One-legged liberal in Louisiana

Dear Auntie Belle,

Last week, I got really really drunk on whiskey and beer and brought out the old hunting rifle. After shooting holes in my walls and blasting my TV set, I ended up shooting myself in the leg and now I have to have surgery.

Why does the N.R.A. refuse to take full responsibility for my actions?

One-legged liberal in Louisiana

Dear One-legged,

I contacted the NRA on your behalf, and they sent the following reply:

Dear Auntie Belle,

We offer our condolences on Mr. One-legged's most recent accident. We ask him to take comfort in the knowledge he is running out of legs to shoot. For compensation, we are also enclosing a life-time job offer for him to gather all unbroken clay pigeons from our vast shooting range. Also, find a free lifetime membership, including rifles and ammunition, at the range for his father-in-law, Gimpy-legged. We believe the matter will draw a natural conclusion in a very short time.

Thank you,
The NRA

I'm so happy the NRA is helping you whilst making the world a safer place.

Auntie Belle

Don Know What To Do

Dear Auntie Belle,

I was chatting up a hottie on Facebook when my GF friended me and I had to block the hottie. In response, she sent me this letter. Does it mean I still have a chance?

           Don Know What To Do

Enclosed letter from Hottie:

Oh Don,
At first, I was discouraging your interest in me, but you wanted to chat anyway, and the volcano started to puff a little smoke… You are so handsome and charming, so pleasant, so smart and talented. I can only imagine what being with you is like.

We found a lot of common interests in our brief conversations; the ground rumbled, and a bit of lava escaped. You found my 'on' switch, Don - a device which was put out of commission almost 13 long years ago. Low and behold, the battery still worked, and my mind went to…squirrels water-skiing, babies skateboarding, beluga whales keeping perfect time with Mariachi bands…and the hundreds of thousands of articles I've read over my years of solitude and celibacy. The ground rumbled harder, the volcano belched cinders, and the villagers ran screaming for their lives.
Ironically, I lost my innocence over those years, learned things on the net about which you can only imagine. I even learned there were...secret ways a man loves being pleased. 'Well, I'll be darned,' I thought. I had no idea. When I started entertaining thoughts of…being with a man again, of being with you, I wondered if I could...try that with you? All I had to do was shop for the range of sizes - you know - small, medium, large and Oh, Mama! More lava. Thatched roof just went up in flames. My heart is racing just thinking about it, and seeing the look of ecstasy on your face. Oh, Don! It's just been so long. I already asked my sis-in-law to babysit for a few days, so we'll be alone. My bed's a king, so we have plenty of playground. Do you like a little bondage, too? My toys are a bit rusty, but with some antibiotics, for you, I'm game for anything. It's like I've been withering in the cold, stark cell of a nunnery.

Your big, manly arms look like I would make such a nice fit inside them. I imagine your lips teasing mine, caressing my neck... Dear God, in Heaven - why are we designed this way? That volcano is about to obliterate the island, and you aren't even here to enjoy it. 

Wait! Why would you block me? I just wanted to look at you and imagine…? Oh, Don! WHY? 

Did you actually think I would not respect your wishes? What sort of women have you dated, anyway? Some Kathy/Sharon/Judy/that waitress in that one café/Marilyn/Janet/Evelyn/etc., etc., etc? The volcano just went dormant, the villagers are saved, the island restored to normal.

Oh, don't be too disappointed; I'm not as easy as I've led you to believe. Sometimes my sense of humor is outrageous.  I really do think you are a nice man, but I recognize that you are a player. This may have been the most ridiculous rejection letter you've ever gotten, but it's unlikely the first. (Nor will it be the last, at the rate you're traveling.)

I wish you well, Don, but don't bother unblocking me. I don't think it's wise for us to even be friends; it could lead to all that…volcanic stuff, and we have to think of those poor villagers.

PS: Nice Valentine pic of you & Cindy. How DO you keep your pants from bursting into flame?  (I won't tell her a thing, so if you're tempted to keep this letter for the excitement value? I'd advise you to just delete before she finds it.) I should have included clichéd words like 'throbbing' or 'warm, wet, silky sheath' but I was laughing too hard while trying to write all that pornography. The first draft was way hotter, but I remembered I still have some class.

Ciao, - Your Hottie -

 

Dear Don,

A lever and a fulcrum can move mountains, but there's not a crow bar in existence that's gonna pry that…volcano open again. The virgin is a crisp. The volcano has turned into Mount Never-Gonna-Be. Oh, I am being too cryptic for you?

Don, so my advice is for you to call Hottie. Yes, Don; call her. Let me know what she says - I care.

