Dear Fagony Aunt,
I’m writing to you because my husband has been involved in a scandal recently and I’m being crucified for my decision to stay with him. We encountered some serious financial issues due to a huge tax bill. We were both was under a lot of stress and as a result our sex life dwindled, as he had difficulty performing sexually. He just needed an escape from it all, and turned to dogging for a sexual release. I believe he just got caught up in the moment and was encouraged to take drugs by his lover, Barry. He was even snorting up to six or seven lines a day! I believe he is a good man and a good father. He admits he’s done things he didn’t think possible for a human being to do, and I respect that. He’s seeking counselling for his drug addiction and has cut all ties with his lover. I took a vow for better or for worse, so why am I being so harshly judged for sticking by him?
Oh, sweetie. Where do I start with you, honey? Firstly, your use of the term “crucified” has been misplaced. Crucified is what you should have done to your husband when you found out he was sticking his dick in some old codger instead of you. You may not know this, but your husband’s brother is loaded – and the claim that financial stress can change ones sexuality is a bigger ball of yarn than the tooth fairy. Speaking of fairies, the reason yo’ man couldn’t get a stiffy had less to do with the fact that you had no money, and more to do with the fact that you had no penis.
Most people that need an escape, open a laptop and flick on PornHub – not lurk in bushes fiddling their flesh flute. It’s a known fact that mephedrone turns otherwise respectable people into brucken whores – but it doesn’t make them bend and spread if they don’t secretly want to.
Next, six to seven lines isn’t an addiction; it’s breakfast. Even six to seven grams is child’s play. You say he’s a good man – and you’re right – the most loving husbands are always getting off their tits and noshing off daddies while their wife’s at home flogging their DVDs on Ebay. I don’t mean to be serving you truth tea, but baby, you best take a big old gulp. Just pretend you’re Paul getting a wad hitting his tonsils.
As for doing things he thought not possible of a human – girl, wait she gets her next speeding ticket and winds up in The Hoist.
And as for that fag frontin’ and telling you Paul was gonna leave you and marry him, sister-friend I would not take that lying down (unlike your husband did). I’d advise you cut off that prissy queen’s saggy testicals and petrol bomb her house.
Of course, wedding vows are “for better or for worse”. But that means if your man looses both his legs in a car accident or brutally murders somebody; not when they’re felching Barry while you’re at the bingo. It’s obviously you’re decision to stand by him, but don’t be surprised if he wants to stick it up your poop chute every night…