Well, Fancy Meeting You Here

Today’s word is ‘awkward’.

From the comments, regarding the father’s demand that the letter writer cease being with his daughter..

Tell the father that you will end the relationship but only on the condition that the his daughter knows the real reason. Then see if he is still as keen on that idea.

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Not just the daughter. Her mother too. If the father wants to ruin potentially lifelong relationships, it’s only fair that what goes around, comes around.

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And his Dog. The Dog deserves to know the truth as well

.. I can’t help feeling the family hamster is getting a bum deal out of this unsolicited advice…

I can’t help feeling the family hamster is getting a bum deal out of this unsolicited advice…
Dear Lord, don’t bring bumming the hamster into it!
Or at least the same drama gets repackaged every four years.
And they wonder why no-one believes them or respects them.
There is some woman, whose name escapes me, who has written a ream of articles for the Daily Telegraph and the Daily Mail, in which she drones on how hard it is to find a man when you’re a terribly successful hackette who’s been to university and speaks foreign and everything. The articles are both surprisingly similar and surprising contradictory, suggesting she’s rehashing one or two incidents from her life (or imagination) and is trying to make a career out of it.
Tim Newman featured her once…

Is this a porn movie plot twist?
Or a crowd-pleasing rom-com. Honey, I Shagged Your Father.

Speaking of the Guardian, one from the problem pages:
It is interesting to note that the authoress of the advice column is the wife of Billy Connolly, so it is possible that this is just a piss take.

Sex differences observed in the brains of human foetuses.
Also: “Actress Debra Messing Posts Empowering ‘Vagina’ Cupcakes, Gets Trashed As Transphobic And Issues Apology.”
via Yeyo.

how much of a soulless arschloch do you have to be to politicize a photo of a kid who has most likely gotten chemo walking in a hospital with a pal or sister ?
To ask the question…

To ask the question…
True, however, it still seems like there is an endless competition to see who can be the most offended by, and get the most indignant over, the most innocuous thing.

Farnsworth, what does the miserable woke jerk to the side of the cute picture say? I can’t see it.

The must be an island somewhere where all these idiots can be sent so they can all sit around and be miserable scolds together.
I nominate the Kerguelen Islands.

scientist Gunther Dorner
I’ve read about the hormonal explanation before, and based on somewhat anecdotal evidence (third-party report of confessions of a FtM tranny), I have to wonder whether sex hormones might alleviate both homosexuality and trans-sexuality post-natally.
The FtM trannie said, reportedly, that upon taking testosterone supplements she found that her understanding of mathematical concepts which had always baffled her had suddenly become much clearer.
I doubt anyone’s doing such research though. The threat of outraged mobs with torches and Twit-forks is a likely deterrent, at least here in the West.

Oh, yes. Even in the early ‘80’s American scientists had to tread very, very carefully.
On a happier note, this is a classy joint, and David and the henchlesbians work hard to keep it that way. They polish the merkins and comb the bar every night. But they can’t do it all. They’re getting overwhelmed. So…meet Jock, the new employee. Jock will keep the books (the real set), bartend, wait tables, feed and water the pickled “eggs,” maintain supplies of hump fat, mop up the italics, polish the merkins, comb the tables, Oust the restrooms, play Scrabble with the henchlesbians when things are slow so they don’t get bored, and keep the coasters rounded up (they get lost when David’s not around to maintain order and we use them as Frisbees).
And since Jock is a border collie, he will probably do all these things at once.

Jabrwok, as nutty as it sounds, judging angles, striking distance, trajectory, all that stuff, got easier after I went through menopause. Though I’d trade it all to be permanently rid of the mustache. But I bet I’d have a chance at hitting a ball now.
(Even as we speak, if he’s still with us, Dr. Dorner is probably researching lesbians and softball…)

Calling Dr Freud…
It’s what every woman wants – a boyfriend who knows what her dad’s like in bed.

“The must be an island somewhere where all these idiots can be sent so they can all sit around and be miserable scolds together.”
We could use helicopters to take them there.

We could use helicopters to take them there.
Hmmmm…
Helicopters you say?

