Lizzette: Computers, Border Security and Donuts

Dear Agony Aunt,

My partner is just OBSESSED with computers. He’s always online, downloading some new game or program or some rubbish, and I feel so ignored. I’d be surprised if he noticed if I left – unless I stopped paying the internet bill! What can I do to get him to push my buttons again?

Techno-widow.

Dear Mrs. Bill Gates,

Aside from you two dressing up as a hard-drive and a memory stick, there isn’t much you can do to distract him from his machines. Computers appeal to men on too many levels – they do what they want, when they want, straight away; they constantly stimulate them physically and mentally; they’re pretty and shiny; etc etc. What’s a girl to do?

I’ll tell you what a girl’s to do – time to even the odds. Next time one of his computey boxes is giving you sass, punch it in the screen. Try and compute that, huh bitch! Oh, you wanna update your software, huh? Need some more memory? See how much memory you can hold WITH A DISK DRIVE FULL OF MILO, MOFO!!

You can’t mess around with computers; you’ve gotta keep em in their place, and that place is off your man. Didn’t you ever see The Terminator? Go all Sarah Connor on their asses, before they get heaps buff, and governate California!

Alternatively, you can remind your partner what happened to Steve Jobs – I’m pretty sure that was caused by too much time on Four Chan and World of Warcraft. Those things are FULL of disease. And brain rot. And syphilis.

Dear A-to-the-G Aunt-taee,

Man, me and my boys been tryin’ ta get inta Auus-traylya for years, and those punk-ass bitches at Immigration keep sayin, no can do. Fuckin’ pussies! I would pop a cap in they asses…if only I was in the country, know what I’m sayin’? How the hell does I get through that Border Security shit?

Mystery Hommie.

Dear Snoop,

Yo yo yo, what up my man?! You ridin’ steady, home boy? Keepin’ it all in place, showin’ them bitches how it’s done, aieet?!
(Lordy, I am too white for this gig…)

Ok Mr. Doggy-Dog, here’s the drill – our customs officers just luuuuuuve drugs. You understand? They just go nuts for the stuff – that’s why they all get into that line of work, so they can pocket a few pills while they’re doing the cavity searches. Now poor, disaffected rap stars like you are just media targets, that’s all. The news outlets are what’s attacking you, not Customs.

So all you gotta do is, when you roll up into customs, just plonk a big ol’ suitcase of the MJ right in front of them, say “I ticked ‘nothing to declare’ on the forms, I’d say everything’s fine here” (that’s a coded signal for them), pop em a big old wink so they know you’re in on the deal, and you should get the all clear! Easy, biz-nitch!

Dear Agony Aunt,

I am a reader of palms, a clearer of chakras, a seer into the mysterious realms of the spiritual and the divine – but since I live in Byron Bay, nobody believes that I can truly See! They all think I’m some crazy crackpot, who had too much acid back in the 70s and can’t get off the trip since. How can I show people that I’m the real deal?

Daughter of the Moon and Stars.

Dear Cathy Smith (it never was as glamorous a name as you deserved, was it?),

The truth is, oh seer into souls, that I too can read the Unknowns of this world, and the Other. That’s how I always know the true identities of those who write to me, despite their cunningly disguised pseudonyms. It also lets me know where the cheapest petrol in town is. Still more terrifying, it lets me in on the greatest secrets of our society! Here’s one for you – the burgers are NOT better at Hungry Jacks. They were better at Burger King, but the more sinister cosmic forces of this world could no longer handle that level of taste sensation, and created an inferior duplicate. Do not trust the Hungry Man!

My divinations aside, Cathy old pal, the only way to get people to believe you is to show them what you’re capable of. This means publicity – if you can write horoscopes for a local newspaper, you are GUARANTEED authenticity. Why else would the journalists of a small regional rag have picked you, were it not a sign from the universe of your abilities? It also sets you apart from all those try-hard ads at the back of magazines like Take 5. Those bunch of swindling trollops, they wouldn’t know a star sign if it smacked them in the face! Good luck to you, Ms Smith – I foresee great things in your future. Also a LOT of donuts – go easy on the carbs, Cat.

Dear Agony Aunt,

How do I find happiness in my life?

Dear Reader,

There are several ways;
1.) Take a really long, hot shower. Soak out your aches and pains, then paint your nails in a crazy colour (this works regardless of your sex). Pamper!
2.) Visit somewhere new. A different pub, a new suburb, Italy, whatever takes your fancy and suits your budget. Explore!
3.) Find a nice bed buddy, and spend all day between the sheets making each other feel sexy and special. Orgasm!
4.) Always wanted to write a novel? Paint a masterpiece, or learn to play the mandolin? Why not try it now? Create!

In short, dear Reader, I have spent far too much time reading Eat, Pray, Love lately, so I’m feeling all gooey inside. But seriously, and this is a kick in the teeth for me too – get back to work!! Even if it doesn’t make you happy now, you’ll be happy when it’s done (yay holidays!). Session’s nearly over folks – let’s go out guns blazing! After all, Aunty knows best.

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