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Ask Saxon Agony Uncle

Ask Saxon Agony Uncle

Dear Uncle Saxon

You seem a worldly-wise old cove Mr Saxon and I would like your help on a matter very close to my heart, or lions, depending how you look at it. Having attained the tender age of 30 I feel there is something missing from my otherwise hectic life. This is very hard for me to put into words, so here goes: I’m bereft of female company, have never engaged in amorous congress and never have had my Martian probe land in Venus. Can you help me in my quest to cream my first tart?

Mr Lonely

Agony Uncle Ask Saxon help quandary problems solved answer question medical advice personal matters alternative therapy treatment guidance life lessons funny

Dear Mr Lonely

Talking about beating about the bush, or not, as in your case. Mr Lonely, all I can suggest is that you procure the services of a local lady of the night. Prostitutes never say no, never laugh at the size of your cock and never pass comment on the size of your cock.

Here are Uncle Saxon’s top tips to help you in your quest to top your tip. Prostitutes come in two flavours: cheap and expensive. The cheap ones hang around street corners in dodgy neighbourhoods. They are often past their best and take drugs. The tariff is usually calculated by the number of missing teeth multiplied by the number of misspelt Indian ink tattoos; the higher the number the lower the cost. There is one exception, of course. If you are only after a blow job (sucky, sucky, ten quid) then it is best to pay a little extra for a toothless ‘lady’. Believe me, the extra 50p will be money well spent. Beware of ‘cock oysters’. These mucilaginous artefacts appear at random on the pavement and are usually preceded by a loud gagging and harsh hacking cough. The origin of these glutinous opaque gems is one of life’s mysteries. Some say they are Angel tears, some say they are the result of prostitutes clearing their throats after a particularly heavy night. Gentle readers, I will leave you to be the judge. However, if they be Angel tears then God had better be treating his celestial companions for conjunctivitis. I suggest agents active against both gram negative and gram positive bacteria. Not all crap that fortuitously turns up on the pavement is manna from heaven. Although you may be in an urban wilderness, please don’t be tempted to sample; Israelites excepted.

The expensive ones are found in ‘escort agencies’. I suspect that they may be out of your financial league unless of course you happen to be a high court judge or prominent politician.

I remember in my youth there was a particularly tall old whore who used to ply her trade at the back of Rackhams in Birmingham’s town centre. She must have been 6’ 10’’ and towered over the sad pathetic remnants of humanity who came to her for relief. To facilitate the transaction most men had to stand on a wooden box. Just as they were about to come she would kick it away, thus saving on condoms.

Otherwise, may I suggest you purchase a ‘latex lady’? Love dolls come in two flavours: cheap and expensive. The cheap variety you have to blow up and have a nasty habit of deflating when you insert a prick. The expensive ones are articulated, soft and vivacious. They are so life-like that they actually laugh at the size of your cock. If you can afford one of these then you really don’t need a real women.

Next week : Uncle Saxon, agony uncle to the Personal Hygiene Association, actually gets round to digging out the stuff in his belly button and weighing it.

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8 comments

  1. Dear Uncle Saxon,

    I’ve just had to be escorted by the police from my local GP’s surgery following a blazing row with my so-called ‘doctor’ whom I now believe to be the most outrageous charlatan to have ever masqueraded as a member of the medical profession!

    The dispute arose initially over how many cigarettes I smoke. My GP accused me of being hopelessly addicted to tobacco and of being totally unable to survive for more than a fleeting moment without satiating the craving for nicotine. I demanded to know the basis for this startling assertion. He informed me that the fact that I was half-way through a ciggie when I entered his consulting room and had politely declined his request to extinguish the offending item, coupled with the fact that I lit up a fresh one from the fading stub of the first – and the dark brown stains on my fingers – were grounds enough to conclude that I fell into the category of a hardened chain-smoker. I felt obliged to defend myself by stating that I only smoked for medicinal reasons: namely to ward off dementia and memory loss and to assist my lungs in more effectively bringing up phlegm. I felt quite certain that this frank and honest explanation would put the matter to rest, but he appeared totally unconvinced – and then set about quizzing me over my drinking!