Hey, can Brits explain to me why woke Brits don’t like Brexit and other Brits do?
I’ll just leave this here.

Do the British Isles ever have severe thunderstorms? Those are sort of like a mini- hurricane, lots of rain and flooding and winds up to 70-80 mph. Here, we’re in that season.

woke Brits don’t like Brexit and other Brits do
Since I’m an ugly American and don’t wish to erase Brit bodies by appropriating indigenous islander space in Brexit discussions, what really interests me in how you people feel about other wordsmashes, or “portmanteau” if you’re nasty.
How did Brits feel about Brangelina and Bennifer? Do they embrace Grapples or abhor them? How large of a boost to the UK GDP would replacing “fish and chips” with “fips” achieve? Would capitol city dwellers consider moving to Mexifornia, or is Londinstan diverse enough thankyouverymuch? Do Oxbridge types look down on using sporks to eat turducken?
Might not seem important, but what is life without infotainment?

Right, it’s The Other Half’s birthday so we’re heading out for dinner. Play nicely. Use coasters.

Happy birthday, Mr. Half! 🎂
Frisbee time, everyone! Grab a coaster!

Two things: first being agony columns.
Years ago I knew a bloke who went to work at a red-top paper (I will not name the journal, as you will laugh, callous bastards you all are). My mate’s desk was next to the chap whose job was to make up the paper’s agony column. In all fairness, this was a combination of new-ish paper and the people who read it were highly unlikely to write a letter to a newspaper they ‘read’ in the morning tea break. Might be different today as people can text from their mobiles, natch, but back then… Anyway, this man would sit at his typewriter (yes, it’s that long ago) and suddenly say ‘Oh, that’s good one!’ and type up some scenario in which muscular man has hot female, either likely to be against his wife’s wishes or probably upset the woman’s hubby. Simpler times, perhaps, but there we are.
I do therefore wonder what makes stuck-up rags like The Guardian put in their agony columns. Tittle-tattle over drinks in the bar at lunchtime, or idle chatter over the quinoa selection at Waitrose?
Part two is Brexit. I went to a party in London (not my usual haunt, glad to say) just after the famous referendum and as soon as it began one man leaning on the cooker shouted: ‘I assume everyone here voted against Brexit.’ As I was passing through the kitchen in search of the loo — apparently down south they have them in the house, which is unbelievable — I declined to put my hand up to say “I did.” I know, I’m a coward, but I could sense the atmosphere was one of revenge in possibly having their cheap French wine supplies thrown into doubt.
You see, for those who have no concept of Londoners being denied access to cheap Froggy things, this was a big issue. if I wrote an agony column, I’d put that in. No bonking admittedly, but a real life dilemma right there.

I’m a coward, but I could sense the atmosphere was one of revenge…
If the situation is as if you are at the Little Big Horn and the only one left standing not wearing feathers, there is no shame in going to ground (unless you have a non-GPS enabled assault butter knife or other kitchen utensil).

Since Mr. Half already has a flamethrower, should we pool our money to get him a GPS chef’s knife for his birthday?
I have a pink chef’s knife that has stayed sharp for years . Please do not tell the pink chef I stole his knife.
(I didn’t steal it, actually, it was one of those breast-cancer promotions.). 😄

Watcher, there’s a site called Had Enough Therapy that you may enjoy. Proprietor Stuart Schneiderman loves fisking high-toned agony columns. Have fun!

Has this poor lady no one who cared enough about her to tell her the truth about herself?
That’s Kate Mulvey, mentioned above by MC. Her articles over the years are a kind of morality play, a Rakette’s Progress where bad things keep on happening to her that bring her to the boundary of self-awareness, but then she turns back to imagining that she’s fabulous and her friends envy her and men are intimidated by her intelligence.
In a more recent episode, she had to move back in with her parents at the age of 55. Tim’s commenters think it’s too much – that she’s a clickbait persona designed to appeal both to bitter aging rakettes and to gloating moralizers.

Tim, your site’s getting hijacked by the free-no-catch Amazon cards again. I don’t understand why my pop-up blocker can’t stop those.
Gah, I’m sorry. If it happens, post the URL in the comments and I’ll block it.