Articles tagged with: unhappy

Cat Lady Query

Cat Lady Query

Hi Barry,

 Greetings from the beautiful state of Nebraska! Go corn Huskers Go!

 I am what you might term a ‘cat lady’. I know it is meant as an unkind term, but I cannot deny the truth of it—i am a lady who is into cats. In fact some might say my feline affection goes too far. My Ex-Husband Bob thought so when he came home early from his manager’s job at the Dairy Queen in Lincoln and caught me in bed having ‘relations’ with a ginger tom and a tawny tabby I’d picked up from the pet rescue. 

 I’ve since stopped my alley catting ways (plus the pet rescue took out a restraining order)  and am now ready to settle down with a handsome Burmese cat, Mr Binky I found living in a dumpster. Trouble is in the United States human cat marriage is not legal. So I need a couple of million to lobby my local congressman to try and get a law passed in Washington. Please help love find a way, Barry.




If you don’t help. GO F*CK YOURSELF!

Straight Talking

Stop my Sayings

Dearest Barry,

I have read most of your other begs and they strike me as silly, obvious con jobs designed to lift the cash from your no doubt gigantic bank account

Well I am different. I’m a plain speaking man, raised honest in the endless cornfields of Norwich so I’m not going to beat about the bush, go round the houses, call a spade a fork, try and flim flam you, pull the wool over your eyes, tell you my auntie is my uncle, sell you a pig in a poke, lead you by the nose, pull a fast one, visit Alice in the bakers or take you to the cleaners.

To cut a long story short I just want a donation so I can stop the unstoppable urge to endlessly compound my sentences with well known phrases. It’s sending me and my family crazy like a loon, up the wall, round the bend, away with the fairies, bats in the belfry, going postal with metal hands and, well you get the picture, are clued in, know the score, woke like waco, know the 411, are in the know. 

So please flash the cash, make it rain, deal the dosh, fork out, cough up, feed the meter, tap the monkey in its special place to help, as you can't take it with you, no pockets in shrouds, money is meant for spending, charity begins at my house.  


Judd Crossbar

PS You never know how strong you are till you are boiled alive in a teacup

Haunted Washing Machine

Demon in my Hotpoint

Haunted Washing Machine

Dearest Barry,

I’ll come straight to the point. One of my home appliances has been invaded by supernatural entities who are terrorising my family and making my life a living hell!

It began when my youngest son Nicholas tried to clean his pet chicken in the washing machine. The poor bird was killed but its blood sacrifice meant a demon was able to take up residence inside our Bosch washer dryer (which incidentally we got it on a really good deal from John Lewis).

Since then all the families clothes have smelt of sulphur and my kids go to school smelling of rotten eggs. To be fair, drying is a lot quicker now with the machine being powered by the fires of hell (but get the timing wrong and the kid’s PE kits are reduced to ashes)

I’ve contacted a ‘White Goods Witch’ through Gumtree who says she can get rid of the demon for 50K  in cash. Could you please forward me the money so I can instruct her to send this spin cycle spirit back where it came from.

Though thinking about it, it could be cheaper to buy a new washing machine. So could you send a grand for that please as well.



New Windows Please

Terrorized by Glass

New Windows Please

Dear Barry,

I write in desperation. You are my only hope. I think i am losing my mind!!!!!!!!

Ever since I can remember I have been stalked by a mystery figure who appears on any reflective glass surfaces in every house or place i lived or visited. Cars, stores, you name it, these figures appears!

I have no idea who this mystery figure is (i get so frightened i never look for longer than a milisecond) all i know is i get scared and lash out and have to smash the glass.

I am now live in a windowless apartment in Detroit, drink from stone beakers and have to wear chain mail gloves whenever i go out. I am at my wits end at what to do. 

Please send a couple of million dollars so I can get to the bottom of this.



PS The terrorizer showed up on my ipad screen as i wrote this and I had to smash the shit out of it. So please add a thousand bucks to my total. 

Farming Disaster

the road to hell...

Farming Disaster

Woke up the other day and realized that I’d been going about giving my fortune away all wrong.

Instead of spending the next 77 years wading through the begs trying to make the world a better place I should try and give massive chunks away at once.

At first I considered punting a few million to charities that work overseas but thought they probably had enough white Toyota Land Cruisers to be going on with. But then it hit me-I should convert a muck spreader so that instead of spreading manure it would pelt out pound coins to the poor.

I quickly set my butler, Ivan to work and within a day or two we were ready to go. Usually it would take months but that’s what money buys you-time. And tricked out muck spreaders.

It was all looking good, but then we hit a snag. Ivan, reverting to his Russian revolutionary principles, had loaded the 2 million quids worth of pound coins with the Queen’s head facing down.

Now I’m not a royalist by any means-my Lamborghini Countach has a bumper sticker of Oliver Cromwell riding a King Charles spaniel-but I knew in my heart of hearts that it was disrespectful to have the old Lizzie’s noggin facing the wrong way.

After all she’d bravely stayed in London during the war to face the Germans while my shirking grandfather had left his family at home and ran off to North Africa, Italy and the beaches of Normandy.

So I instructed Ivan to cease his communist ways and to make sure all of them were facing upwards. He estimated this would take another 48 hours, so I took the chance to hop in the ‘copter and hit the tables down in Monte Carlo.

It was a great trip, I only lost $200,000, though I did get into a fight with the singer Mick Hucknall about which was deeper man made navigation channel, the Manchester Ship Canal or the St Lawrence Seaway. He was for the St Lawrence.

Fisticuffs ensued which left him bald and me with a new ginger party wig.

By the time I got back the coins were facing the correct way and Ivan said all was ready for the distribution. I don’t mind admitting I was excited. Here I was about to get rid of nearly 2 million pounds in a fair and democratic manner.

This was going to be a great day for a great many people.

I couldn’t have envisioned how badly wrong it would turn out. Ivan had set the muck spreader to ‘extreme’ so as soon as we switched it on, by the local sheep farm, pound coins began spraying out like one of those ultra fast machine guns you get on helicopters.

I won’t go into the gory details but if you ever meet Jason & his Argonauts, tell them to stop sailing aimlessly around fighting skeletons and that the golden fleece, no make that a flock of fleeces are located near my country mansion.

We made a speedy escape, OK we trundled off at around 5 mile an hour, and it was back to the drawing board. Will i ever be rid of my fortune