I howl like the wolf not because I have been on the deadly nightshade or any other fleur du mal but because this is the last episode, for the time being, lets call it an hiatus, of this fictional comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from our horrifically challenged and off their rocker listeners, then ridicule their problems at their expense and for everyone else’s pleasure, hi. I will be going through some of the best of the demented letters from the last year and some of my equally limbo infested responses. Welcome to episode 52, This is Not The End, My P’Ugly Fiend. And this is going to be the longest episode of the year! So ENJOY…..folks and folkettes….

I howl like the wolf because this is my penultimate episode, for the time being, so hold onto your horses. Not so much a cheerio, more of a watch your back, you bastards. I’ve been at this for a year now and I’ve decided that I need a break to focus on being bored in Limbo…and only do a show when I have the choicest letters or when Murphy, the one who keeps stealing my horror chi with her pitching prizes and what not, is up to some wonderful live shows, as me - The Vigilante Cannibal Nun. So next week will be a round up of the year on The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt comedy horror podcast. In the meantime, for today, we are  going to strike a terror pose by going back to the chaos of the middle ages and the civil war in England with a letter to shiver your timbers or something. Welcome to Episode 51: The Ranters & Quaker Oats.

No one believes me when I say that I ate the colonisers back in the day in mid 19th Century Famine Stricken Ireland, for the sake of the starving, giving them all the spoils of my personal war, gold and diamonds and shit, thinking I was saving the world only to destroy myself and end up here in limbo….and when I say no one I mean everyone on the planet, except, and here is my strange salvation, except for all my fellow horror and sci fi low lifers who send me their letters of woe, or just because they need to rant to someone, and when I say me, I mean The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt, and that is where you have landed, the podcast of the century…not the 21st, but the 19th….arguably the worst century in Irish history, and that is really saying something.

But enough of that…it is time to get down and dirty with all the horror and sci fi miscreants in their own personal la la land having done something truly diabolical, desperate for someone to take on their cause and to ease the pain, and who by chance, in looking for any port in the storm, have landed on this particular one - The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt comedy horror podcast, because they know that I’ve reached the depths of despair and addiction by eating the colonisers in mid 19th Century Ireland and giving their wares to the poor, whilst siphoning off some pieces for thon self, not realising that I already died in a random hunger strike, but not hamburger, that I took in a failed attempt to persuade the Catholic Church to do more for the starving in Ireland. Got it? Seems that my soul was already a goner. Who can you go to for support when you have committed the horror crime of the century….yes….someone worse that you. Speaking for myself, I only pretend to offer ya’ll a shoulder to cry on because, get this, I don’t give a flying fig about your woes, but I put on a mighty good sympathetic show. And I think that’s all that it takes, a good jolt of virtue signalling and absolutely nothing constructive, works for everyone else on the internet, why not me, hi. So here we go…welcome to Episode 49 Humanoid High Hopes & Here Be Dragons.

I howl like the wolf because it’s August and I have no other reason to justify such rabid feral behaviour. Then again, do I need a reason or excuse for anything I do? Hell or heaven no. You just do the do and pray that no one gets hurt, and when that doesn’t work you can write to me, your resident, in limbo, Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony aunt. I’m there to lord over all of your pain in the guise of someone who actually cares when you make the biggest horror and sci fi mistakes of your life and possible death. But here is the thing, not only do I enjoy pissing over your problems, I feed them to the vultures out there listening so that we can all have a laugh at your expense. Sound good to you? You masochistic bastard, then keep listening.

I howl like the wolf because I have nothing else to do and I have to fill the void someway. And what happens when you have nothing to do. Here is what happens, you do nothing. Too much time on your hands and the banal day to day extends to, well tomorrow when reason runs out the door like a vampire who just discovered roller sakes and decides to go back in time to Glengormley in the 80’s to the roller disco that my sister used to frequent, wait a minute, that’s my imaginary sister, because I’m from the 19th Century, bitch. Yes  indeed, I need to insult myself to get any action around here. Get the old juices flowing and ready for a fight, with myself, better than nothing. Otherwise its just me and my thoughts and I am trying really hard to completely ignore those. They are things. They are not me. They come and go. So lets get piggy or even joggy or even jiggy with the meat and gristle, but not Throbbing Gristle, obviously, because I likes the music, man. Yes 19th Century Ireland, arguably the worst in our dark history of colonisation and pain. But that is a perilous argument because the others weren’t much better. Is living in a ditch, pregnant, in the middle of winter, scorned and abandoned, poor, hungry, shamed, after having your language beaten out of you better than dying of hunger and watching your family die with you in the 19th Century? That’s s tough one. So Famine stricken 19th Century Ireland when I ate the colonisers thinking I was saving the starving when in fact I was losing my soul like a dumb bint. But hey, here I am in limbo, waiting to receive your horror and sci fi letters of woe, so that I can read out a few as The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt and we can all have a laugh, because, frankly, there is nothing else to do. So welcome to Episode 47: Can’t Forget Fear & Chainsaw Necklace.

