Since she hasn't had a legit job in about 15 years, she has plenty of free time to sort out your daily dilemmas.
Dear Dot,
Last night I had a dream. I was being chased in a boat along a river in a rainforest, by a tribal guy riding a manatee.
Whenever I turned around, I could see him in the distance, catching up, and I had to keep paddling all the time to stay away.
Incidentally, on the way along the river I passed a dentist's surgery, a bookshop and a large Rocket Dog shoe with owls on it. Many small gnomes appeared to be living in the shoe, and the scent of frying bacon wafted forth from a hole in the toe.
What does all of this mean?
Well... I'm no fuckin' expert on this, but I'll have a go- just for you, mind?
According to my good friend Dr. Google, being chased in a dream means that you feel that the trivial problems in your life are building up on you, and are inescapable. You feel insecure, and are controlled by feelings that are largely out of your control.
No offence to the experts, but in your case, I think that this interpretation is bullshit.
Listen up to your dear old Grandma Dot. I reckon that the manatee represents the fact that you've forgotten something important, and the memory is trying to catch you up (because the closest living relative of the manatee is in fact... the elephant! True fact. Clever or what?), however the nature of the memory depends on the species of the manatee.
 |
| Ooh, I've got these in blue. Very nice. |
Right, so the guy riding the manatee = you sold a friend/family member's mp3 player to raise enough money to get your face pierced (what you mistook for a tribal bloke was in fact the tattooist/piercing specialist).
The piercing got infected, and somehow the infection spread to your gums and made some teeth rotten, which were pulled out by the dentist. Whilst waiting for your mouth to stop hurting, you stopped by a book shop and hid in the corner, reading a Viz annual without the intention of buying it (the guilt of this act is following you as well).
Finally, the shoe with gnomes indicates that...erm...your feet are infested with parasites so you don't dare buy expensive shoes any more?
Whatever. Owls are nice aren't they?
Dear Dot,
It's a bit awkward to admit this but recently I've found myself becoming sexually aroused by trains.
I know how goddamn weird this is... but I can't help myself! I'm a good-looking young bloke with a steady girlfriend, but the only way that I'm able to have sex with her is by fantasising about steam engines! I ask her to breathe all over my face and imagine that the steam is covering me all over; I ask her to blow a whistle when she climaxes to try and simulate the sounds of a railroad; I bought a bag of coal and we- (chop! That's the first time something's been too explicit for this blog - Ed.) and I'm so worried that she'll leave me. Help?
 |
| Not fucking sexy. |
I don't know. If you don't want to give up trains, maybe you should try a train station. See if there are any female trainspotters who share your...erm...hobby?
Dear Dot,
Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now Grandma Dot- my life seems to be going Nowhere Fast and if I don't get some proper mates soon then I Know It's Over.
Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before, but I'm beginning to Panic. This Charming Man (me) is a Handsome Devil, but What Difference Does It Make? No one likes me anyway...Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loves Me, but alas I know this not to be true. I asked a girl on the street for the time yesterday, and she spat at me after saying "I Don't Owe You Anything", and calling me an 'Unlovable dick'. I Started Something I Couldn't Finish last month, and I need help!
Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want Grandma Dot!
Get the fuck off my blog David Cameron- Johnny Marr didn't want you and neither do I!*
"David Cameron, stop saying that you like The Smiths, no you don't. I forbid you to like it.
Dear Dot,
My wife is cheating on me, and I really can't do with confrontations. Should I just ignore it, or kill her?
You young'uns are all the same. No flair. Now, when I was your age, a man wouldn't have to even ask that question.
When I cheated on my first husband, he caught us in the act on the living room floor.
Stony-faced, he walked into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him...
..."Run George!" screamed Dorothy, gathering the fallen clothes from the floor. "He's going to fetch the carving knife for sure! He'll have your testicles for the dog!"
Shaking violently, George scrambled on his jumper backwards, with no shirt beneath it, then put one leg in his trousers before leaping through the glass window and hurtling down the street.
Tears streaming down her face, Dorothy rose from the rug, shaking shattered glass from her hair.
"Jerry, love? Jerry, please don't hurt me, darling! Jerry?"
Tentatively pushing open the door, Dorothy peered into the dimly-lit kitchen. There sat Jeremy at the table, shaking- with anger? Disgust?
"Jerry.."
Dorothy trailed off as she put her hand on his shoulder, and realised that he was sobbing and attempting to eat a large chocolate cookie.
He turned his tear-stained face towards hers... and then copiously vomited on her ruffled pinafore, before lapsing back into heartbroken wails and unsuccessful cookie eating.
Half an hour passed like this, before Jeremy gained back some semblance of dignity and asked his wife for a glass of warm milk.
Right. So what did we learn from that? You decide.
If you have a problem, write to your dear old Grandma Dot for helpful hints and advice at mailto:the-fez@live.co.uk
Label the subject "Dear Dot". Please note that the opinions expressed by the writer do not represent the views of 'The Fez'.
*If you don't get this reference, then make a greater effort in the future to be aware of musicians' Twitter feeds. Also develop an interet in The Smiths. That is all.
