Wednesday, September 7, 2011


In these difficult times, when people are finding difficulties difficult, AUNTY FUGGER likes to lend an ear and give some advice to the troubled readers of this blog. Let’s face it, if you’re a regular visitor to this blog you probably are very troubled indeed.

Here are a couple of examples of what I’m talking about:

Dear Aunty Fugger,

I fear everything. I fear floors, ceilings, furniture, windows and doors. I fear being inside and I fear being outside. I fear all animals, vegetation, minerals and synthetics, not to mention the sky, the earth and water.
I risk starving to death as I fear food but the thought of dying scares me so much I often eat (an activity that terrifies me) and get something into my stomach (an internal organ which I also fear).
My stomach isn’t the only part of myself that bothers me. I also fear each of my limbs, my hands and feet (and the toes and fingers found upon them) my torso, my head and my toilet bits (the fact I refer to my toilet bits as ‘toilet bits’ is somewhat telling I feel and that too is a scary feeling). The sight of my reflection petrifies me, as does the general idea of ‘me’. My past, my future, my present, my wisdom, my stupidity, my greed and occasional generosity all make my hair stand on end.
I could go into more detail but expressing myself causes me extreme fearfulness as does holding a pen and leaving ink upon paper.

Please say you’ll help me?

Yours, Fearful.

Dear Fearful,

Sounds to me like you only fear one thing, and that one thing is fear itself. This, like most anxiety, is irrational. I suggest you stop being such a pussy and sign up to do some voluntary relief work in the Congolese east (see image above). Then you’ll see what real fear is.

Dear Aunty Fugger,

I keep having a dream where I go into labour and give birth to a cash register. Everyone in the dream is really pleased for me but when I place my nipple in the till so the register can suckle I am suddenly struck by this horrible empty feeling.

What does this all mean?

J-Lo, (formerly of the block)

Dear J-Lo,

It means that somewhere deep within your shrink-wrapped soul you realize that all your hard work (jumping around in your undergarments singing about keepin’ it real) was a waste of time and that, despite being enormously wealthy, your life is entirely worthless. Buy a new coat or something. That should cheer you up.

Dear Aunty Fugger,

From a young age I planned my future to perfection, the result being that pretty much everything has worked out for me and I have no real problems.
My life just trundles along in a contented but very very monotonous way, so monotonous in fact that my lack of problems has itself become a problem.

Any ideas?

Yours, Mr. Perfect.

Dear Mr. Perfect,

Overcoming challenges is what largely defines us as human beings. Set yourself challenge: get a jigsaw, a big one.

Well that’s those readers sorted. If you have a problem why not post it as a reply and I’ll see what I can do for you too.

Now fuck off, I’m busy.

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