I howl like the wolf because frankly settling back into the aftermath of success is a slide that I have experienced the wrong way, doing a dive bomb into a swimming pool full of kids is one thing, dive bombing and breaking your back on the slippery slope is another. You try to be happy, you try too hard, you make a fool of yourself, you cower in pain and embarrassment, and you hide for the rest of the sum mer, planning a full scale bloody revolution. Then you hear on the grape vine that happiness is not all its cracked up to be. Apparently if you get your exercise in, talk to a few friends and eat some broccoli that is about the height of what to expect on the happiness scale - so my dear horror and sci fi freaks, let me tell you that your expectations are too high if your original impulse on the road to hell was to be happy and the result of your failures - ie to commit some stupid heinous act - was too extreme, simply because you think that happiness is way out of your reach and you resent those who have a life and you act accordingly. But that is nothing but fluff to all the rest of us who are chewing on our left feet in pain and mortification. And on that note, lets see what we have in my horror and sci fi letter bag of misery, and let’s see how much fun we can have delving into the your woes. Yes, you guessed it, The Vigilante Cannibal Nun is here as your favourite Horror and Sci Fi Agony Aunt in Episode 46: Teen Bats Acting Up & Intergalactic Passive Aggression.

Feelings

Nothing more than feelings

Trying to forget my feelings of love…I mean hate

Teardrops

Rolling down on my face

Trying to forget my feelings of love

Feelings

For all my life I'll feel it

I wish I've never met you, girl

You'll never come again

Yeah, whatever minger…..

I howl like the wolf with excitement because get this…..Carol Murphy won The Pitching Competition at The Galway Film Fleadh with The Body & Blood, the story of my life….so all you horror and sci fi losers, with your personal problem letters for the Agony Aunt that I am, can run and jump into a vat of shame for this episode, I care not for your tales of horror woe and all consuming cold hard SCI FI violence, because this episode is all about me….triple, Hi.

I howl like the wolf with excitement because next week I’ll be hovering around Galway at the Film Fleadh and following in the heels of the artist and screenwriter Carol Murphy who is pitching THE BODY & BLOOD, a gothic horror feature film based on my life at THE PITCHING COMPETITION on Sunday 13^th at The Galmont Hotel, and it is horrific, believe me, from the sublime to the ridiculous, to the horrific to the cannibalistic. Yeeoooo…so if you are around and about, check it out, kick off is 1200…and I’ll be hovering around in the ether with my eye on the lot o’y’uns…yes that’s me…..Maggie Murtagh…AKA The Vigilante Cannibal Nun, but for the time being, I’m here, for another episode of The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt comedy horror and sci fi podcast, where each week I read two letters from my mail bag full of the fetid shennigans of my horror and sci fi freakesque listeners out there, asking for help on an emotional level, because that is where the rot starts, isn’t it? Then I read one or two so that we can all have a laugh at said writer’s expense and for our collective pleasure. Welcome to Episode 43: I wanna be your Amphibious Robotic Dog & Make Me Music.

I howl like the wolf in pleasure because I’m about to conjugate a new verb. To Bot. I bot, You Bot, He She It bots, We You They bot. Yes, this is what we are looking at today, the life and loves of the bot. And not as in….he has a gorgeous bot…but as in the machines that are seemingly making our lives easier will, in the end, be shagging our wives, lovers and husbands. I howl because I’m excited to be at the apex of my game as The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt to all you fetid horror and sci fi freaks who crossed so many lines so long ago that you can no longer read the signs especially when you vomit around the time you poison your neighbour. Yes, that is a sign that you are no longer doing good to yourself or anyone else. And I know you quite like the taste of it, but that does not mean that it is right. But who cares about right and wrong? the system is not always rigged to work in your favour, so why should you abide by it? Instead, you can write to me with your tales of trouble and yet lookee here, you are the victim, yip, narcissists are welcome too. I’ll read your letters to the underworld and the converted, and we can all have a good old laugh at the fact that there are no answers, only misguided suggestions that usually lead to all kinds of wrong. We are the blind leading the blind and loving the bloody mess. Welcome to Episode 42: BOTS.

