Mr. Aussie,

I'm thinking of becoming a librarian and had some questions. First of all the librarians I know are boring, and lame, and self important, and ugly, and plump, and short sighted, and naive, and usually from boring backgrounds and in boring relationships. Are naturally plump and self important people drawn to the field? Are they dull before they become librarians or do the repetitive and pointless tasks, claustrophobic shelving and horrendous lighting create a situation where they withdraw into themselves and become dull and self important. Maybe its the isolation, being locked up with mostly crappy books, sucking the energy out of them. Should I consider becoming an accountant to escape this fate?  Do you have any advice? - E. Carpal Tunnel - Bayonne, NJ

Crikey shit is "Carpal Tunnel" yor right real last name? Yer bleedin dun fer already.

First of all it's not necessarily a crime ter have any or even all of them bloomin crappy qualities listed above. Many in uvver fields 'oo ain't librarians are just as bad on an individual basis. But as a group I agree that yer'll not find a more paffetic bunch a gapers in the 'ol world. Yer don't 'ave ter worry about weffer ter encourage yung librarians because it is a default profession. Once a hackin Uncle Chester has exhausted all their uvver dreams and goals, been rejected on all uvver fronts, received feedback from counselors, muckers, parents, peers, religious leaders, and paid consultants that they'll never amount a gad damned fink, they will then gravitate ter librarianhood. And the problem is that the bloody tasks ain't quite pointless. Some banana bender needs ter make it er job ta organize the nations bleedin books, some bloke needs ter become proficient at findin' information, some wanker needs ter tell other tossers ter shut der holes. The chuffin' problem is that them that take the bloody library Uncle Bob seem ter end up finkin' that they are as important as the books and information itself as well as the real blokes that produce it wen this ain't actually the bloomin' case. Far from it. So I'd say if yor a normal young strapper now then just consider trowin yourself off a high bridge ravver than be a librarian, do wot guvnor! If yor a loser (and since yor name is already carpal tunnel yer probably are) than by all means get yer arse down ta the agency and sign on the dotty to become a librarian.

Good day Aussie,

I'm a thirty something recent divorcee who is trying to get back "out there" and need some advice attracting the right kind of man. Is there a certain way to stand or place to hang out that might make this a little easier. JG - Hartford, CT

Oi HA J,

Oiks J, coppin a bleedin notice is easy. Just know the bloody sort of blokes yer are comfortable wiv, and dress and act the part. Weelin' dealin' flashy salesmen and uvver peacocks like flashy bints - so go ahead wiv the bloody short skirt and heavy warpaint, but then go hed and expect ter be an accessory ter motch his ensemble. Ask yerself if you would really be interested in any fairy 'oo would want a "high maintenance" cow. Lads can 'ave a look at a tart and make an estimate of 'ow long it took 'er ter get showered, right, dressed and done up. I bet they can cop pretty close wivout it even registerin' that they're doin' it - nice nails, right, can I afford to date some hussy that spends $80 a monff on 'er manicure, and yer know she cant golf wiv them; I'd ask 'er to go the game wiv me but I dont want ter miss the bloomin' first quarter wile she's finishin' wiv the hair, so decide now what type o blokes ya want ta snag.

 Step one is yer 'ave ter be accessible, right, the prettiest most done up fantasmagorical Sheila in the bloody center of the chuffin' action of the bar is fun ter 'ave a look at, right, but impossible ter talk to. And if she shoots a bloke dahn thin evry geezer is wotchin'. If yer want ter get some Bruce's attention thin quietly find yorself in 'is paff, on the bloody edge of the action, right, where yer can talk about wots gahn on at center stage, right, or rabbit and pork about sumfink else, to spot early if yer even 'ave anyfink to talk about. 

Then yer need ter be interestin' ter talk to. Yer need ter be able ter carry on a conversation in the areas lads are interested in. With a bleedin little effort in ter studies o should know that if yer want ter cotch a loryer it 'elps ter know wot tort reform means, to know they 'ave briefs and depositions, and if yor right serious about some bloke 'oo is tryin' ter make partner yor better off listenin' ter NPR an that Sheila Nina Totenberg wen she covers the bleedin' Supreme Court than listenin' ter the new J.Lo song. Plus yer cant embarrass 'im in front of 'is chinas evry time yer open yor North and South. If 'e lives for sports yer eever 'ave ter be interested, right, get interested, or reffink it. Yer dont 'ave ter memorize the numbers of all the players on the team, but yer should know that 'ockey don't 'ave 'alves. If yer ain't interested at all in wot 'e does - eever at work or for fun - should yer right be finkin' about him, isit? It 'elps ter know ahead weffer or not 'e'll ever be long-term comfortable wiv some bloke 'oo weren't born rich or jewish, 'oo don't 'ave enough degrees, or 'oose Uncle Bob ain't prestigious enough. I've wotched (and am still wotchin') ruddy ladies werete their time wen they've basically been told 'e's never gonna marry them, but they dont want ter hear it. Same for waitin' 'round for the bloomin' married lad. Dont bovver wiv the dj, musician, right, dancer, bar tender, or uvver big swingin wanker types. Right. A dozen bints a day frow ffemselves at the Royal Mile lads, and the rest of the time they're just 'ave a lookin' for a challenge. They're rarely interested in more than 2-3 "dates", because there is always a fresh challenge battin' 'er eyelashes 'is way, so unless yer've known them for a wile its Mae West to 'ave a look elsewhere. I dont fink its realistic ter expect ter be Cinderella. Now quit a typin note to the Aussie in yer bleedin flat and git out der an land yerself a goddam fish.

Prior Aussie Advice