Ask Mick

Madeline asked me to step in and take over 'er advice column, and I accepted, always tryin' to 'elp me fellow blokes, or birds as the case may be. Her letters 'ave been forwarded to me and I will do me Mae West offering advice.

DEAR MICK: I am a Level 4 Operative and I finally found my Mr. Right. He is gentle and has beautiful smile. He loves cooking, cleaning and even vacuuming. He has the best fashion taste and he loves go shopping with me. I am totally in love with him. BUT, he is a Gay! What should I do? I am madly in love. And WHY, just WHY, the perfect man is always a Gay? -UPSET LEVEL 4 OPERATIVE DEAR UPSET: What yer need is a solid dose of testosterone, baby. Testosterone wiv a capital "Mick". Hmmm. Do I know of Uncle Tom Cobley and all who fits the bill, so to speak. Yer know darlin', I fink I could squeeze yer in. Yer "Mr. Right Ginger Beer" may be able to cook, but I am the one what can put some lovin' in yer oven.

DEAR MICK: I have had a serious crush on another operative for several years now, and although I have made my feelings known to her on at least two occasions, she has rejected my advances in favor of an...ahem...less devoted man. However, luck is with me. Due to a wondrous twist of fate and some modern technology, she has practically forgotten that this guy exists! Should I make my move, or lay low for a while? I certainly don't want to get my butt kicked by either her or the "Rejected One". What do you think? -OREO LOVER DEAR OREO LOVER: Wait, yer're a bloke? I thought only crumpet wrote to advice columns, dat is why I accepted dis job. Well, I'm 'ere to 'elp, mate. These things can get tricky. Why don't yer let me take aht yer bird, and after some nosh and a few glasses of wine she might confide in me. I'll play to 'er emotions and do some of me own investigatin', and then I'll get back to yer wiv what I've learned. How does dat sound, mate?

DEAR MICK: I'm a Level Two operative who used to be in love with a Level Five Operative, but after a recent mission, I've noticed I don't love him any more. This has happened very suddenly, and, um, Sam, doesn't understand. For that matter, neither do I. What should I do? -JOIE DEAR JOIE: Yer obviously need to play the field, baby. Try some new flavors, me little popsicle. And 'ere I am darlin', just waitin' to 'elp yer aht. Dijer know dat there are 265 bones inside yer body? And I could show yer 'ow to get one more.

Are you an operative in need of advice? Write to [email protected], citing "Dear Mick" in the subject.

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