Tuesday, 13 September 2011

Dear Blanche... Part One

Dear Blanche...

If you have a problem that needs sorting, our straight talking, ever so slightly bitter; Mikie, has the solution. What's your dilema?


Introducing our fabulous new agony aunt column

Whether you’re having trouble taming your incestuous love child or your addiction to Primark, Mikie (Dear Blanche) is here for you, probably with a lethal injection of pre-loaded venom, it’s your last chance for help before you end up on the Jeremy Kyle show.




Dear Blanche...

I’m truly at the end of my tether; I’m convinced that my daughter is Satan’s child. 
It all started back in 1995 when she started taking Ecstasy in nightclubs, so much so that she had kidney disease as a farfetched result.

I knew things weren’t right from an early age; I could never use the normal forms of punishment like sending her to bed with no tea. The four times I did this she came back down even worse and looking almost like a completely different person, some would even argue she was.

I’m afraid that this is just the tip of the iceberg, more recently she’s tried to sell her own baby to a desperate transsexual, that was before she got imprisoned for killing her husband. I don’t believe that she is all-bad and I believe her when she said it was self-defense. She even got acquitted of the murder on New Years Eve to make a perfectly timed entrance to a memorial service to the late victims of a computer generated tram crash.

Just last month she brought more trouble to the doorstep, she had been black mailing her ex husband’s new wife, Becky, who eventually couldn’t take anymore. I can’t really blame my daughter, Tracey, for doing so as between you and me Becky is a bad egg and has been accommodated at her majesties pleasure more times than me and my daughter put together. Becky even knocked down our front door with a sledge-hammer and destroyed some very precious pottery I’d made myself at my evening class.

Just what can I do to calm my daughter down and get her back on the straight and narrow once and for all. My neck is beginning to look like a turkey’s, it can’t take the strain of any more tears and neither can I.

Forever desperate,

Deirdre, Weatherfield.

Dear Dreary Deirdre,

What a life you must have led, I’m positively drained just by reading your letter, it’s shocked me to the very routes of my bunions, so much so I’ve had to bypass my afternoon G’n’T and reach straight for my bottle of Johnnie Walker – Blue Label, King George V Edition. I don’t mean to brag about such a purchase, I did intend to acquire a conventional bottle but like a slightly overweight bee to honey I found myself drawn to the shiny curves of the delicious bottle.

I couldn’t help but think you weren’t telling me everything so I did a quick Google search of your signature and was most appalled that you have not told me a full story, although as you seem to be from a family that could be rightly burnt at the stake I was not surprised by your lies, in fact one can only be grateful that you weren’t as the amount of Estaee Lauder Youth Dew and cheap nylon you wear you’d certainly take the town up with you.

To be quite honest it sounds to me like your daughter has been dragged up by a pack of wolves with you being the leading Vixen. You can hardly consider yourself a role model when you were about to abandon your daughter for a Moroccan Pimp and flee the country. It really is a shame that you didn’t plan on taking your daughter, it would have saved us all the pain of watching her trying to act for all these years. One can’t help but think her time would have been better spent if she’d been imprisoned at Sylvia Young School of Theatre and not at Her Majesties Pleasure. You should count your lucky stars she’s not been tried for crimes against drama, though one can only pray there’s still time; she’d certainly get life.

My advice to you would be to destroy your daughter like you would a stray mongrel – have her put down. I’m sure your old cellmate Jackie Dobbs could provide you with an untraceable poison to prematurely end her life, although I’m sure I’m not the only one who would have been thankful had she’d been burnt alive in the great Rovers fire of ’86. One can only dream of the day we hear you screech ‘Oh Tracy Love,’ for the very last time. Until then I suggest you send her back up to her room and keep her heavily sedated until she comes back down many years later as a much nicer person and far better actress.

Now where did I put that gin…

Your ever listening




Dear Blanche...

I am friends with this girl (purely just friends, as she is not single)
We chat and text, I text and just say stuff like "Hey what you up to" but her boyfriend will send messages over facebook saying how I am trying to get with her and that I giver her certain looks. I wouldn’t have a problem with him if he would just chill out and realize I am just being friendly by sending a text and that yes maybe I do say some stuff like ‘hey your looking pretty sexy today’ and just play around but she never minds and she like to have a little innocent fun now and again.

Just today i have had a message saying back the **** off and stop looking at her as if you want to get with her. I never give those looks and have never thought about getting with her because yeah she is a great person but I wouldn’t want a relationship with her.

Is there any thing i can do to make him realise this is just the case because it has come to the point I am getting as bad as him by sending messages back to provock him and annoy him and I dont want to make it sound or look as if ther is something going on because there really isnt and I am finding it extremely annoying!

Dean, Bolton.

Firstly Dean please go back to school and learn how to punctuate, trying to piece together your message has given me a headache, or maybe that was the gin; I knew I should have put tonic in it.

Secondly Dean, whilst you’re at school you could take a visit to the playground and discuss the problem with this other man as it sounds to me this is where you both belong. I do find it deluding of you to think that calling another mans’ Juliet sexy is appropriate, mind you a man who more than likely still wears Super Ted pajamas is clearly socially inept.

I think the best thing you could do to solve the situation is to have a good old-fashioned schoolyard altercation, that’s a punch up, just incase you didn’t know, like the snotty nosed little schoolboy shit you are. You could sell tickets, advertise it as a dual; a melee to win the heart of a fair maiden, I’d certainly buy a ticket just to watch someone knock seven shades of shit out of you.

Love forever,


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