I howl like the wolf because that is what I do and part of who I am. Animals shake trauma off after they’ve been attacked by a tiger or a lion or a sloth, whereas I howl like the wolf to SHAKE IT OFF mark out my territory, stay in position, I mean where else is there to go when you’re in limbo, with nothing but your memories of eating the colonizers back in the Irish Famine. Those were the days. I howl to prepare me for the PRIVILEGE of reading your letters, yes, the ones sent in by my horror and sci fi low life to see if I am help them out of their self-sabotaged to the death drama’s whilst at the same time, giving you all a laugh at their expense and for our pleasure. Welcome to Episode 41: Celebate Psychopath & A Million Rivets.

I howl like the wolf because I need. And no matter how I try, I can’t stop needing. I’m also worried that if I stop needing, I will lose my raison d’etre, and that’s a lot of raisons, reasons and raisons, and really saying something what with being stuck in limbo with only a fraction of a newt’s breath of a chance of getting into heaven, and even that perturbs me. What am I going to do there without need? No longing to both cripple and indulge my emotions. In fact, or so the story goes, I won’t have emotions, just peace, which to me sounds a lot like being a product without a soul. What will occupy my mind, ie the mind of the obsessed and the addicted? Speaking to all you horror and Sci Fi Fans out there. One genre crossing out the other out. Always in a dichotomy of tension and contradiction. We strive, don’t we, to fulfill the promise, the potential of the greatness our life could be. And in that promise, we think the future’ll be bright in its lack of want, when all our desires are satiated. But to be honest, we are addicted to not having. Whatever the original fissure, probably in childhood, it has left a big bucket of need, so big that when you look inside you cannot see the edges, the corners, or the rot. And we cling onto it, because if we don’t, if we put it down, we’ll be crippled by our pain and by what we think is the banal and the ordinary. In other words, no matter how dreadful all of your problems are, sweet listeners and horror and SCI FI miscreants, from across time and space, I’m telling you that you love them, indeed, what would you do without them? And what would we do without our reciprocal feed on them. So keep on keeping on, let’s spoil for a bit of a game of combinations and permutations of mutual self-torment and see how it all lands. What larks. Keep on sending in your tales of want, panic, fear, self-loathing, murder, torture, haunting, future dystopia and general misanthropy. Unzip your throat and pull out your most rancid of egos and slap it on the table like the random access memory you pretended to forget and as your friendly neighbourhood Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt I will see how I can help clean out your proverbial cobwebs, not with bleach, but with a feather duster that just redistributes filth rather that getting to the root cause. Welcome to Episode 40: Bitter Perfection & Precision Violence.

I howl like the wolf because I am one-dimensional and I cling onto that formal, often traditional, sequence of actions or words performed in a specific order, often associated with religious or cultural significance for dear life, or death, seeing as I am in limbo which is like a desert island without the hope or sting ray jelly fish. You take the rough with the smooth. So take or leave the howling, hi. I ain’t stopping. But, seeing as I am bored out of my skull, I’m the perfect candidate to guide you through the perils and challenges of your life and horror misdemeanours as your very own Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt, speaking from my comedy horror podcast. I am ready. I am willing. And I am suitably stuffed to take on the emotional problems sent in by my horror and sci fi litter of listeners from across time and space so that I can salvage the un-heaven sent. Bring it on, throw something, anything at me and I’ll see what kind of explosive dart I can throw back. Welcome to Episode 39: Mixed Messages & Royally Shanked.