    Incensed by this new smear against my character, I demanded to know what led him to believe that I drank alcohol at all? He retorted that my hands shook visibly every time I lit up a fag. I duly conceded that I did in fact drink, but that my drinking was well within the government’s recommended limits; no more than 2 units per day maximum to be specific. He merely stared back at me incredulously. There then followed the ferocious argument that led to my being ejected from the surgery by the local plod.
    Below is a brief outline of the salient aspects of our dispute and I ask you, as a medical professional yourself, to adjudicate as to which of us is in the right on the following points:-

    Firstly, he maintains that being intoxicated does not temporarily increase one’s IQ, assist the power of reasoning, or enable one to speak more eloquently. Also, intoxication in a man does not make him appear more attractive and sophisticated to women. Furthermore, ugly women do not – so he says – appear more attractive to a man who has copiously imbibed.
    He also reckons a “unit” of alcohol is not equivalent to one litre of strong spirit (or a dozen cans of White Lightning/Special Brew) but rather a much smaller quantity known as a third of a “gill” (whatever that is – about a thimbleful by the sound of it; can’t be right in any event).
    Lastly – and most contentiously in my view – he says alcohol actually makes your driving worse.
    As you will doubtless appreciate, I have formed the view that the man is an absolute buffoon. I simply no longer trust him with the vital matter of my health after this shocking display of ignorance. Any advice as to how to proceed would be most welcome….

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    • Wiggy, my dear chap, how absolutely appalling for you.

      I am picking up clues here; your ‘doctor’ – is he young, still wet behind the ears, has he the whiff of inexperience about him? Is he a .. *Guardian* reader? A follower of the Toynbee ganglion? More particularly, does his surname have the ring of the Home Counties about it, or is it redolent of the more exotic parts of Empire? All these factors will have a bearing on how best to proceed in this most ticklish of problems.

      Yrs anxiously,

      C

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      • Not too sure on his origins, Mr. C. I was only seeking reassurance that I prevailed in the debate from the strictly scientific perspective. ;)

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    • Preposterous my dear Mr Earwig! Are you sure this so called ‘physician’ is a registered doctor with the British Medical Council? Everyone knows that smoking clears the lungs of noisome humours, and tar is a sure fire cure for pulmonary psoriasis. Further, medical science acknowledges the role of smoking in preventing Parkinson’s disease and acting as an anti-inflammatory agent thus decreasing the risk of contracting ulcerative colitis. As you may be aware, I occasionally imbibe. I find that an ‘eye opener’ consisting of a tincture of vermouth helps to steady the nerves at 6.00am. Dear Fellow, I prescribe 2 quarts of porter followed by a hog’s head of brandy to ensure hale health. This will ensure that you remain rosy of nose and rheumy of eye. As you have seen fit to engage my professional services I will explain my scale of fees. For an informal consultation, I charge 1000 guineas. In this instance I’m only inclined to charge for the cost my alcohol consumption during the time it has taken for me to write this ‘prescription’ lets say- 999 guineas. Please contact Max and he will arrange the transfer to my Cayman Islands account.

      Yours in service,

      Dr Saxon

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  2. Here in Smalltown we have a shop that sells two varieties of the aforementioned ‘latex lady’ – standard and deluxe. The deluxe has real pubic hair.

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    • The deluxe has real pubic hair.
      Sourced from Cher? I understand the bulk of her fortune came not from her singing and acting career, but rather from sales of surplus muff to the sofa stuffing industry.

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    • Listen to this and you’ll be singing it for the rest of the day ;-)

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  3. Beware of ‘cock oysters’. These mucilaginous artefacts appear at random on the pavement and are usually preceded by a loud gagging and harsh hacking cough.

    Oh to be able to comment so knowledgeably on the subject. Sigh.

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