Dear Gustav

Dear Gus,

I apologize for my inappropriate question. In the future, I shall focus on myself. Therefore, I have the following question.

When focusing on myself, I do not know which is best...to focus on my ravishing appearance, my stunning wit, or my compelling personality. Which would you suggest I focus on first? The reason I ask...my bank account is temporarily low, and I must decide between scheduling more plastic surgery or therapy.

(signed) Your Friday-night Date

I'm sorry Gus, but I'm trying desperately to recover from the blow of knowing that I'll never be able to be friends with pheasants. I mean, could I have gotten any worse news than that? All my hope and dreams crushed within seconds and you just expect me to pull myself together just like that! Can't you feel my pain?

Here, Montana, have a cashew.

Thanks Beth. I love cashews ;-) Gus didn't even offer me a kleenex for christ sakes!

Poor baby. Here's a kleenex. Take the box.

sniff, sniff!!! Thanks Eva, you're so kind.

Eva, sweetie, if you're perfect there's no need to change a thing. Focus on Gus.

My daughters are of age. They all told me/us to buzz off. Their husbands all seconded the motion. Anymore suggestions? I will try anything to get rich, except work and involvement.

I play the lottery Edgar, but it hasn't paid off for me yet :-(

Dear Gus:

Last night I had one of those blank spaces. When I woke up, my neck and back were sore, and my feet were coated with a hin, semi-translucent film that could only be removed with the mixture of lemon juice and lye I keep in a thermose on the next to top shelf o the bureau between the photobiography of Hrotsvitha and the Idiot's Guide to Particle Physics.

So what happened to me last night? Do I want to remember what happened, or should I just invent for myself a scenario involving a young Teri Garr and several nubile capybaras in bowling shoes?

Signed.

Oh my goodness Patiodog, I sure hope Gus can help you out with that. I'll be praying for you. Hang in there buddy!

Dear Gus...
Who are They? You know, the They that make the descions, They with all the answers, They who always seem to be up on the newest everything, They with the opinions. They that say, They that do, They that answer surveys. It's alway about They, They, They...
They are the bain of my existence. Where are They? Why them? Who appointed them? Why are they always right and I'm always wrong?
Help me Gus, your most humble servant, Ceili.

Gus is cruel!!!!!

Ask Auntie Lowan!

Eva, your question was perplexing and I have been poring over my books and pacing the floors. A simple question, yet there is so, so much beneath the surface, so much hidden meaning, that I must bide my time in order to come up with the perfect answer.

You asked...



On the surface it appears that you have no problems. Beautiful, charming, witty, articulate.... an unusual combination. Most people that come into my office have serious problems, i.e. talking to pheasants, hearing voices, etc..

You continued...


Aha! Now things are starting to clear up a bit. The classic money/beauty struggle. You fear you will lose your looks and end up dead broke in some run-down hotel.

Careful, girl. First of all, do not consider the surgery. The aging process is part of life. Some of us age more gracefully than others. Learn to accept the telltale signs of your advancing age. Therapy, indeed, is the correct choice. And here you are... on Gus's couch, opening up your soul. Don't you feel better?

Here's what I want you to do: Take a stroll in the park. Watch children playing. Feed the ducks. Fly a kite.

But most of all.... dismiss the vanity. Do not consider the knife!

I do not want to see another Michael Jackson or Joan Rivers roaming the planet.

This ends today's session. I'm afraid there's quite a bit of work ahead. I'll see you in a couple of weeks, maybe sooner.

I've just looked out into the waiting room and noticed an angry Edgar pacing the floors. Behind him, on the couch, Montana and Ceili are fighting off the advances of Patiodog. All hell is breaking loose. These people are crying for help. Thank God I am here.

What the hell is my nemesis, the evil Dr. Dlowan, doing on this thread? These people are here for help, not some crazy antipodean quackery.

Be gone woman! There is some serious work to be done here.

Oh, thank you so much, Dr. Ratz! Or is it Dr. Gust? Dr. Hofer?

Anyway, I do feel much better. And after a good night's sleep, I do believe most of the puffiness and laugh lines have gone away! Let's hear it for sleep!!!

And moisturizer!

And makeup!

And bad eyesight!!!

Gus...when will I get laid?
By two or more girls at once, I mean.

I'm shattered. Finally, I thought I'd find the answers to the questions that haunt me. I have been dismissed. Will my conundrums never unearthed? Must I roam this planet searching for another guru? Am I doomed to suffer an existence bereft of the knowledge I seek? Cursed and left to wonder why? Why me?
*skulking off to lick my proverbial wounds*
The downtrodden ceili

Dear Gustav,

What's with all of these recent newbie questions about swallow's nests? Will they eventually graduate to the hard stuff (pheasant's nests)? Are there really that many Iron Chef aficionados with Internet access?

Signed,

Baffled in Brighton

Dear Gustav:

What's your damn problem? Answer my question already!

Sincerely.