Auntie Belle

Crying Girl

Dear Auntie Belle,

I cot my boyfriend masticating to miley cyrus on that recking ball. IDK wat to do butt hes mad at me now to. I really need help PLEEEEEZE bcuz i want to mary him an now he's not sure he wants to mary me. 

 Crying Girl

Dear Crying, 

Never heard of Miley Cyrus, so I emailed my great-great-nephew Rufus for an opinion, and he wrote back:  "If I cud, I'd chewed thet tew." (Whatever the hell that means.) 

Auntie Belle

Sins of Amish'n

Dear Auntie Belle, 

I was severely insulted by an Amish farmhand while on a recent vacation in Ohio. His hurtful words were so distressing, in fact, that I found myself floundering---unable to think of an appropriate riposte.

I have since thought-up a real zinger---one I'm sure would devastate that corn-shucking bastard, but since he's five-hundred miles away and I'll probably never see him again the victory seems hollow.

My predicament:

As luck would have it there is also small Amish community in my home town, and I see their buggies pass my house several times a day. They never used to bother me, but now I sense them laughing and pointing at me. I suspect they may have caught-wind of my humiliation at the hands of one of their own...

Is there some kind of an Amish "grapevine?" Do the Amish use telephones? Could I possibly use my zinger on them? Would it filter back to the guy in Ohio? Should I kill one of their chickens?

Please----any advice will be appreciated.

Sins of Amish'n

Dear Sins,

You say they are driving past your house… It's already too late. Don't contact me again, regarding this matter; I'm afraid the horse is…out of the barn…and its hooves are muffled.

PS to Sins:

Jimmy Hoffa once swore at an Amish man; Amelia Earhart once flew too low over an Amish farm & frightened several horses and 14 children. Agatha Christie personally explained to me all about that time she disappeared. Although I can not divulge the details, it involved a chicken owned by the Abraham Miller Family. I'd advise you to make no farther mention of the Amish, although I fear the contract has already been nailed to the inside wall of numerous barns.

Auntie Belle

Indisposed in Indiana

Dear Auntie Belle,
I was watching Pope Francis wash a man's feet on TV a few months ago and was suddenly beset by impure thoughts. Also, I caught myself wishing the Pope's robe would ride a little higher so I could catch a glimpse of his shiny red bloomers. I got so excited by this thought that I immediately needed to take a cold shower!

Fortunately, I have a Pope on a Rope, and as I curled on the bathtub-floor weeping, getting pelted with an icy torrent, I whispered, and confessed all of my most naughty, delicious secrets to my soapy little Popey.

Question: How do I convince the Pope to come to Muncie and give me a pedicure? And do you think he'd let me shoot some footage of him using a Thigh Master™?

Indisposed in Indiana

Dear Indisposed,

I took the liberty of forwarding your letter to my contacts at the Vatican. I'm pleased to inform you the Pope will be making an appearance in Muncie sometime in the Spring. He has agreed, furthermore, to a having private three-minute session with you on condition you do not mention Thigh Master™ nor clap your legs together as though you are using one. He did not mention the pedicure nor the photo shoot of his briefs, so my guess is there's not a chance. You can't exactly ask the Pope to 'drop trou', without some form of awkwardness...

Auntie Belle

Crazy Mother

Dear Auntie Belle,
My children are driving me mad. The are slaughtering rats in the kitchen, feeding bats in the belfry and putting cats in all the windowsills.

I think they have been possessed by a contingent of former lyricist-demons. Can I hire them out to Broadway or turn them into a family band like the Partridge or the Richie Families?

Crazy Mother

Dear Crazy Mother,

I sense you are holding back on your feelings. Let them out. For fame and fortune, your children could post their lyrics in Yahoo Answers. Shoo the rats, bat the bats, scat the cats, pat the brats.

Auntie Belle

No Sound Sleeper in Iowa

Dear Auntie Belle,
I grew up in the city and now I live in Iowa and the silence is killing me. The crickets are maddening and the sound of the corn in the wind is like forty old broads in crinoline running down a too narrow aisle in a department store.

My boyfriend doesn't even snore!!!

What can I do? I tried playing loud Wagner symphonies all night but the neighbors complained - from four miles away. Cymbals? A barking dog. Something please!

No Sound Sleeper in Iowa

Dear No Sound,

You aren't in Iowa; you're in Arizona. You're not on a farm you're in a cell. How are you getting these letters past the jailor, Jodi?

Auntie Belle 

Note to self: Contact Sheriff Joe; Arias is trying to set up an insanity plea.

