You have to realize that no one is on their white horse galloping to your house to save you, unless they are carrying a machete to cut off your head and feed it to the sheep. What I’m trying to say is that you need to ACT and STOP thinking. When I say this I take it for granted that you are still sane and that your rationale has not tipped over into the horrifically silly. OTHERWISE you can write to me and I will jump into the detail of what is seemingly insurmountable in your life and the fact that the horror show is like an amourphous lump that will not define itself. And who am I? No one but The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt, ready to jump into this new episode of my podcast where I read two problem page letters each week and give all the pathetic excuses for horror fans the help and advice they need to truly destroy their lives whilst in the process give the rest of y’uns the laugh of your life. Laugh? I nearly choked on a rancid potato. Welcome to Episode 32: The Severed Armed Juggler & The 111 Chat Up Lines Serial Killer.

I howl like the wolf because I is your host, willfully bastardizing the English language because fun is the name of the game inside and out, up and down, micro and macro, all in or all out and I is all in, like Flynn. Your host of what, I hear you cry, I am The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt, this is my comedy horror and SCI FI podcast and each week I read two letters from my bag of jump scared and paranoid speed and blood freaks, like give it to me fast or kill me now, here, you bastard, ie horror fans and crims and give them the help and advice they need to truly destroy their lives whilst in the process give the rest of y’uns the laughs of your life. Laugh? I nearly murdered a sausage. Welcome to Episode 31: Don’t Touch The Devil’s Trumpet Unless You’re Prepared to Blow His Horn & The Metal Detector.

Yes indeedy, I howl like the wolf because I is hungry, bloodthirsty and your host, someone’s gots to do it and that someone is yours truly. So, I was putting on my makeup this morning, you know the look, Minger the Merciless, part Ming the Merciless, part Amy Winehouse, by the way, I can’t believe that Max Von Sydow took that role, Flash in the Pan Gordon back in 1980, then again, I absolutely adore him for it. So much of his brilliant career spent making transcendental films like Winter Light and a whole OEUVRE of films with Ingmar Bergman, you know, the only director who could truly rock that baseball hat worn backward look, and of course there was the minor point that some of his films are arguably the best in the world, and not just on a scale of greatness, but films that you watch and the moments, time watching is like the best in your life. I get that a lot. Years ago, I hated leaving the cinema, now I just haunt them….like the victims of An American Werewolf in London. Addiction never dies. But I have learnt to take a massive step back into the realms of the rational, so that I don’t succumb, only to get the DT’s, the prowler comes out and I have to find a colonizer quickly, eat him or her, get the old colonizer detector out, scouring the land, so that I can get my fix of flesh and calm the fuck down, and of course, do the whole nation of Famine Stricken Ireland one MASSIVE favour. All the while sporting my MINGER THE MERCILESS look, with a few blood splats to boot, but hey, I’m not about perfection. I’m about….ehhhh…what am I about….yeah…bloody misconstrued altruism….I mean, ask yourself, is ALTRUISM ever on the straight and narrow? Is it a virtue? Is it REAL…as in keeping it or is it like the hooded claw but not CIRCA Dick Dastardly, not even Penelope Pitstop, the best straight-legged sprinter this side of the Sperrin’s, more Cavey wavey poo, an uber repressed Captain Caveman ready to pop his bally clogs hi. Wow, my nonsense speak is on a roll today. But back to my point. Max Von Sydow. One of my favourite roles of his was the artist in Woody Allen’s Hannah and Her Sisters. I absolutely ADORED HIM in it because I love a talented MISERABLIST BASTARD, whose rants are hilarious whilst also being like the most emotionally exposed, raw and beautiful person in the room. But before that, Ming The Merciless, with Mike Hodges holding the reigns. And why not? Get Carter is a fucking revelation. If he had’ve asked me to play the part, I would have done it for free, as long as I could chew on the odd radom extra, no one would miss them anyway. What am I saying, I love you Max, dead and all, and surely in the heaven made for the truly talented with the best taste ever, and gifted, and you know, hot. Personally, I think that if someone makes the odd clanger of a film, it makes them even better for it, and the bigger and more ambitious the failure, the credit hits the roof in my eyes for your exploding ambition and fearless attack of RISK! HI. And here I am ready to take that risk with Episode 30…wow 30 episodes…of The Vigilante Cannibal Nun As Agony Aunt comedy horror podcast otherwise known as my excuse to talk shite. Today’s episode is called EAT THE FEET & ROADKILL PT 2.

What is happiness when it’s at home or out on a date? Cause I ain’t getting any. You ever have those wastelands of time where you just can’t get no nothing, let alone satisfaction and if you got any it wouldn’t be good enough, even if Mick jagger serenaded it to you in his stuffed underpants? Is it a warm gun, a cold gun, no gun, no gums, toothless, denchers, drenchers? Will a Hamlet cigar suffice? A hot towel? A sports massage? AND YET, it’s Tuesday, time to read a couple of your pathetic specimen of letters to solve all your horror and sci fi ills to ease your pain, then ridicule your problems, which are probably all in your head, at your expense and for everyone else’s pleasure. Welcome to Episode 29 of The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt comedy horror podcast - Red Flags and Roadkill.

