Category: Dear Donkey

>Dear Donkey,

> Remember how the girl behind the counter in Specsavers flirted with me? Well, I was really looking forward to returning there, so that she could flirt with me a little more. What happens? Well, my girlfriend goes and picks up my contact lenses for me, that’s what!

> I need your help, and I need it fast. I need a good excuse why I can go back to Specsavers periodically.

> Anon

Donkey says:

Ahohohoh! NOW we’re getting into my favourite territory.

There are a couple of options here. One superb choice would be to sneak round to Specsavers, and if the girl in question is on duty, pop inside. Look at some frames, maybe try a couple on. For this exercise, it is best if you have your contact lenses in, otherwise the next step will be very difficult.

Wait for her to look over your way. When she does, shout OI! at her, or something equally sophisticated. Tell her that you need help choosing some frames, and ask her which pair make you look the most drop-dead gorgeous and fuckable.

You probably don’t need me to tell you where to go from there. Such a phrase is like a sprinkling of paraffin on the flames of flirt. Bask, enjoy, and most of all, enjoy.

Another option is to mix up some salt solution and squirt it into your eye. This will make your eye go all red and gross and sore, which enables you to enter the opticians and bathe in the glow of her sympathy and love. The downside of this is that you’ll rapidly be rushed through to the consulting room, when I’m sure you want to spend more time stood at the counter with Flirtella herself, and you probably also don’t want to have salt in your eye preventing you from gazing adoringly down her top.

These are all fantastic ideas. We can tell, because I came up with them.

> Dear Donkey,

> The girl behind the counter in Specsavers flirted with me. She was quite cute, and wearing a low-cut top.

> This isn’t a question. I just wanted to gloat. Hah.

> Anon

Donkey says:

Were my mailbag a little less empty, I’d discard this missive in a trice. In case you’d forgotten, I am incredibly studly, and am approached by foxy young things with sultry come-to-bed eyes on a daily, nay, HOURLY basis. Maybe one of these days I’ll take you out and you can observe the master at work.

Given that you haven’t asked a question, I’m free to offer you whatever advice I choose, without being constrained by being forced to make it pertinent to your request. As a result, I offer you this nugget: get a haircut you idiot.

Anyone else out there who has got problems as big as this fool?

> Dear Donkey,

> After the recent success of *[Deal or no Deal][]*, do you think Noel Edmonds will make it back onto primetime TV?

> Anon

[deal or no deal]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deal_or_No_Deal_%28UK%29

**Donkey says:**

I recognise you. It’s been a long time since I was sat in this particular seat, typing at this particular keyboard, but something about you seems familiar. And if you are who I think you are, and I think you are because I recognise your email address, then I have to say this: you’ve let yourself go a bit, haven’t you?

I mean, what’s this *Deal or No Deal?*

Rhetorical question – I’m not incapable of searching Wikipedia – but you’re watching shows that I haven’t even heard of. That either means that you’re cooler than me by a factor of a million, or dumber than me by a factor of a million. We can rule out the first using the Laws of Physics, and we can deduce that the latter is highly likely using the Laws of Noel Edmonds.

I’d answer your question, but my bale of hay is ready. Maybe I’ll come back to this dumbass query after dinner.

On second thoughts… no.

> Dear Donkey,

> I am bored of my job.

Donkey says:

Awwww. Da booboo not likey booboo jobby-boo? Abibabibabibaboo. Booboo want a huggy-boo? Miboobooboo.

> Dear Donkey,

> The new(ish) swearing function has finally destroyed my already fragile ego, thus sending me into a tragic spiral of self-loathing despair.

> While I’m lost in the depths of my own neurosis, do you have a map of the mind’s nether regions that I can borrow?

Donkey says:

You can borrow my brain map, if you like:

Now, at first it might look a bit complicated, but allow me to walk you through it.

Section 1 is called the Frontal Lobe. That’s used for thinking about womens’ breasts. It’s pretty big, as you can see. And, as Ms. Brook is demonstrating over there on the right hand side, it varies in size during the course of the day.

Section 2 is called the Temporal Lobe. That’s used for getting angry. Like, if some guy in a bar is hitting on your girlfriend, then BOOM! Your temporal lobe kicks in, and you lay the smack down on him.

Section 3 is called the Parietal Lobe. You use that for thinking about how attractive your friends’ parents are.

Section 4 is the Occipital Lobe. That’s the bit that the surgeons squeeze when they need to knock you unconscious for any reason. That’s how the Vulcan Death Grip works.

Section 5 is the Cerebellum. The cerebellum does everything that the other bits don’t do. For example, thinking about pies and watching films.

I hope that this answers your questions, you fucking idiot. I mean, you’re lovely and cute and great and we all love you.

> Dear Donkey,

> I’ve got a problem. There’s this guy that I like but he is with this other girl, and she is totally not right for him at all. Should I move in or should I be a good girl?

> Anonymous

Donkey says:

Well, you can do what I do when I have a similar problem. I just kinda walk around, smell foul, and occasionally eat something.

Works for me!

Hope this helps.