Pantsless in Barrow, Alaska

Dear Auntie Belle,
I was thinking of linking your blog to my Facebook page because I think my friends on FB could really benefit from your great advice. Most of them are insane and go out into public without pants on so maybe you could take it easy on them when they ask things like "If I dipped my wiener in red ink, could I use it for a Bingo dobber?" or "I just watched 27 episodes of Saved By The Bell while naked and now my dirty parts are throbbing. Could I be pregnant?"I know your unmitigated thirst for knowledge and overall compassion for the human race will guide you when giving them the advice they so desperately need.

Pantsless in Barrow, Alaska

Dear Pantsless, 

By all means you may post my blog on your Facebook; it sounds as though some of your friends could benefit from my advice. Please also inform them I would be happy to speak to their group, so I wouldn't have to imagine my audience was naked. My fee includes a per diem and the best suite in the best hotel and more than the usual amenities. Thank you for your interest.

Auntie Belle

Striking Blonde

Dear Auntie Belle, My bowling partners drink too much beer, belch and scratch their stomachs and end up fighting over how to score multiple strikes. It’s even worse when the husbands come along. How do I find a higher class of girlfriends who like beer, bowling and Nascar? Striking Blonde Dear Striking, The problem is not your girlfriends; it is that you are one beer behind. Of course somebody has to drive the pickup truck with the monster wheels, the Confederate flag and the gun rack in the back window. Auntie Belle

Worried Spouse

Dear Auntie Belle,
My husband has changed; he was always a couch potato but now he's joined a gym, lost 20 pounds and is growing a mullet. Now instead of watching television & eating chips & dip & ice cream every night with me, he takes long walks and is gone for hours. Do you think I should make a doctor's appointment for him? 
Worried Spouse

Dear Worried,
You must be suffering a carbohydrate overload which often renders people…stupid. I think you need to hire a barber, a private detective and a lawyer - in that order. And lay off the snacks if you ever want to date again. And you will. Soon.
Auntie Belle

Too Feet Tall

Dear Auntie Belle,

My feet are killing me! They are too long for the bed, smell like the devil and the closet is running out of space for dead girlfriends.

Do they hang feet for murder?

 Too Feet Tall

Dear Two Feet,

I am hoping you meant  that your legs are too long; if it's your feet that are too long, I'd advise you to never go near a wooded area whilst dressed in a big, furry suit. Put a bit of baking soda in your bath water to neutralize your foot odor and invest in a package of charcoal socks. As to the dead girlfriends, I had a similar problem with old husbands. There was nought to be done but dig some holes and bury them. I rewarded myself with a lovely concrete patio after I…you know. And they say you can't keep a good man down…. Of course, you can.

Auntie Belle

PS: Do they hang feet for murder? Not if they're careful and have watched several episodes of CSI. Observe the world, Too Feet; learn from the mistakes of others.

Mr. Wriggly's Believe It Or Not

Dear Auntie Belle,
I don't know if you've ever encountered a problem quite like mine, but I saw the way you helped that guy who set his anus on fire and well, I was so impressed I just HAD to take my chances. Let me start somewhere near the beginning...
My wife's abdomen does tricks. These tricks may seem like slight-of-hand (gut) but I assure you they are all too real. She can roll it like the ocean, inflate it rapidly to five times its normal size and can, when the need arises, hide a six-pack of Michelob in her navel. As if that's not enough, she tattooed some hula girls on it so she could make them dance toFoghat's "Slow Ride." As one might imagine, she makes good money working in the freak show at all the surrounding county fairs.

Now, all of that is fine---she's never been one to stay at home cooking anyway, but recently she hired an Amish manager who follows her everywhere pulling a little red wagon piled-high with what appears to be a wide variety of old, smelly tennis shoes. He's got her performing a new act: she gets in a hot-tub and, in a mere ten minutes, inflates her gut to create what appears to be---to the
delight of the audience---a giant frosted muffin.  But you don't want to be around when the show's over, if you catch my drift.
Listen, I can make my own sandwiches, but I'm afraid she's spending too much time with this new manager. The other day I caught her hiding three bottles of strawberry wine and a pair of plain, brown suspenders in her belly-button.  I'm also finding stray horse-hairs in our bed.
Am I crazy or is she wiggling more than just her abdomen?
How can I save my marriage from the Amish?
Mr. Wriggly's Believe It Or Not

Dear Mr. Wriggly,

Once the Amish get involved, it is a lost cause. I advise you to move as quickly and as far away as you can. Your wife's belly talents are not all that unusual; it is caused by a slight deformity of the 13th chromosome, but I'm waxing scientific. If that's what attracted you to her, you can find other women with the same condition on any Craig's List ad in the state of Missouri. For your edification, you should see another post herein called Sins of the Amish'n'. I can not urge you enough to run, Mr. Wriggley, run.
Auntie Belle

The Dutch Mafia

Ms. Belle,

We of the Dutcha Nostra are concerned that you have repeatedly cast our membership in a bad light in your column. You may ask how we know this without using any electronics or the internet? Well our young men, who spend a year among the English and their foul ways, keep us abreast of how the Brethren are portrayed in the media and on the Whorled Wild Way or whatever you call it these days.