I was happy for a nanosecond, fancying myself as a Calvinist, thinking that instead of being one of the elect, I was one of the damned and how liberating that was. At least me being in Limbo has nothing to do with me, I was always going to end up here, predetermination and all that, God didn’t choose me, and why would anyone do that, create you to abandon you, WTF, man….so thank God I ate the Colonisers. It made absolutely no difference to my outcome.

Here I am, The Vigilante Cannibal Nun, your favourite, Horror and SCI FI agony aunt, and no, I am not on the road to Damascus, nor am I about to chop – hi ja!- Miss Piggy Stylee, someone’s ears off and eat them, bit o soy sauce, ginger, attitude, No NO NO No NO, I am here as your resident Agony Aunt, as I already said, so why not repeat it? I mean, why not? Residing and floating in limbo, having eaten all the colonisers in Ireland during The Great Irish Famine. Was there one that wasn’t so great? Back to the point, I’m a kind of a mythological sin-eating monstrosity, waiting for all the horror letters of woe to pop into my lap, like the pearls the swine ate and pooped out of their BE HIND, HI. Each week, I solve two horror and SCI FI emotional problems, in less than 10 minutes. What more could you want, I ask you? A chronic disease? A mental illness? A bucket of despair? Cancer? Kemo? Keto? A blood thirsty addiction, thin legs? Oh, Christ, YES! If I had thin legs, I’m sure I never would have eaten that priest at the beginning of this crazy journey. I would be happy, and you would know it because they, the legs, would be out on the street, loud and proud and wrapped around every hot man’s head until I sang “Oh Danny Boy” at the top of my voice when hitting the proverbial high notes. But no, I have a big ass, short legs, builder’s shoulders and rigor mortis. Go figure. Because I can’t. Welcome to Episode 27 Top Ten Tips on Surviving The Office.

I howl like the wolf because I’m bored and looking for attention, seeing as I’m dead and stuck in limbo, but also because I am your favourite & funniest Irish revenge sister and host of this fictional comedy horror sci-fi podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from my horror / SCI FI fans, otherwise known as depraved lunatics, who are looking for somewhere to lay their fetid brains to soothe their compromised moral core, or to put them aside for a moment, and give them a reason to carry on with their lives after metaphorically killing their awl man or something equally heinous. Personally, I would rather ponder the fact that the moon is not geologically dead as was previously thought or discuss undersea mountains and the fact that they are key hubs for sharks, according to Science Daily. But I dig those desires deep into my underwear so that I can focus on reading your letters in all earnestness, of which I have none. We are not alone, you and I. Bummer, dude. Welcome to Episode 26: Werewolves in the Highlands & The Olympic Robot.

And my second letter is from Pablo, an idealistic priest on an island off the coast of the insane, but not stupidity, circa 2030 who has a crisis of faith when confronted with the realization that the advancement in AI is like modernism’s end goal….ie….get rid of people and the world is perfect. So, he killed everyone and even though humanity is now sublime, and no longer excretes, apart from the dead bodies littering the streets, turning to mush, he is frustrated as he has lost his sense of smell and all the roses are dead, because nature is becoming suicidal. What can I do, he asks?

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this fictional comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from my Lizardly fans to feed their recognition hunger by answering all their horror and SCI FI woes deep in the knowledge that they will never ever ever ever do anything about their desire to change, because, get this, like the rest of us, they just want to wallow. And who can blame them? Sometimes, there’s pleasure in pain. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that when a crazed psychopath saws off your pinky with a rusty screwdriver to blackmail your parents out of their pension, that that is acceptable. But low-level pain that doesn’t catch you off guard is tolerable until it is too late, so you write to me and those listening, to keep all three of us entertained. Misery loves company. So, as your favourite Vigilante Cannibal Nun Agony Aunt, I love the letters, and they keep me warm of a night when I burn them. So, let’s see what we have in this week’s bag o’ shite. Welcome to Episode 24: Smallpoxed & Does My Bum Look Big in This?

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this fictional comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from my muck-raking fans to seek advice about all the times they royally destroyed any respect from their friends like the time they visited a nature reserve in Africa during a hurricane and let all the vampire alligators free before it started and it ended up a blood bath. Still, as your favourite Vigilante Cannibal Nun Agony Aunt, I love the letters, because there’s not much else to laugh at around here apart from my attempt to sew my face to my ass. So, let’s see what we have in this week’s bucket of shame. Episode 23: Waking up in Your Husband’s Wet Dream and Love on The Electric Chair.

