Agony Aunt Sock – 1

Jonny’ll fix it … or he’ll fix you is Sloucher’s own “Agony Aunt” section. These are true cases, but the identities of those involved were changed to protect them. Feel free to send your troubles our way.

Dear Jonny Sock

I am currently employed as an assistant teacher in a high scale university in the fair city of Sheffield.

My work relates to the various menial tasks that Professors relegate us Space Monkeys, like cleaning all peanut shells after the master degree students finish their tutorials, replying to emails and cleaning their iPads from spam.

Anyways, one of the students in the class seems to be interested in me, a poor, low class git from the shiv-friendly part of Nottingham (Beeston, if you want to know). She is from another country, so I’m quite aware of the language barrier between each other.

So, everything ok, I’m taking it nice and easy and the other day I run into her in a little eatery inside our fair school. We talk for a while and between sips of fairtrade tea, I notice that she has a small glint in her eye.

As the time comes to finish our very lovely chat, I stand up and stupidly kick the table with my knee. Not only does this cause a kneejerk reaction that causes her Hello Kitty bag to fly a few yards and land, handles-first, into the face of the representative of the Female Studies head tutor (a very miserable woman, I might add) but I end up spilling 3/4 of a very nice Darjeeling in the notes of the girl who seems to fancy me and which I do fancy.

Oh, dear Jonny Sock, what can I do? I’m afraid the glint in her eye will now become the fires of Hell and that I will be castrated and made an example of.

Thanks
Panchito Salchichita III

Dear Panchito, my little chucky-egg.

Firstly, I find this a weird situation for you to be in, but that’s mainly because women come as easy to me as the 9 times table comes to Stephen Hawking.

This is because I have skills that drive a lady monkey nuts, you obviously don’t. Let me impart some skills upon you.

Now, glints’ can be deceptive, what you see as love in her eyes, could just be the makings of glaucoma. The acid test to see if a woman likes you is to tell them this awful joke:

“I was in hospital with my foot the other day… Well 10 inches but who’s counting?”

One: This joke is shit, but if a lady likes you she will think everything you say is worthy of Oscar Wilde, and will laugh like a scouse hyena.
Two: Subliminally, she now thinks you’ve got massive junk.
Three: Subliminally, she is now sympathetic towards you because she thinks you are poorly.
Four: Subliminally, it is possible that she thinks your visit to the Junk Doctor is because you have damaged your junk through vigorous fornicating.

Caution! If this chat-up line doesn’t work, it is because she, subliminally, thought you had to see the Junk Doctor due to having an STD, and has no bearing on the quality of the line itself.

Caution two! It may also not work if you have a face like a half-eaten Big Mac.

Now take this gem, go forth, and see if you can get a lady to touch your thingy.

You’re welcome
Jonny Sock

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