Dear Duff

Written by Duff

Friday, 30 January 2009

Hey!

The story you are trying to access may cause offense, may be in poor taste, or may contain subject matter of a graphic nature. This story was written as a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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Dear Duff,

I'm at my wits' end and don't know who to turn to. I suspect that my wife, Georgina, is in fact an alien visiting Earth from a far-distant galaxy where no man has boldly gone before.

It's the little things she does that give it away, like for example, gripping the bars of the electric fire with her bare hands. She says that it's just to help her circulation during these cold January days but I think she's trying to fool me.

Last week I caught her in a secret lab down the back of our garden with all sorts of fancy bits of weird looking space equipment. When I asked her what she was doing she made some kind of hasty excuse and blustered out of there and got the tea on.

What do you think I should do?

Worried,

Andover, Hampshire.

Duff replies:

Dear Worried,

Get the fuck out of there before something awful happens to you! Once you get over the loss I'm sure that you'll see Georgina for what she really was - an alien emissary sent from a distant galaxy as a prelude to enslaving mankind for ever.

Why don't you sign up to one of the many online dating sites and find yourself a new sweetheart.

You've had a very lucky escape if you ask me.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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