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this fictional comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from the pasta jar of filth that stores the thoughts, dreams and fuck ups of my fans as they try to salvage their lives from their overblown emotions that went terribly out of control and left them with nothing more than guilt, shame, and blood on their hands. Still, I love each and every one of you, seeing as I empathize with the lost and the losing and because I am perched in limbo until the end of time as your favourite Vigilante Cannibal Nun Agony Aunt. And after that garbled mess of an introduction, there is nothing left for me to do but to welcome you to the show. Welcome to Episode 22: Ballyhalbert & Monstrous Attitude.

Feb but not fab or Feb up already? What happened to January? Time is like rolling thunder without the thunder and certainly without the bells and whistles. Shrug of shoulders. I was not born to be loved. Just thought I’d throw that one in for effect or is it affect. Life is too long and boring to start with that one. Fun. A bit o’ sauce. Laughter. That is what we need and so let’s get cracking. Because I am here to solve two horror and SCI FI emotional problem letters, sent in by fans, in less than 10 minutes…and here we go.

Each week I solve two Horror and SCI FI emotional problems, sent in by my fans, in less than 10 minutes. So, forget about your two-tone aspirations to have a life of genuine happiness or fasting on a yoga holiday retreat because, get this, you will always be bloated. Just accept it. Clothes never feel right on you, but we all know that naked and blood thirsty wearing nothing, but a dicky bow is a better look.

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from the cesspool of iniquity that all you horror and sci fi fans are dwelling whether that’s in or out of your mind, the future, past, present, or in a medieval sponging house - I get all sorts - cutting across time and space to send me their problems in the hope that I won’t laugh and will indeed give them solutions to one particular problem only to walk into a multitude more. It’s like the asbestos in the talc - you’re never going to solve that problem and yet it smells so good. So let it roll, like God’s wheel, and plan for the next disaster! But don’t expect perfection. Where’s the fun in that?

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from our perennially horror-stricken gaggle of fake paranormal found footage limbo freaks to find a solution to their nihilistic but loving it problems, whilst sending them on a ghost ship into the wilds of their pain-stained psyches to accept the fact that it is ok to be dull. No!!! they cry. Not dull, ehhh banal. Ok, phew, that’s better.

Firstly, I was walking through a field of grass the other day in the midnight sun or some time during the day that is equally poetic, and I was confronted with a series of randomly placed, perhaps strategically placed, target practice boards that shot up all around me, like a rake you step on that hits you on your now broken nose, blood streaming down your face, waves of pain pulsating through your head as if miraculously connected to the lunar cycles. So these target practice boards popped up as cut-outs of Chaka Khan in her finest 1978 stage, mind you any stage with her is a winner, with or without the fangs.

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from our perpetually discomforted collective noun of listeners to find a solution to their sadomasochistic flip-flop personalities, whilst sending them on time travel back to the Spanish Inquisition to be keel hauled or to the horror version of the Sack of Rome to be shot. Their choice. Welcome to Episode 16: New Year’s Resolutions for Zombies. Let’s get real for a second and admit that we are all walking backward, blindfolded, in and out of our own existence with only ten to twelve commodity fetishes to ease our pain, my favourite being the crimper that I use on my hair to delude myself that I look like Kate Bush circa 1979. WOW indeed.

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from our horror listeners, to find a solution to their wind up merchant debacles and then laugh at their expense and for the pleasure of all Santa’s vampire reindeers, paranormal wives and demonic elves put together whilst gurning for the film of my life that is running in my head but not in a cinema near you any time soon. Welcome to episode 15 TOP Ten TIPS ON HOW TO DEAL WITH YOUR NARCISSISTIC PARENTS OVER CHRISTMAS…that’s the one….yes, we are talking about the parents who really shouldn’t have had you or any of your brothers or sisters in their game of a psychologically horrific marriage that they call home, on this Christmas Eve, the day before what is probably the worst day of the year for y’uns. But I am here to help, and you know my motto. When you are truly miserable and at the end of your tether, prepare for a dystopian hell to come so that your present condition will feel like stinging agony by comparison. And if that makes sense to you, then you are truly screwed from this Christmas forward.

I howl like the wolf because I am your host of this comedy horror SCI FI podcast, where, every Tuesday, I read two letters from my horror fans, indulge in their Christmas folly, sever a crazed outlier turkey leg or five with a Kenwood 28cm Electric Carving Knife or make love to a spiked Faux Snow Tipped Mountain Pine Christmas Tree that is addicted to snorting talcum powder, then laugh at the expense of their paltry addictions and for  the cost of everyone else’s drunken Christmas avoidance techniques. Welcome to episode 14: Top Ten Presents to buy your partner for Christmas when you want to ditch them on New Year’s Day.

In the bleak mid-winter, The Vigilante Cannibal Nun felt cold and alone and angry and horny all at the same time. And I am sticking to my guns in that I will never ever ever ever EVER eat sprouts. Colonizers, that’s what I eat, and lots of them, with their red coats and mansion houses and entitlement issues that are not issues as they feel no guilt. Hurrah for Limbo and loneliness, which gives me all the time in the world to solve two weekly horror / SCI FI emotional problems, sent in by fans, in around 10 minutes, give or take a fentanyl lollipop.