I am Music and I bite the thongs

Earl Fowler

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

My wife has always been extremely beautiful, but lately she has been putting on an awful lot of weight. Frankly, I’m worried. Is there a discreet way for me to broach the subject?

— Mike … from Canmore

Dear Mike,

Bite your tongue, cross your legs and think of England. After all, we built this country on sausage rolls. When you’re in love with a beautiful woman, you watch her thighs.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

In a glob of Velveeta, honey, I keep having an erotic fantasy about a fromage-à-trois involving semi-hard cheddar, Danish blue and braids of smoked gouda. My girlfriend thinks I’ve slipped off my cracker, but I’d like to churn my vision into a feta compli. Could you please act as our imparmesan jury and decide?

— O. Camembert in Climax, Sask.

Dear O.C.,

O. Camembert, we stand on guard for brie! We have it from no less an authority than Annie Lennox that like the moon, sweet dreams are made of cheese. Might as well cut it with a digital glove.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

This is kind of a weird one. My girlfriend usually stays over with me on the weekend. We both enjoy liver and onions so we make a big batch every Saturday night. We rarely finish the leftovers on Sunday, but lately I’ve been finding an empty casserole dish in my sink after she heads to work on Monday morning. This vexes me, but honestly, I have no idea what to do about it. What do you think?

— Stew in Saskatoon

Dear Stew

Hmm. When this sort of thing happens, it will only get worse if you let it simmer to the boiling point. You’re going to have to make it clear that you’re on to her cheating ways and tell her straight out: “Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you.”

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I used to drink heavily whenever a relationship would come to an end, but have been sober for almost two years and don’t want to fall back into the self-destructive pattern of my wayward youth. Lately, I’d been doing really well. Wouldn’t you just know it, though? I returned from work today to find a note from my husband revealing that he has left me for my best friend. Is there a more constructive strategy to help me cope?

— Lorraine in La Tuque

Dear Lorraine,

It’s Canada Dry when your baby says goodbye.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I generally agree with your advice, but as a fellow medical arts practitioner, I must protest that that last one was ludicrously inexpensive.

— Dr Keurig Pepper; bewitched, bottled and refiltered in Waco, Texas

Dear Dr Pepper,

So not misunderstood! When I look back, boy, I must have been green. Bopping in the country. Pissing in a stream. I can see clearly now. Lorraine is gone.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I just sneaked out on a woman after spotting her at the bar where we’d arranged to meet. She didn’t look anything like her Instagram profile picture, but gosh, I still feel terrible for leaving without saying a word. Have you ever done anything so despicable?

— Lecherous Lothario of Cad, Wyoming

Dear Lech,

Even back in the prelapsarian past, when Dr. Mangled Song Lyric was himself on the market, blind dates were a thing. I stealthily bailed on one once and as I was hitting the exit gate, I found myself humming: “Then I saw her face. Now I’m gonna leave her.”

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I’ve noticed that all your references are from half a century or more ago. I know I don’t read so good ’cuz I’m from a post, like, dead-tree generation, but you do know that there are bands around today like Kings of Leon, right? Did you even notice Nirvana? R.E.M.? Your ignorance really burns me up.

— Sundry Followills, Walla Walla, Washington

Dear Foo Fighters,

Ohhhh, dyslexics on fire! Here we are now, in containers. Let’s pee in the corner, let’s pee in the spotlight.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

With terrible advice like that, don’t go around tonight. Well, it’s bound to take your life. There’s a bathroom on the right. And anyway, enough with the young punks. How come you haven’t yet mentioned the real King? Suspicious minds want to know.

— Priscilla P., Graceland

Dear Priscilla,

It turns out 50,000,000 Elvis fans, the exact number of MAGA supporters in the Great Republic to the south, could be wrong. We’re caught in a Trump.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

Trump is too much of a psychopathic narcissist to see it, of course, but it’s lonely at the top.

— Barack Obama, Rancho Mirage

Dear Barry,

Don’t want to be Obama self anymore?

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

In the church, I light the votives. And the wax rolls down like tears. So how come my prayers are never answered?

— Ayatollah Khomeini, Bomb-Bomb-Bomb-Bomb-Bomb, Iran

Dear Rusty,

The pope don’t work ’cause the Vandals broke the candles.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I’m thinking of opening a vegetarian restaurant, but all the good names seem to have been taken: Slutty Vegan, PLNT Burger and like that. Can you help me out?

— G. Ramsay, OBE

Dear Michelin Man,

This is the Dawning of the Age of Asparagus.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I’m thinking of opening a store that sells wigs to cancer patients. Need a name that’s catchy but inoffensive. Any ideas?

— Perruquier Pete, Chalk River Laboratories

Dear Perruquier,

How does Bald-headed Woman, Bald-headed Woman to Me grab you?

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me; I think they’re all gay. How can I get them to leave me alone?

(P.S. I don’t know whether this is material, but last night I dreamt of some bagels.)

— Madge from Poppadum Beach

Dear Madge,

Try going with: “Don’t sigh for me, ballerinas.”

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I remove umbilicals.

— Hot Chocolate Obstetrics & Gynaecology

Dear Hot,

Where you from, you sexy thing?

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

If you could read my mind, love, what a tail a fox could tell of the peg leg they call Gitchie Gloomy. The legend lives on ’cause some chicks passed it down. But the CD’s gone and I just can’t get it back on the deck of the Ella Fitzgerald. Now I’m stuck here in the grass with a paint brush up my nose.

— G. Lightfoot, Orillia, Ont.

Dear Gord,

That’s what you get for drinking tea.

Dear Dr. Mangled Song Lyric,

I was dismayed by the paparazzi scum who chased Harry and Meghan through the streets of New York this week. A wild goose chase in pursuit of a couple of royal turkeys, if you ask me. What say you?

— Ron Galella, Stockholm

Dear Godfather,

Agreed. Rule No. 1: Don’t go chasing Butterballs.