You cannot defame the character of people who cannot read or respond to your blog with impunity. So I have had this message sent by carrier pigeon to a local English high school where it will be transcribed and sent on to you. Do not mock the Amish. We have hit chickens residing in 14 states. They are hungry and anxious to do our bidding. Leave the Pennsylvania and other state affiliated Dutch ALONE!

Yours Sincerely,

The Dutch Mafia

Dear The Dutch,

Your youth on Rumspringa may believe themselves worldly compared to the simple lives they've previously led. They may also indulge in some forms of technology such as computers. That they are trained in the secret Amish Militia almost from birth was something not previously known to the world. Thanks to your threat, I have loosed that secret from my lips. It can never be unsaid nor erased. You are outed!

You think I am not privy to all your other dirty secrets? I know it to be fact that you dress English and pretend to be members of the cast of 'Duck Dynasty' whilst perusing 'appliances' - electric ones. Your excuse is to surreptitiously watch the televisions on display and give a report each Sunday as to which dance mom became most violent and if Chloe finally whipped Maddie's butt at the recital! The public thinks the worst you do is run puppy mills, but that's to defray attention from your real motivation - over-taking the world of fashion.

Consider yourselves on notice; Auntie Belle never backed off a fight in her life, and I am thoroughly prepared to take on the entirety of Lancaster, PA. Bring it!

Auntie Belle

Indelible Dilemma

Dear Auntie Belle,
I started dating a girl with multiple tattoos. That's not a big deal---I myself have a light blue Snuggles, the fabric-softener bear, just below my superfluous nipple. But this girl (let's call her Doris) has one tattoo which I'm finding to be particularly distracting. For starters, it's rather large and colorful, and unfortunately located in an area difficult to ignore during our preferred way of lovemaking. Furthermore, no matter how ornately embellished, it clearly began life as a swastika---a fact I didn't discover as soon as I should have, I'll grant you.

Now, seeing as how both of my parents -- both Gypsies -- barely survived the horrors of Bergen-Belsen, I find I am in need of sound advice from someone who can relate to the various issues mentioned. Should I break-up with her? Should I be offended that she wants to put a tiny Hitler mustache on Snuggles?

If we DO break-up, who will I blow up abortion clinics with? Auntie, please help!
Signed,

Indelible Dilemma

Dear Indelible Dilemma,
In the entire history of successful romances, opposites have always attracted. Jeffery Dahmer would have wed a vegetarian breeder of hairless cats had he simply allowed his fantasies to remain in his head. Eva Braun was nearly a saint, according to those who knew her. Penn and Teller, Ronald and Nancy Reagan are other examples. Go ahead and indulge your sweetheart, overlook her penchant for all things Hitler. And your parents obviously survived, so I see no reason for you or them to be so sensitive about the broken cross of the Third Reich. Lighten up. I think you deserve each other, anyway.

Auntie Belle

Baby E. T.

Dear Auntie Belle,

I am eight years old and I think my parents are aliens from another planet. The other night I had a bad dream and I went to their room and they were in some sort of pose together, that looked like they were maybe trying to be an antenna and hoping to signal a far-away star. I will leave it to your imagination how wild and odd looking their arms and legs were posed to create such a device out of two bodies, because I am only eight and I don't have the words.

In the morning, dad looked exhausted and mom seemed full of energy and -- I don't know, happy? I've never seen them like this before, and I was wondering if this meant the invasion is on the way. I have never seen mom's relatives as she is what they call undocumented.

Is it dangerous having an illegal alien for a parent? Or maybe two? Will I get whisked away by a space craft? Or the INS???

Baby E. T.

Dear Baby E.T.,

Your parents aren't aliens, they are filthy, immoral beasts whom God shall slay with his mighty Sword of Justice when they least expect it. Maybe He will do that for your birthday, and you can find a better set of parents! I'll even pray for that! Meanwhile, there is no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny nor is there a Tooth Fairy! LIES! There IS a God, and He is watching everything you do. And, of course, I am real. Believe in God and in Auntie Belle - we both care about you. But don't make any mistakes, because that could change.