I howl like the wolf because things never happen quickly enough, do they? I’m waiting for the day when everything will speed up. And I don’t mean like the time when you were trapped in your mum’s car as a child with your brother whilst getting an automated industrial car wash. Everything was fast, suds n shit, whilst you were stuck and miraculously dry. And then your bro metamorphosed into a child of corn and that, ladies and gentlemen, was when the trouble began. No! I mean actual movement…life going from A to B and not via F U C K E D. That’s why I howl. Nothingness implodes in the soul. Longing for change internalizes into a fetid growth or desire that leads to self-abuse on a super scale or an inappropriate focus on the wrong thing….like your neighbour’s brilliant career in botany. Yeah…fuck her….and that is why you need me to punctuate the boredom so that you don’t end up poisoning the water and killing all of us. And who am I? Your very own Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt, speaking from her comedy horror podcast. I am READY and I am willing to take on the stupid fucking emotional problems sent in from my brood of listeners from across time and space so that I can salvage the unsalvageable. BRING THE PAIN, and I’ll see what crap I can come up with, hi. Welcome to Episode 38: Embrace The Rage & Existential Piranha.

I howl like the wolf because I am in PAIN hi, as in Bring The Pain a la Method Man but without the WU. I can give or take on that front, any which way is good for me with the voice and the schtick of Mr. Man…yes indeedy, I don’t think I be worrying about anything if I be watching him walking down the street, in heaven, hell, earth or in limbo, ho to the hum to the diddle dum, pleasure is all about that one.

I am not a wolf, but I howl like the wolf because I feel feral and wolfish, and that is enough for me. I’m with Bert Cooper on this one, my identity changes depending on what room I enter. There just aren’t that many rooms in limbo, so I’m sticking with the howl to introduce you to moi, your favourite friendly neighbourhood Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt, and this is my comedy horror podcast where I siphon off the choicest letters from my brood of listeners from across time and space, yes the ones who’re expecting me to solve their emotional problems which have invariably blown up out of all proportion to such a degree whereby they think that I, a country girl who ate all the colonizers in Ireland during the famine and ended up as the living dead in limbo can actually help them. I’m not making any promises, but I will tell you this: I will laugh at their expense, and I hope you do too. Welcome to Episode 36: Burn It All Down & In League With A Dark Force.

I howl like the wolf because I sit on the fence. I’m nothing if not ambivalent but it hurts my butt cheeks so much that I can’t accurately throw a spanner into the status quo. I keep missing ad infinitum, and yet even the mistakes do the same job, i.e. turn me into a chronic self-sabotager. No matter where I go, which isn’t very far these days, seeing as I am in limbo, I upset someone’s apple cart. But what can one do? Be yourself, whatever that means, as in something like, do your thing and pay the price, because there’s always a cost.

I howl like the wolf because I want to ride in your fuck away off red Ferrari and yet I can’t seem to garner your attention. The strange and mysterious look I have concocted with my head in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, a sickly looking face, a bit of a rendition of 90’s drug chic, with a dribble of blood dripping down my chin, troubled and Byronic, but not bionic and riddled with TB with a desire to be utterly riddled with something else…ie you, hi is not working. Because I know that when you jumped into your fuck away off Ferrari it was at the point when the world and all its mediocrity had finally pushed you over the edge. I feel your pain. And I understand that when you put your foot to the floor, you didn’t expect to land in limbo next to me hi, but here we are, Miles Davis and me. Is he in limbo, is he in hell, is he in heaven? That is a debatable question. And truth be told, I wouldn’t want to be his friend, or his lover for that reason, the cost is too high and I’m already dead, but I would like his car, because we all need a getaway option, don’t we. But here, today, now hi, here is your get IN option. Welcome to The Vigilante Cannibal Nun As Agony Aunt comedy horror and SCI FI podcast Episode 34: Police In Your Pocket & The Writer’s Revenge.

I howl like the wolf to ward off all foreign and ghostly miscreant endeavours, whatever that means, to scare off the dead, even though I am one, with a little of the living to add to the confusion, and to give any loiterers time to fuck away off and let me do my ting n ting, hi, innit guvnor. And now that the coast is clear, what are we going to talk about today? Ehhhhhhhhh. Well ain’t that the truth, you fight and you fight and you fight to get your voice heard, after years of scrubbing and polishing, when the coast is finally clear and you stumble over yourself, with your loss for words. Come to think of it, I think of it THE BEASTIES should do a part 2 to SABOTAGE called SELF SABOTAGE….and it would go something like this….

Can’ t stand it, I know I planned it

I’m gonna set it straifght, this Watergate

Then I realise that my rocking is true

And it is the me and definitely not the you

Who can’t sit back and wonder why

Because I put the fucking thorn in my side

And blinded myself to my own mirage

I'm tellin' y'all, it's self-sabotage