Captain Arse's Photo Casebook
A collection of some of the worst, most intolerant and abusive advice given by our very own emotional advice uncle, Captain Peter Arse. The Captain says:
Hello everyone, and welcome to my collected wisdom. Plenty of people go through life with a nod and a wink, a cheerful smile and a "Hello Vicar, fancy coming in for a cup of tea and a hot scone". However, sometimes the dark cloak of depression descends upon us. A cloying black pit of bottomless despair, leaving you cowering in the corner crying "please mummy, let me out, I'll be good, don't use the cheese grater on me". Well if ever you feel like this, then this article is for you. Think of it as a sort of bizarrely unhelpful counselling service.
So let's go straight on to the first problem with no more than a token amount of resistance:
Dear Captain, since the recent birth of our lovely son Keith, my husband has become withdrawn and sullen. It seems almost as if he's jealous of the attention I give to our new baby. Sex has become perfunctory and infrequent, and I don't know how to reassure him that I still love him and that our becoming a family has not made him any less special to me in any way.
Janet Plugh (Mrs)
Janet, I'm touched by your letter. I've seen similar situations time and again, where the husband feels shut out by the birth of a child, and turns to deviancy and leatherwear in search of excitement. All too frequently the wife is driven to piercing more and more parts of her body in a vain attempt to attract his attention, and baring her breasts to police officers. Don't be victims of this tragic syndrome. Force your husband to his senses by giving him six brisk strokes with a riding crop across his tautly-muscled behind. Then tell him that if he doesn't shape up and perform in bed, you'll be inviting your Italian aerobics instructor friend into your home to put him through a series of painful and humiliating pelvic floor exercises with a banana.
Dear Captain, I am the host of a popular national lottery TV show and several semi-successful daytime chat vehicles. However due to a cruel accident of genetics I am cursed with a stupid wide mouth, giant gleaming white teeth and a fucking irritating patronising manner. I am haunted by the thought that the audience don't really like me and would seize the least opportunity to give me a good kicking round the back of KwikSave. Can you help?
My advice to you Carol is to give up your job and live in a fantasy world of your own imagination. Try wandering round the concourse at Euston Station in a glittery skirt and telling complete strangers to 'release their balls'. Or sneak into the National Air Traffic Control Centre just outside Heathrow, peer over the controllers' shoulders and when they're not looking, rearrange all the numbers into numerical order 'to make it easier for them'. Your psychological well-being is a small price to pay for hundreds of innocent deaths and a charge of indecent assult.
Dear Captain, please help me, I am caught in a real dilemma. I started seeing this married woman a few months ago. Our relationship began because this wonderful creature was getting no satisfaction, sexual or emotional from her selfish husband. He works for the water board, and has got this delusion that he was a war veteran, just because he owns a peaked cap and an eagle eye Action Man. He spends all his free time dealing out useless advice through an internet site, to people crying out for help. This charming woman regularly laughs out loud during our regular illicit lovemaking at the though of betraying this loathsome man. Who do you think will win the 4.30 at Haydock?
The bin man
<sob, sob>, mummy, its so dark and I'm cold
Dear Captain, please help me, my husband is obsessed with Dr.Who and spends his entire time buzzing around the house in half a Dalek, crying EXTERMINATE, EXTERMINATE and poking me with an whisk. The straw that broke the camels back occurred last night when during our lovemaking he told me I was much bigger on the inside than the outside. What can I do.
Mrs. L. Cake, Eccleston
Hmm, I think the best thing to do is to play him at his own game. Cover yourself in leaves and say you're a triffid. As we are all aware Dr.Who + Triffid = 0.
Dear Captain, I've always wondered why Monopoly has such a limited range of properties you can build. My daughter would love a horse, and you don't honestly expect me to keep it in a house or hotel do you? Can you help?
Mr. D. Dan, Ludlow.
No, you're quite correct with your observation there sir, and indeed I can help. I've written several letters to Waddingtons asking them to offer me planning permission for a B & B and a Royal Navy training college.
Dear Captain, I had a dream last night that during an old episode of Are You Being Served I said "Has anybody seen my cunt". What could this mean?
Mollie, don't worry dear its just a dream, you'd probably eaten a bit of strong cheese the night before.
My husband and I got divorced earlier this year over a long running argument we were having. Please, please, what is better, owl or cat.
Lisa Loaf, Chiswick.
Hmm, I can see how that caused a rift in your marriage, it's a tough one due to the similar merits of the two. Cat he climb, owl he fly (1 - 1), cat he miaw, owl he hoot (2 - 2). Oh, ha, ha, hang on a minute, owl he steer pea green boat, cat just row (2 -3). It's the owl madam, I suggest you contact your husband and try to bring about a reconciliation.
Dear Captain, I am a businessman dealing exclusively in national cliches. My main business is selling stripy tops and onions to France, and large sausages to Germany. Just a few months ago, our product development department came up with the idea of making comical pointy shoes and selling them in Holland. I was dismayed to discover weeks after our release however, that the market was being flooded with cheap tulip imports from Peru. If this was not bad enough, one of my managers made the mistake of accidentally sending a shipment of our soap over to Australia. When it arrived in the port it was discovered and systematically destroyed. Please help
A. A. Apple, Dudley
Oh, boo hoo, listen my good man, there are people who haven't even got a job, erm, or even feet. If you had been in my regiment, I'd have taken you to the General's office, grabbed you by the scruff of the neck and forced you to look at the general's Mountbatten painting, look at it, LOOK AT IT. Then young man, I'd have thrashed you to death with my riding crop. The Captain
Dear Captain, I am beginning to get depressed by my lack of good fortune. I was never a superstitious man, and so last year, just to show what humbug it all was, I smashed my wife's mirror collection. She had been collecting them for twenty years and had over a hundred, worth approximately £20,000. My opinion on superstition soon changed however, when my wife ran off with the gasman two weeks later. Since then, I regularly tread in dog shit on my way to work in the morning and have caught a virus, which has given me a pop eye and a hunchback. Please help.
Mr. M. von Clacker, Ives
Stop your moaning man. If you had been in my regiment, I'd have thrashed you to death with my riding crop. My father was a greengrocer during the war, when times were tough for him, did he moan, did he gripe, no he bloody well buckled down, improvised and forced my mother into prostitution.
Dear Captain, I am a retired military officer with severe psychological problems, who believes that every situation can be improved by applying a little Army discipline, whipping people into shape and giving someone a damn good thrashing. Unfortunately in my career as a relationship counsellor, this proves something of a handicap. Can you help me moderate my extreme right-wing views and make me more sensitive to people's emotional difficulties, rather than simply recommending that the guilty party be horsewhipped and stripped of his rank and insignia?
Hang on this is my writing.
Other crazed right-wing advice columns are available (in the Daily Mirror).