101 Uses for a Dead Goat
Advice


Greetings, gentle readers,

Well, here I am, plucked from happy obscurity by Jillithe the witch, who blackmai - er - suggested that I help her write a column to assist my fellow mortals with their troubles. "You must be good at giving advice, or you wouldn't have picked that name", said she... I tried to explain that our non-North American players probably haven't heard of Dear Abby, the advice columnist, so she couldn't force me into anything... but then she came at me with the longsword... Oh well, I guess it's too late to wish my parents had named me otherwise! The lazy - er - fair Jillithe will be helping me answer any questions that require an immortal's point of view.

If you need advice, send me Internet mail (abby@mud2.com) or mudmail me (Abby) and I will endeavour to assist you in an upcoming issue! (If you expect a reply, please use mudmail or send me your persona name, as I cannot reply via the Internet.)

This month's questions were supposedly collected by Jillithe, but sometimes I think she might be making them up. Uh oh... there she goes with that wand again... I'd better answer these before she turns me into a frog.

Dear Abby,

I have fallen hopelessly in love with a hunchback. He is so dashing... so noble... so tormented and dark... I cannot help but swoon whenever I see him pass me by. I cannot tell if he feels the same way about me, though - he has never spoken to me, and often tries to liberate me of my possessions. I suspect he is trying to be helpful and give me less to carry, but how can I be sure that he loves me? Was this meant to be?

Sincerely,

Beastless Beauty

Dear Beauty,

Well, I've known my share of hunchbacks and I will tell you right now that you should find someone else. Sure, they are handsome, and so honest that they never even pretend to be cheerful, but mudder/hunchback relationships never work out. No matter how wonderful you are, you will grate on his sensitive nerves until one day he will steal your dagger and attack you with it. Trust me, I've seen it happen.

Abby

Dear Abby,

Yesterday I had a dream, in which a note written IN MY OWN HANDWRITING told me I would fall hopelessly in love with the burgomaster. That's all very well, but where can I find the burgomaster?

Yours,

Dreamer from the Dwarf Kingdom

Dear Dreamer,

Dream analysis is not my specialty. I suspect that the note you dreamed of was... "creatively" spelled (I had a hard enough time deciphering your handwriting in this letter you wrote me) and that it actually mentioned a BURGERmaster, not a burgomaster. Now, dwarfs are known for their tasty hamburgers, so I suggest you follow your nose (and heart) and head for the dwarf kitchen!

Abby

Dear Abby,

I keep seeing people running around with swords, boats, and lumps of coal. I am sure they were given the coal by Santa Claus because they were naughty - which leads me to believe they intend to use their boats and swords to sail to the North Pole and kill Santa for giving them a bad gift! I've asked these people to please calm down and give me their coal and swords, but the responses I've received have ranged from negative to really, really negative.
How can I convince them that murdering Santa will put them permanently on the "naughty" list?

Yours in desperation,

Saddened Santa Saviour

Dear Saviour,

Obviously, your polite attempts to help these troubled people have failed - but you can still help. Next time you see one of these future Santa-slayers dashing around in a murderous frenzy, follow him or her secretly until he or she falls asleep from exhaustion. You can then remove their sword and other dangerous tools, and dispose of them, preferably in the swamp, where nobody can retrieve them and do evil with them. Upon awakening, the person will realise that you were acting in their best interests and thank you for your kindness.


That's all the letters we have this month. If you need advice, don't hesitate to write to me, and I'll see what I can do!

Abby.


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This Web page copyright 1998 Viktor T. Toth
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Page last modified: January 30, 1998