 Ashamed and
in Love writes:
Dear Sir Charles:
Lately, I have become aware of quite an embarassing problem.
I seem to have fallen in love with my rabbi. He has been a kind
and dear friend of mine for quite some time now and I feel that
this silly schoolgirl crush is extremely silly. I can't control
how I feel so what should I do?
Cordially signed,
Ashamed and in Love with a Rabbi
Sir Charles replies:
Madam:
Despite one's initial reaction of utter revulsion to such
a confession, one is attempting to exercise understanding. After
all, did not young Penelope Windsor-Smythe (who is, if one has
not of late reminded one's readers, eighty-fifth in line for
the throne) pass through such a phase in her youth? It seemed
that for several years horses were all she could think of--the
girl wore her jodphurs to the breakfast table, rode all day and
afternoon, and talked of nothing but her pony at the dinner table.
Although she still rides today, the mania for horses was merely
a phase, of course. But madam, a horse is a practical animal.
It provides both sport and transport. Can one really say the
same for a coney?
Much like the Prince of Wales, the common hare does little
but nibble at carrots, wiggle its enormous ears, and breed. Ah,
he may have been a true friend, and a loyal pet. But can the
correspondent honestly fall in love with a creature of such a
short lifespan, which might quite honestly be put to better use
in a spring stew, or as a velvety fur muff?
One advises the correspondent to reflect upon these words
of wisdom given her by
Sir Charles Grandiose
Lee writes:
Dear Sir Charles,
Forgive me for being frank, sir: You're bonkers!
Sincerely,
Lee
Sir Charles replies:
Unwashed Heathen:
One is somewhat like an elastic substance (whether man-made
or naturally-occuring is of no import) that, when it meets an
opposing force, absorbs it and, in some cases, even bounces it
away. The correspondent, on the other hand, may be compared to
a viscous mucilage of dubious origin. Whatever observations the
correspondent might fling towards oneself, in the overrated name
of 'frankness,' rebound from oneself and adhere to the correspondent.
Having adequately expressed one's sentiments in the patois
of the simple folk, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose
Jittery writes:
Dear Lady Felicia,
Please help me with a delicate situation. I have become betrothed
to a man (after a lengthy engagement, as only befits a Lady of
Quality) but am now wondering, as the Wedding Date approaches,
if I have not, perhaps, entered into an arrangement where I will
be marrying beneath myself.
Tell me please, dear Lady; is this merely normal premarital
jitters, or are my concerns perhaps valid?
Jittery in Jersey
The Lady Felicia replies:
My dear girl,
Of course you are marrying beneath yourself. All women do.
Serenely, one remains
Lady Felicia Grandiose
Pierre DePew writes:
Mon Amie,
As you know I pride myself in representing only the highest
quality erotic art. But, pour moi, any degree of success
can only be measured by one thing, "satisfaction du
client". I owe a tremendous sense of gratitude to you
for letting a select few of your intimate friends know of my
service. Your suggestion of "giving that garlicky little
Frenchman a ring", has resulted in a beaucoup sales
and satisfied customers, ma raison d'etre.
So, it is with the heaviest of hearts I now must write to
you and tell of my failure. I have not been able to obtain a
first edition copy of Maid For Pain as you requested.
I regret to inform you that the limited edition was a sell-out.
You may reserve an autographed copy of Maid For Pain II,
the second volume in the trilogy. I am acquainted with the author
and he tells me it should be done by Friday. S'il vous plait,
respond tout de suite, as you know one must act quickly
when dealing with these exclusive limited works of art.
As always, I remain humble servant,
Pierre (Pepi) DePew
Sir Charles replies:
Bun jeer, you odious petit poofster,
Je do not comprende non but le
Queen's English, which ought to be bon enough for toot
le frogs en France to comprendez, given
that you'd sell your cordon bleu little souls for a
British pound note.
En le future, un requests that vous
write un avec la plume de ma tante only in a language
that un can comprehend.
Disgustedly, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose
Postscript: Le autographe had best be authentique.
Danny writes:
Dear Sir Charles,
My problem is I am trying to get this girl to like me what
is your best (as always) advice?
Danny in Duluth
Sir Charles replies:
Sirrah,
Normally one would suggest those things that a Lady would
cherish. A bouquet of posies, plucked at dawn, and proferred
with a shy smile and a gentle compliment at the annual Midsummer's
Morning Melon Madness Champagne Breakfast. A pressing of the
hand, beneath the moon, in the grape arbor. Why, even letting
the young lady win at croquet!
However, considering the obvious social class (or lack thereof)
of the correspondent, one instead suggests rubbing a meat pie
over your body and catching the poor huzzy between meals.
Dismissively, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose
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