. You should get up there like a shot. It looks dead nice. You could sub let it and make a killing.

Regards,

Drago Starr.

 

[tyred]

Dear Jack Lemon,

I think you need a holiday. I saw an ad today for an air bnb at a nice looking place called the Dakota building in New York. You should get up there like a shot. It looks dead nice. You could sub let it and make a killing.

Regards,

Drago Starr.

That sounds good, Mr. Start.

Can I drive my car and does it have Norwegian Wood furnishings?

Regards,
John

 

[Drago]

Dear Joan,

Yes, you can drive my car. No giving lifts to Bungalow Bill. It's a car, not a Helter Skelter. Just remember that car is I, me, mine.

Regards,

Drago Sutcliffe.

 

[tyred]

Dear Drago,

I live in a yellow submarine but the bright colour gives me a headache.

I also suffer from sea-sickness and my drum kit keeps sliding around in rough seas when I try to play.

What do you recommend?

Yours faithfully,
R. Starr

 

[Drago]

Dear Drago,

I live in a yellow submarine but the bright colour gives me a headache.

I also suffer from sea-sickness and my drum kit keeps sliding around in rough seas when I try to play.

What do you recommend?

Yours faithfully,
R. Starr

Dear Mingo,

I thought you loved to be under the sea in an octopuses garden in the shade? Next time be careful what you wish for.

Regards,

Paul McDrago.

 

[tyred]

Dear Drago,

Would you read my book? It is a thousand pages, give or take a few.

I'd be interested in your opinion.

I think I could make a million overnight.

I want to be a paperback writer.

Yours,
Paul McC

 

[Drago]

Dear Polly,

These silly letters are really annoying, but I'm willing to live and let die.

 

[Hover Fly]

Dear Drago,
The neighbours are annoying us by playing music.
Can you come round and put a stop to it?
Yours sincerely,
The Blue Meanies.

 

[Dec66]

Dear Drag,

I can't get no satisfaction.

I try, and I try, and I try, and I try, seemingly to no avail.

As an example, whenever I watch television, I'm made to feel inferior about the whiteness of my shirts, by somebody whose masculinity I need to call into question as his cigarette of choice differs from mine.

My sex life is also in ruins, as my partner is constantly telling me to try again next week, and chides me for my lack of sensitivity towards her monthly cycle.

What I do not need is useless information which is supposed to inspire me, particularly whilst driving.

Any advice?

Regards, Michael of Dartford.

 

[Dec66]

Dear Dragster

Me and my peers consider ourselves to be outgoing, upwardly mobile sorts, but we find that, as a consequence, people are constantly berating us. Their coldness and hostility is so intense that I find myself yearning for an early death.

I wish they would all just f- off (I'm too polite to say what I really mean), and stop earwigging our conversations. I'm not one to complain usually, but this ageism is unwarranted in my opinion. Why, things have become so bad that one of my cohorts has developed a terrible stammer, and many of us are resorting to smashing up our possessions.

Can you explain? Because I can't.

Thanks, Peter in Acton.

 

[Yellow Fang]

Dear Uncle Drago,
I feel unbearable shame that I am still alive. Our ring-giver lies dead upon the heath, beside his mead hall companions. He fell when I failed to put myself between him and the axe carried by Wulfgar the Wiffy. I had lost the fingers on my hand, and I struggled to swap my shield with my sword. Now I do not not how to reach my homeland. Other thanes look at me with suspicion, and in truth my heart is heavy for the loss of my liege-lord.

 

[Drago]

Dear Drago,
The neighbours are annoying us by playing music.
Can you come round and put a stop to it?
Yours sincerely,
The Blue Meanies.

Dear Bloop,

Funny you mention that. My neighbour is a real moaner, been up all night whinging. If I weren't already awake myself and playing my Rush akbums at full volume it woukd be really annoying.

Dear Drag,

I can't get no satisfaction.

I try, and I try, and I try, and I try, seemingly to no avail.

As an example, whenever I watch television, I'm made to feel inferior about the whiteness of my shirts, by somebody whose masculinity I need to call into question as his cigarette of choice differs from mine.

My sex life is also in ruins, as my partner is constantly telling me to try again next week, and chides me for my lack of sensitivity towards her monthly cycle.

What I do not need is useless information which is supposed to inspire me, particularly whilst driving.

Any advice?

Regards, Michael of Dartford.

Dear Miquel,

I see your problem. Your comedy rubber lips are scaring the women away. Have them surgically removed, but don't let Leslie Ash have them.

Dear Dragster

Me and my peers consider ourselves to be outgoing, upwardly mobile sorts, but we find that, as a consequence, people are constantly berating us. Their coldness and hostility is so intense that I find myself yearning for an early death.

I wish they would all just f- off (I'm too polite to say what I really mean), and stop earwigging our conversations. I'm not one to complain usually, but this ageism is unwarranted in my opinion. Why, things have become so bad that one of my cohorts has developed a terrible stammer, and many of us are resorting to smashing up our possessions.

Can you explain? Because I can't.

Thanks, Peter in Acton.

Dear Action Man,

I see a future for you as a Who tribute act.

Dear Uncle Drago,
I feel unbearable shame that I am still alive. Our ring-giver lies dead upon the heath, beside his mead hall companions. He fell when I failed to put myself between him and the axe carried by Wulfgar the Wiffy. I had lost the fingers on my hand, and I struggled to swap my shield with my sword. Now I do not not how to reach my homeland. Other thanes look at me with suspicion, and in truth my heart is heavy for the loss of my liege-lord.

Dear Young Fink,

You said 'ring'. Titter.

 

[Dec66]

Dear Drag Act,

I recently had a curious experience in a club in Soho. Whilst drinking overpriced, poor quality champagne (I'm not sure if it was champagne, in fact, if it was it was certainly non-vintage), I was approached by a young lady who asked me to dance.

Things were going well, and when I asked her her name she spoke in a very low, seductive voice, but I must confess to being a little surprised when all my vertebrae were realigned when she hugged me on the dance floor.

I was seduced by the wiggle as she walked off the dancefloor, but somewhat perturbed by the fact that she spoke like a docker. We continued to drink, and she invited me to her home.

I was very beguiled, but pushed her away and fell to my knees. Perhaps it was the champagne, I don't know. Sensing my reticence, she took my hand, picked me up, and promised to make a man out of me. And, she certainly succeeded in that regard.

Since this encounter, however, I have experienced great discomfort whenever I sit down. Did I miss something fundamental, amid my confusion?

Yours, Ray in Muswell Hill.

 

[Drago]

Dear Drag Act,

I recently had a curious experience in a club in Soho. Whilst drinking overpriced, poor quality champagne (I'm not sure if it was champagne, in fact, if it was it was certainly non-vintage), I was approached by a young lady who asked me to dance.

Things were going well, and when I asked her her name she spoke in a very low, seductive voice, but I must confess to being a little surprised when all my vertebrae were realigned when she hugged me on the dance floor.

I was seduced by the wiggle as she walked off the dancefloor, but somewhat perturbed by the fact that she spoke like a docker. We continued to drink, and she invited me to her home.

I was very beguiled, but pushed her away and fell to my knees. Perhaps it was the champagne, I don't know. Sensing my reticence, she took my hand, picked me up, and promised to make a man out of me. And, she certainly succeeded in that regard.

Since this encounter, however, I have experienced great discomfort whenever I sit down. Did I miss something fundamental, amid my confusion?

Yours, Ray in Muswell Hill.

Dear Muslin Bill,

You may also find that your fwrts are now mysteriously silent and smell of Brut33.