Auntie Belle

Lodging a Complaint

Dear Auntie Belle,

I agreed (reluctantly) to join a group of "poets" (whom I met online)at a picturesque lodge/retreat in Ohio for five fun-filled days of food and conversation. Everything was going quite well until one of the bastards pulled me aside and asked, "Hey buddy, you wanna see where the camel bit me?" I'm afraid I may have reacted badly as he began to drop his pants.

Was I correct to punch him in the throat? He was about to show me his wiener, right?

Signed,

Lodging a Complaint

Dear Lodging,

Right. He was. You missed a great opportunity though; you could have been his fluffer for the 'fun-filled' event. You won't convince anyone that your 'retreat' wasn't an orgy. There was a hot tub, I'd guess - and karaoke? An orgy with internet strangers requires both. I'd guess what there was NOT was poetry reading or writing or innocent games such as Scrabble! And don't you dare say you had a marshmallow roast or made smores! LIAR!

Auntie Belle

A. P. Email

Dear Ms. B. M.,

I am a content executive for the Associated Press Wire Service and we have been monitoring your column for any public interest content that we can troll, I mean share in our newsfeed. 

Unfortunately, the subject matter, style and information shared cannot be put out under the AP name due to certain FCC regulations and such.

So we would appreciate it if you would:
A) Refrain from any negative references to the Amish.
B) Desist from congratulating readers for escaping concentration camps
C) No longer advise readers to roam around the city halls naked with their second wives strapped to their backs (I assume you saw our news report on this from Nephi, Utah the other day.)
D) Do not publish letters from the NRA or any other right wing organizations without our first vetting them for appropriate meanness,
E) Refrain from taking remunerations from naked Facebook users without express permission of the wire services.

If you want to be famous and successful, you really must tone it down quite a bit. And please, leave alone the Amish

Fred Pseudonym
AP Brethren- er, I mean Editor, (whatever that means) 

Dear Fred,
I can smell Amish or their sympathizers a mile away. You have infiltrated the government, the media, Aldi's and Walmart. Just the other day, Amish led police on a slow-speed chase to a barn-raising. Know what they found inside that barn?

The Amish are Anarchists and are planning the destruction of anything colorful in this world. I have enough ammo, food, water and medical supplies to outlast the holocaust you will be visiting upon this nation. I didn't shoot those clay pigeons, win all those contests for fun. Now go deflower a goat, and leave me alone.

Auntie Belle

Addendum to A. P. Email

Dear Fred,

In my youth, I saw a pair of burgundy leather pumps in the shoe store window. I was helping to dig the Ohio-Eerie Canal at the time and noticed the physical labor had caused me to develop the most unseemly man-muscles. I wanted those pumps so I could feel like a girl again, so I could hold my head high, so I could gain the attention of Leonard Magill. He was my first love, you see? 

Once a year, the community held a dance in the township hall, so I saved my every penny I could spare, took in laundry and accepted that on-going offer from Bicycle Pete to…inflate his tire. Finally, I had enough; I hurried into the shoe store, bought those pumps knowing they were meant for me. The dance was only two days away, so I spent that time practicing in front of the mirror, imagining Leonard's hand about my tiny waist as we danced to a romantic tune.

I was bathed, perfumed, coiffed to perfection and wearing my beautiful new pumps as I walked to the town hall that night. I vaguely remember an Amish buggy passing just before I crossed the street, and then I opened the door and walked proudly inside. Though I lacked some inner confidence, I strode across that room to the punch table, put a cup to my lips and turned to face the crowd. 'Why,' I thought, 'Mother was right; act with confidence and everyone notices.' Then I heard them - those wall flowers, Lilly Lou,  Mae-bob, cross-eyed Hazel, fat Fiona and several others. They were looking at me and laughing.

That's when Caroline - my biggest rival for Leonard - approached me, said with a smirk, 'Nice pumps, Belle!' and laughed. I looked down to discover I had impaled a road apple with the heel of my beautiful leather pump. Leonard never asked me to dance, even though I cleaned off the offensive mess. He married Caroline and left me bereft and broken-hearted. I have hated the Amish ever since and have made it my life's passion to put them all into a maximum security prison. WITH electricity. 

Now,  Fred, if you think you or your minions will intimidate me, cause me to change my writing style, you may as well forget it. I am Auntie Belle - and there is no one like me. 

Auntie Belle

Notice to Readers/Inter-Office Memo/Secretary Wanted???

Dear Hap, 
Please post the following message to the readers as I am Auntie Belle's new secretary. We are old neighbors so it is easy for me to do the job.

