Episode 12: Alien Chihuahua & Silent Temper

For once in my life, I have someone who needs me, like a giant hole in the head, blasted with  a possessed AK47 left to rust in the cold and wet and itching to get used and abused so that it can bite back. Who says romance is dead? Me! The Vigilante Cannibal Nun, that’s who, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t laugh at your stupid mistakes when in love or out of love or hovering around contempt. We’re all just plain bored, and that’s why you’re listening to me, your least favourite Agony Aunt, of the eating the colonizers kind, and yes I do like chocolate with my chips. Each week I solve two horror and SCI FI emotional problems, sent in by my fans, in less than 10 minutes, give or take a petulant vampire rat with a broken amygdala or heart, who can’t decide what is worse. So, forget about your ideas of perfection, throw  yourself into the fire and see if you can swim and here we go.

Our first letter today is from Nina from San Francisco circa 1975. Nina says that she is too sensitive. She says she hears the pain of the grass growing, cannot see the wood for the trees, the fly from the ointment or the serial killer from the Alien Chihuahua and always ends up getting down and dirty with nut jobs. She asks if she should accept the pain of life or seek happiness elsewhere?

Our second letter is from Gerry, a man in 1980’s Belfast who says that he’s afraid of his temper. Every time he opens his mouth he runs away.