Queries and Qualms of the Great Unwashed # 2

Another month is upon us, and with it comes another quintet of queries and qualms from devastatingly downtrodden and disaffected dudes and dudettes. It would be nice if alliteration could solve all our problems. In the meantime, we’ll have to rely on the three-time Grammy award-winning solutions of the Mobar Gazette staffers. Achtung.





Dear You Guys,

There is a woman in my office who is always laughing. Okay, so she may not always be laughing, but when she’s not laughing, she has this stupid half grin on her face. All the time. Smiling like a moron. There’s nothing to smile about in our office, let alone laugh. Every time I see her, I feel compelled to punch her in the face. Is this normal? Am I the crazy one here?

Yours in frustration,

Gordon Ficklewaite, Gloucester


Dear Gordon,

I bet you’ve expressed these thoughts out loud before, and you’ve probably been shot down, haven’t you? Written off by one or more colleagues as an emotionally crippled loner with a tendency towards violent misogyny. Well, their laissez-faire brand of psychological profiling at the water cooler may be right on the money, but so are you. A woman knows.

This stupid cow may look happy, but in actual fact she is almost certainly plagued by a deep inner torment, strong feelings of isolation, depression and occasional suicidal thoughts. She hides this at work by smiling like a dog with a chop bone caught in its mouth. I imagine that she shares her home with no-one, apart from her enormous grief and the hard liquor that she binges on to block out the pain.

Repress your hatred for her. One day, she shall fail to show at work. You can revel in the hollow victory that her death or lengthy hospitalisation will afford you. Or you can swallow your pride and prescription painkillers and ask this broken woman if she would like to come over to yours tonight and share a bottle of gin and stories of intense self-loathing and misery.

Warm and kind regards,

Annette Curtain


G’day Cobbers,

My bloody government is giving me 900 dollarydoos as a flamin’ incentive to inject into the bloody economy to stop it from bloody collapsing. Whaddya reckon I should spend it on?

Hooroo,

Keith Boon, Leeton


Dear Keith,

We had a staff meeting the other day, during which I proposed that any future articles should carry no references whatsoever to fiscal policy or editorial opinion on the various recessions/depressions currently engulfing the world. More than ample space has already been devoted to this topic, and further unqualified analysis and comment shall henceforth be avoided unless absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, you were not at that staff meeting.

I take it from your uneducated lilt that you are of Australian descent. I have no interest in your reprehensible acquisitiveness stemming from yet another ill-conceived government initiative. It is thoroughly unlikely that an eighth generation convict such as yourself even possesses the basic literacy necessary to comprehend any of the preceding sentences.

In conclusion, spend it on beer, “barbies”, “sheilas” and thongs, you flaming drongo.

Yours in unashamed cultural elitism,

Logan Bluetooth



Dear Lady & Gentleman,

In your opinion, what is the greatest song ever written by a human?

Kind regards,

Klaus Farfenglüffen, Düsseldorf




Gutentag Klaus,

Compliment du jour to you, and many thanks for specifying “by a human”. The greatest song ever written by a non-human was of course Rock Lobster, which was effortlessly penned by The B-52’s faithful wah-wah pedal, Waylon.

We’re not talking iconic effects pedals though, are we, darling? We’re talking hairy, cancer-prone, steak munching, talk show hosting, car crashing, mortgage paying humanoids, with the hugging and the kissing and the double clicking and the text messaging and the inappropriate touching.

My answer is Straight Outta Compton by NWA. I prefer Sinéad O’Connor’s cover of it though.

Yours fabulously,

Peter File



Hullo there,

I’ve a bunion on my right foot, it’s a big bastard like. I had tae cut a hole in my shoe tae make room for it. It hurts tae buggery, I cannae get rid of it. I dinnae ken what tae do!

Yours truly,

Angus McDaid, Midlothian


Angus,

Marone. Sounds to me like this guy is causing you some problems, am I right? I ain’t saying this is really my, how they say, field of expert ease, but I think I might be able to help you out. I come across problems like this in my line of work, and I do what I gotta do, I take care of them.

Now, me and couple of the boys, we could pay this bunyip character a visit, see if we can’t work something out. I ain’t saying we’re gonna get rough or nothin’, but sometimes you gotta understand that some people, they don’t respond so well to, let’s say, conventional negotiations and such.

Anyway pal, give me a call and let me know what sort of budget we’re talkin’ here.

Regards,

Eddie Two Names



Sirs,

I am a partner in the law firm that occupies the offices directly beneath you. We are finding it increasingly difficult to attend to our professional duties due to the excessive noise, vibrations, and peculiar odours being emitted from your premises.

There is also a rather concupiscent gentleman of pallid complexion that loiters outside our offices and often pesters our junior staff. I believe he is in some way engaged by your company.

Kindly see to it that the points raised in this missive are addressed in a satisfactory manner.

Sincerely,

J. David Urqheart
Senior Partner
Urqheart, Urqheart & Hennessy


Dear Lowly Reptile,

It gave me great pleasure to think of you as being physically (and metaphorically) beneath myself and my enormous staff. It gave me almost as much pleasure to begin a letter with such a lurid and demeaning double entendre.

I was most dismayed to discover that our various emissions are offending the delicate senses of those that occupy the offices of Ambulance Chaser, Ambulance Chaser & Bottom Feeder. That is of course if dismayed is a synonym for overjoyed.

The Mobar Gazette is a living, breathing organism; its staff and their varied habits are the various muscles, vital organs and sticky bodily fluids contained within. Thus, they may occasionally emit odours and noises that run the risk of upsetting the more precious amongst us. We make no apologies for our existence.

As for the “concupiscent gentleman of pallid complexion”, I assume you are referring to our entertainment editor, Peter File, or as the gals in the typing pool refer to him – Letch Luthor. Mr File’s job requires him to be across all areas in order to sniff out a good story, whether it is on the red carpet at an awards ceremony, or in this case, in the seat fabric of your office juniors.

I trust this has satisfied all your frivolous queries, however if it has not, please do not hesitate to produce a guttural scream of frustration for the pure enjoyment of those located in the plush offices directly above you.

Yours in utter contempt for you and your profession,

Logan Bluetooth