To The Readers (February 28th, 2014)
Auntie Belle is going out for Mexican - she always wanted to try one, therefore she won't be available until Jose is satiated. She is rendezvousing around 11am until 1:30pm Eastern Standard Time or thereabouts. Please inform anyone who needs her advice, she will answer their questions and solve their problems as soon as she returns.
Thank you,

 BG

PS (Just to Hiram): Hap, she's meaner'n a snake! Don't tell her I said that - there's a funny smell coming from her garage…and why would a modern woman such as she have Amish buggies covered in blue tarp all over her property. This is a mystery I must solve before…I quit this j.. Uh, oh…

Secretary Wanted

Dear Happy Hiram

Please put a notice in today's column: Wanted: Secretary for Auntie Belle. Must be able to type and mind his or her own business. Must also sign a contract wherein nothing seen or heard whilst at this job can be divulged until 10 years after my demise.

Auntie Belle

Skankassed Wife

Dear Auntie Belle

I'm certain my skankassed wife is cheatin but I can't prove it. I need her to admit to it so I can get custody of the bitchin three gallon fondue pot her cousin gave us as a wedding gift. Now I just can't come out and ask her cuz she'll just scream " GO TAKE A BATH, YOU SMELL". I've studied some on havin her hypnotized but until I get better at forging moms disability checks that's gonna be cost prohibited. I am truly at a loss here Auntie, I desperately needs your help. Shit, Auntie, the whole damn world needs your help here, just think if Mary had admitted too two timing Joseph none of us would have to blow six to seven dollars every Christmas on scratch off lottery tickets. Do me and the whole christian world a favor by telling me how to trick that cheatin bitch into admitting she's been tuggin someone else's jimmy.

Skankassed Wife

Dear Skankassed Wife,

It's your father who's tapping that, so if you care anything about him and the jimmy that may (or may not) have produced you, do not use explosives. I have a contingency of the lowest-bred skankiest-assed lawyers in the history of the Bar who, if you provide a photograph of your skankassed wife, will take her on…uh, in the legal sense and procure you a divorce. Not only will you gain custody of the fondue pot but also the Blue Tick hound chained to a box in your yard. However, if you are called 'Sugar Bear,' have a …companion named June, a household full of gaseous, ungraceful, ill-mannered teens and a chubby child you call 'Honey Boo Boo' (for some ungodly reason), then use the explosives. Even my lawyers have standards.

Auntie Belle

Two Hours Sober

Dear Auntie Belle
Every time I drink lately I find blood in my stool. I'm 95% certain it's not my blood, 50% certain it's my stool but I'm 1000% certain it's in my pants. Thanks for any insight you may have.
Sincerely,

Two Hours Sober

Dear Two Hours Sober,

I suggest you get to a proctologist ASAP and allow him to insert a camera into your colon and film your innards. A few men have walked away from such examinations with an unexplained feeling of euphoria. I see you are from a northern sate, therefore it couldn't possibly be too much cinnamon flavoring in the Shine. In the South, this is so common it's the first thing that came to mind. If a heavy hand flavored the shine, it numbs the anus, so you can drop a load without any awareness at all.That's why it is sometimes called gay anus-aftershave, but it can't be that for you, right? The cinnamon tends also to numb the entire body and the sense of smell, not to mention partly dissolving the colon wall. Congratulations on your new record, by the way. Perhaps you could shoot for an entire three hours sober tomorrow. Good luck.

Auntie Belle

Sins of Amish'n (Again)

Dear Auntie Belle,
My therapist says I shouldn't read your column. Also, he has increased my medication. He assures me that the Amish are NOT out to get me, and probably don't even know I exist. Furthermore, he claims you are an "intolerant old bag filled with hate and Greek yogurt who wouldn't know a churn from a Chinaman." He says reading your advice has set me back three years---and I've only been seeing him for two months!

I'd like to know what you have to say about this, but since I've been advised to avoid further contact with you I'll guess I'll never know...

Sins of Amish'n

Dear Sins,
Now you've offended the Greeks. What next? The Hutterites? The Poles? The Boy Scouts of America? Your therapist is a quack, an idolator and a Philistine! I will await the inevitable. I can hear it now: 'Unleash the lawyers!' Nancy Grace will be savoring every one of your dark secrets as she accuses your closest friends, neighbors, family members and the clerk at the local IGA of your murder. As for me, I will sip my cocoa and smile a knowing smile.

By the way, your therapist inadvertently insulted the Amish by intimating they aren't all that…smart. His career will come to an abrupt end. All they'll find are…a few road apples.

