As agony aunt experts and psychological experts and life experts, sometimes we have to delve into the world of physicality. Of which we know nothing about.
Hello Professional Moron! It came to my attention you're experts on agony aunt, but it seems apparent to me you're also likely to be good with the likes of somatic anguish, too. Most recently I was mowing my lawn, a terrible decision with the benefit of hindsight given the soggy weather, and on an incline the contraption reared up and severed its way across my right leg. As I watched my lower extremity profusely spewing blood everywhere I cursed the day, "Fiddlesticks!" Most rotten luck. Anyway, I slid down the incline and hit my garden wall, which has always been a bit dodgy. Wouldn't you know it? The thing collapsed on what was left of my leg! Between my roars of pain I was able to say, "Gosh, darn it!" My lawn mower plunged into the pond and disappeared into the murky depths. Meanwhile, as I lay there catching my breath, a pigeon overhead did a poo on me. Right on my forehead. Darn! Jeffrey, the neighbour's dog, then bounded over my fence (a most common annoyance!). I really need to get that thing higher! He charged me as I proclaimed, "Jeffrey, back off, Rupert has had a minor mishap." The dog seized hold of my flattened and shattered limb and had off with it! "Blast!" I exhorted. As I am in considerable pain ("agony", if you will) over all of this I decided to have a look online to seek assistance. I came across your learned blog and typed this all out on my smartphone. I do trust this finds you in most excellent vigour! Advice would be tremendous. Yours sincerely, Rupert
Hello, Rupert. Apologies for the delay, but we had a good long think over this one for three days. We’re schooling our new office apprentice in this stuff.
Ultimately, we came to the conclusion your message doesn’t represent the core values of Professional Moron’s agony aunt service.
We regret to inform you of this, but we feel more inclined towards assisting those with more immediate physical ailments.
We did spend 10 minutes drawing up a list of potential solutions to the situation you find yourself in. Our suggestions:
- Scream with much exuberance.
- Accept your fate and die with dignity in the dirt.
- Eat some cake (we presume you may not have some nearby, but if you’re hallucinating by this point that’ll suffice).
- Who has a lawn with an incline? Seriously, Rupert, move home after this endeavour for one with straight lines, thusly ensuring your lawn mowing endeavours are worthwhile.
- Dial 911. You indicated you’re in Bolton of Greater Manchester, but given the present NHS crisis it’ll probably be faster for the Americans to send a helicopter over to you.
Once the Americans arrive you’ll be taken over to America, of course, so perhaps have your passport handy.
If you don’t have that, then simply explain to them you’re not a communist and all should be well. Maybe.