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Free Online Advice Column
Poster: Miss Zelda <email@example.com>
Hello, I am sorry to intrude, this won't take long...THIS IS A ONE TIME
I am Miss Zelda, Advice Columnist to the Medievally Challenged.
I run a e-mail advice column for scadians, free to anyone interested.
Some call it rude, wacky, perverted, or confusing. Most just call it
fun. YOU MUST HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR!! No fuddy duddies please! A new
issue comes out about every two weeks. There are aproximatly 200 gentles
from all over the world on the mailing list.
Miss Zelda appears in 12 newsletters, and was most recently featured in
the Middle Kingdom Newsletter, The Pale.
What are you missing ot on??? Find out!
An issue follows this text. It's #23 of 25 issues.
Thanks for your time.
Miss Zelda's Advice Column and Pet Rock Euthanasia Clinic, now in it's
23rd issue! We welcome back Miss Zelda, Advice columnist to the
Medievally mundane is back from a relaxing vacation in Downtown Trenton,
NJ. Miss Zelda had a great time in Jersey, her coach was only broken
into 6 times in 5 days, and she made $10 as a street performer/stripper.
Miss Zelda, a world recognized author, advice columnist and applehead
doll maker to the stars is _NOT_ a licensed Psyhcologist, but being that
about 90% of the population isn't either, didn't think you would really
care all that much anyway.
Miss Zelda has a new book "How to get your Livestock in the Movies".
With the sudden glut of cute animal films, Miss Zelda has written a
handbook that tells you how to get your livestock a supporting role in
just about any movie, not just Children's films. Advice like: " Just
because your sheep is sheepish doesn't mean he doesn't have a future as
a loin chop on Robert De Niro's plate in the next big gangster film" is
inside this book. Buy yours at your local A&P, by the meat tenderizer.
Here's the word from this week's losers:
Dear Miss Zelda,
Help me Miss Zelda you're my only hope...
I am a squire of the Sir Robert le Maplethorpe, and I find when I am
unarmouring him recently I have these thoughts... like running godlessly
nude through the countryside, arm in arm with him, picking posies or
giving him a bath with goats milk while young men fan us with ostrich
I love fair comely women, so I do not believe I am a purveyor of the
pleasures of men but, then one of these dreams occur I begin to doubt
myself. A bit. Why am I having these thoughts?
Thanks in advance for your help. I haven't been this troubled since I
fitted my King for his tights.
-Stephen de Giles
It's not you, it's really not. Ask your master to take bath once in a
awhile, it really works. Armour has a real habit of accentuating that
stink, sometimes ten-fold. And, in time after he bathes a bit more,
you'll find you haven't had a hallucination in ages.
Now, that "king and his tights" problem you mentioned leads me to
believe that you're gay. But the good part is if you let the word out
you'll find a successful career in the French court. Good luck!
Dear Miss Zelda,
I am amazed to find myself writing to you, since most of your letters
seem to come from troubled young harlots and half-grown boys, but I
really must turn somewhere for advice. Where to begin?
I am a powerful, very powerful, really important Du -- er, member of a
ruling family in a charming little Italian city-state. Gold and jewels,
furs and innocents to violate--yes, I have it all. Yet lately, it's not
enough. I crave--I shudder to even name it aloud--I want, no, I need to
be treated like a subordinate. A peasant. Yes, that's it. I need to
be forced to work long, profitless hours in the fields; I long to see my
family starve beside me while royals live in comfort. And, oh, how I'd
love just once to be wrongfully imprisoned and tortured until I
confess. Help me, Miss Zelda!
-Definitely Not Duke Francesco Sforza of Milan.
Dear Dark Stranger (wink, wink),
I think you and I could be extremely happy together, let me blow your
fortune for you and help your wish come true! But, if you decide to
make the transition slowly...
I never thought I would _ever_ say this, but there's always a first,
call Dr. Joyce Brothers, today! She'll make sure to rip all your money
away in hopeless cures, one after the other... so after a few months of
therapy with her, your dream will come true! You'll be poorer than
your average chamber pot boy!
Dear Miss Zelda,
I was married at the tender age of 9 to the brother of the King of
France. Charles is such an effeminate dolt that, although he showers me
with gifts, he hasn't a clue that our children were all born of
different fathers. Lately, I've grown bored of court life, and have
taken up political intrigue as a hobby. Come to think of it, I guess I
don't have any problems after all. Bye!
-Content in Paris
Dear Black Raven,
The flying squirrel that crows at midnight needs 10 buttons from the
cat's collar by the thirteenth ring, or Red Rooster's gonna play
Miss Zelda wishes to thanks all the readers who wrote in this week.
This week's "Zelda-Fact": Zelda is a Major in the Zimbabwaye National
If you wish to be installed to or removed from the patented mailing
list, or have a letter or comment for Zelda write to: whipmistress@ao...
oops... firstname.lastname@example.org, all letters will be given to Miss Zelda
when she emerges from hiding in deprivation tank.
(Editor's Note: Zelda really needs letters for future columns, because
we can only get her to come around to answer mail, and we really need
our paychecks signed! Bribing her with Mars bars used to work, but not
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