Auntie Belle

Mr. Toilet's Biggest Fan

Dear Auntie Belle,

I am the World's Biggest Dynamo Toilet fan. You know Dynamo Toilet from the OWWWCh - The Omega World Wrestling Channel - the only place where REAL wrestlers perform! But Dynamo has been having marital troubles. His wife is wrestler Beefy Brenda, and she has been kicking his ass in the ring lately. I think if maybe he was satisfying her in the bedroom he could get back to rolling around on stage with big burly opponents instead of getting his ass kicked by a dumb blonde.

Can you offer Dynamo Toilet any advice how to get it back in the sack?

Mr. Toilet's Biggest Fan

Dear…Mr. Toilet Fan,

Sounds as though Beefy Brenda has given Mr. Toilet the brush off, and the marriage is about to be flushed. Don't be surprised if Beefy Brenda and Portly Paula become an item; they wrestled way too slowly last time they were in the ring together.

Auntie Belle

Had It

Dear Auntie Belle,

My husband came home drunk and violent last night. When he took a swing at me, it threw him off-balance & he fell down the cellar stairs. I closed and locked the door. Now he's pounding on the door and threatening to beat my ass. What should I do?

Had it in Toledo

Dear Had It,

Lose the key.

Auntie Belle

G. Ovum

Dear Auntie Belle,
I am a proud Greek. Both of my parents are worthy and educated. I spend virtually every waking-minute writing poetry in my mother's basement. I only stop when mama brings me down a plate of hot, buttered croissants. (a family recipe dating back to at least 1942.)

Needless to say, I fart a lot. It gets rather smelly down here. I'm afraid the stink may have permeated my poetry...

Turbated Night

A route U live too close two farts

Contained therein tangerine dream's reunion

Momentous rages impugns air's ponds

Loads of stool, weathering so, thank you Don

(Hookahs be a pine for me and doh-see-doh.)

Without compassion, obviating inside every stranger

Empires of an ideologue, more and more bright stars

Two plots adrift abundantly a squamous satyr burns

Horizontal mists, a bun, tight over the door transits

(A formal ides of night-turbated sails.)

Winds escape, adjoining your breath's still

Flagging ptomaine persecutes you, a fiendish sigh

A bun, abound, abundantly you cinder

You use my arrant gases as your tinder

A gift of my trajectory, caress you though I might

(Instead I send you daffodils draped in un-masted night.)

I submitted a few examples to a worthy and respected website in America. Their reception was exactly what I expected, but it still hurt. I've attached a copy of my best poem so you'll see what I'm talking about. I think we can both agree it's an incoherent mess.
Please help!
Signed,

G.Ovum

Dear Ovum,
I have seen three-day-old roadkill baking in the hot southern sun, heard the sound of maggots feasting upon its decomposing flesh (stirring mac & cheese will mimic that sound perfectly); I have waded waist-deep through raw sewage and helped recover swollen corpses following a flood. I have even been near a crowd of sweaty Amish women who were hand-washing the rags they use for those two months out of the year they aren't pregnant. I thought there was no foul odor I had not experienced, and then I opened your letter. The residual aroma of your flatulence actually made the stench of your poetry tolerable. And may I ask...what is that disgusting oily substance that came with it? I can't seem to wash it off my fingers.

Auntie Belle

Frozen in Fairbanks

Dear Auntie Belle,

If it is 0 degrees Fahrenheit today and it will be twice as cold tomorrow, what will the temperature be tomorrow?

Frozen in Fairbanks

Dear Frozen,

Your brass monkey's balls will shatter.

Auntie Belle

Had It Done To

Dear Belle,
I woke up this morning, a little hung over and found my wife had kicked me down a flight of stairs and she had locked the door. I can hear her cavorting upstairs with that Matt Lauer. Boy he talks a lot during sex. He even brought Savannah Guthrie and Hoda Kotb to do color commentary while they watch.

My arm is broken in three places, I am hungry, and all of our fallout shelter supplies are canned (mostly beans) and I don't have a can opener.

How do I get her to open the door. I already tried threats, but she is stronger than me. She used to be a wrestler on OWWCh.

Mr. Portly (aka: Had It Done To)

Dear Mr. Portly,

The sounds you are hearing are the television blasting to cover the sounds of your screaming for help and the sounds of your in-laws moving everything out of your home. Yes, even your pride and joy - that end stand/beer refrigerator you loved so much. Having a can opener would only delay the inevitable, so your wife still does have some charity in her heart for you - because of that time you were nice to her. Meanwhile, rest, Mr. Portly; rest in peace.

Auntie Belle

Redi in Radcliffe

Dear Auntie Belle,

My wife recently won a trip to Greece on The Price Is Right. I refuse to accompany her because I think some time apart would be healthy for our marriage. She is going to take her sister, instead. They leave on Tuesday... Do you have any advice for two middle-aged ladies vacationing in Athens? Can you think of any "must see" destinations? Are there places they should avoid? Should they bring several bars of Lava soap, or will it be available on every street corner? Also, if you have any suggestions for how I might keep myself occupied for the next eight days I'd love to hear them. So far, I've stockpiled a 55 gallon drum of Vaseline and three cases of Ensure in the garage.There's also a fresh can of Redi-Whip in the fridge... Thanks. Signed,

Redi in Radcliffe

Dear Redi,

Greece has no place that could not also be designated a tourist attraction. I recall with much fondness my last visit to Greece. I happened upon a steamy bath house whereupon three dark-eyed, naked young men pounced upon me. Before I could protest, they had completely removed my clothing and led me down marble steps into the heated bath. I was speechless as they lovingly lathered me washing each toe separately, every crevice; not a part of me did they miss. They saved the Lava Soap for those special places … you know - elbows and heels. I emerged smooth, refreshed, weak-kneed, and then I was encased in a sun-warmed towel and tenderly dried by their busy but gentle hands…. I gave them every Euro I had and promised to return. Their eyes lingered upon my face as I bid them farewell. I must keep that promise. Soon. Uh, your wife will have a good time. Have fun with your…supplies. Gotta run…

Auntie Belle

Soiled in Schenectady

Dear Auntie,
My friend stayed over again, and after a night of too many yogurts and too much buggy music he crapped the bed again.
Should I get a new friend or just change the sheets?

Soiled in Schenectady

Dear Soiled,
Imaginary friends (and that's the only kind you have) do not defecate. Now that everyone else is out of the equation…?

Auntie Belle

Devastated in Des Moines

Dear Auntie Belle,
I'm a redhead named Ginger. I never know when someone hollers 'ginger' at me if they're calling my name or just making fun of me! What do I do? 

Devastated in Des Moines

Dear Devastated,

HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA 

Auntie Belle

PS Apologies for that. Okay, you have several options: Change your name, dye your hair, wear a wig, shave your head, wear a hajab and tell people you converted to Islam; convert to Islam and close all other options. (More irony.)

Auntie Belle Speaks

Dear Readers,
I realize after having done this for so many years that most people have problems they believe are insurmountable. I also realize that some of you will take my advice lightly or ignore it altogether. Therefore, I thought to offer some stories about others who made that same mistake…
It was a clear autumn day when I stopped in my favorite bar. My friend, Jack, was expecting me and had my favorite drink waiting. As we sat at one of the tables chatting, our mutual friends, Lee, and  Richard, joined us. Lee pulled a deck of cards out of his shirt pocket and began dealing the hands for our usual Euchre game.

As we played, the three men out-lined plans they had made - plans they believed were fool-proof. I saw the flaws immediately and urged them vehemently to abandon them. They scoffed at my alarm, and the results were deadly. Lee and Jack would die; Richard would enjoy only temporary success, but then came Watergate. Richard was a stubborn man; he refused to believe in Auntie Belle's advice regarding that, as well. Oh, but he came crying to me after it exploded in his face! I was the one on that erased tape. He didn't want historians hearing about my knowledge of that day in Dallas nor did he want them to hear me berating him and affirming that he was, indeed,  a crook. 

I advised The Family that Charles Manson was a psycho…but they ignored me. I advised Jennifer Anniston not to marry Brad Pitt, and I told Ellen DeGeneres that Anne Heche was not a genuine lesbian. I advised Charlie Sheen he was replaceable, so warned him to behave, and I told Jay Leno to stop with the Obama jokes. They all ignored Auntie Belle, and they all paid the price.

People who took my advice? Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Donald Trump, Charles Shultz, Aristotle Onassis, Walt Disney…to name a few…

Unfortunately, I have noticed an increase in letters from ignorant rednecks, felons, angsty teens, pimps and sluts. FYI: You are useless, worthless and unworthy of my time. Still, I will offer my advice knowing full well you will choose your own paths and wallow in your own folly. May God trample the grapes of wrath upon your heads and upon those unfortunate beings you may spawn.
Love, 

Auntie Belle

Anon.

Dear Auntie Belle,

I read the letter you received from "Lodging A Complaint" with great interest...

As one who has been bitten by a camel, I strongly object to your assessment of the situation. For your information, camels don't ALWAYS bite the wiener---ok?

Sometimes they'll chew your balls off.

Anon.

Dear Anon.,

I did some research; once. It happened once. The guy had just emerged from a freezing pool of water, and there was nothing else for the camel to bite. So your point…is pointless.

Auntie Belle