Girl at campsite: Ah-CHOO!

Me: Bless you.

Girl: Thanks. My hayfever is sooo bad here.

Me: Would you care for an anti-histamine?

Girl: Oh yes please!

Me: I’ve got Telfast or Phenergan, take your pick.

Girl: Phernergan? You take Phernergan? That’s used to drug children, you know. It’s used to drug them, so that they can be kidnapped or something. It’s really dangerous.

Me: So’s your face.

Would you consider moving to melbourne and being my house slave?

Probably not.

What’s the point of asking you anything?

The fact that you asked me this question caused the laws of logic to implode and shower tiny flakes of Lame into your gay fish tank.

Do you prefer guys who are circumcised or uncircumcised, and why?

Oh I’m not really into astrology!

Do you really dislike your mother as much as it seems?

No, I love my mother. You stay away from her.

What scares you (apart from giant cockroaches)?

Gang rape, ice junkies, childbirth, bagpipes and facial scars.

Why are people cunts?

I can scientifically explain why men are cunts, but not women. I think you just need to accept that generally speaking, the average person is pretty shit.

Annik Skelton a friend to the poor?

I never give change to homeless people, but I used to randomly give bums $10 or $20 notes just to see what their reaction would be. Then I got a job writing.

Can pregnant women take the front seat on the bus?

Lord, no! Pregnant men, however, are entitled to drive the bus, if they wish to do so.

Did your medication for getting your wisdom teeth out fuck you up?

Oh yes. I’d do it all again, if my medical insurance would cover that sort of thing.

Do uni girls fuck a lot?

It depends what your degree is. In accounting, not so much. But generally, uni isn’t the best place to pick-up unless you want to put in a lot of effort. Most girls pretend to have standards, then they go on a Contiki tour and have sex with eight different people every half hour.

Do you skinny dip in your pool?

The Hills have eyes, and nosy neighbours, so no.

How did your brother torture you?

In various ways. By pinning me to the floor and farting in my face, or making up songs about how ugly I was and singing them during long car trips, or punching me in the face, or locking me in the garage, or putting cat poo in my food. Kids!

How do you make a magazine?

First you’ll need eight litres of engine oil and a babushka doll. Sift the flour, turn left, push the lid down as you open the bottle, and add more reverb. That’s very important. Then you press DISPLAY at the same time as CLOCK and hold it down, add a slice of fresh lime, and tie a knot in the whole thing. Serve chilled.

How bad is Hillsbus?

Allow me to answer a question with a question here – how bad is Lucifer’s anus?

How long does it take from the hills to the city by bus?

Thirty to forty minutes without traffic, two hours with traffic.

Tell me the name of a powerful pill that makes girls too excited for fucking?

Money.

Where do I catch the Hillsbus?

Catching the Hillsbus is quite simple. Just stand at the base of any incline in Sydney’s outer suburbs, raise a conch to your lips, and then plunge it into your chest.

Why does my hair come out in clumps?

It sounds like a wiring problem. Have you tried turning the hair off at its power source and rebooting? Oh you forgot your password! How silly. I’ll reset that for you.

Is Annik Skelton a scam?

Completely and entirely. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make money off you chumps for thirty years now!

Why would you invite Tim Allen over for Christmas?

Presumably for dinner. I imagine he’d be quite tasty once roasted.

How do you stop?

Why start! I like to hold back in the effort department, as it only leads to more work later on.

Wine racks. What’s the point?

Nobody really knows. Personally, I have never owned enough unopened bottles of wine at the same time to necessitate a wine rack. What am I going to do with a wine rack!

It’s time to Ask Elton stuff, like we did before.

Do it here if you want to remain anonymous, or email askelton@annikskelton.com if you’re willing to reveal yourself (only to me though, I won’t post your details unless you piss me off.)

All questions will be answered, unless they are boring or relate to my sex life.

Love,

Elton

Mum: We had this terrible incident at the hospital a few years ago… A woman who worked there part-time was going around stealing all the nurses’ purses and-

Me: Wait, hang on, the nurses’ purses?

Mum: Yeah, so?

Me: NURSES’ PURSES? That’s hilarious! It sounds like a shitty crime novel. Like, Nancy Drew and the Troubling Case of the Missing Nurses’ Purses. Haha!

Mum’s friend: So what happened then?

Me: Oh who cares. Let’s open another bottle of wine!

Mum: Can you open the champagne, darling?

Dad: The Chandon?

Mum: No, the Veuve. I told you to bring the Veuve!

Dad: Well I just grabbed whatever was in the fridge.

Mum: The fridge in the kitchen?

Dad: No, the fridge in the garage.

Mum: Why would you do that?

Dad: You just said ‘get the champagne from the fridge’. If you meant a specific champagne from a particular fridge, you should have said so.

Me: Yeah, Mum. The guy’s a GP, not an oracle.

Mum: I just don’t understand why you never listen to me properly. If you were unsure, you should have asked.

Me: Yeah, Dad. You went to medical school for six years but you can’t even figure out what champagne to bring to Christmas lunch?

Dad: I have worked my arse off so that you people can have champagne in the first place, and then this is how you treat me?

Me: Yeah, Mum!

Mum: Oh, right, because birthing your children and raising them into semi-respectable adults was just one big goddamn holiday for me.

Me: Yeah, Dad! Wait…what do you mean by semi?

Dad: Annik, please tell your mother that if anybody needs me, I’ll be in my study.

Mum: Come on, get up, get out of the spa. We’re going to pose for a family portrait.

Me: Seriously?

Mum: Yes, your uncle brought his camera and I can’t remember the last time we all had a photo together.

Me: I don’t want to do that.

Mum: Just shut up and get out. It’s Christmas and we’re going to look happy.

Me: But I’ve had, like, eight beers.

Mum: Well at least you’ll be smiling.

The best part about Sex & the City is at the end of every episode, when two of the main characters have an ambiguous conversation and the plot gains some very clever subtext that only intelligent people notice, before Carrie does a contrived voice-over that would make for a shitty column.

For example, Miranda and Carrie might be sitting on a bench outside an authentic New York cafe, pretending to eat cupcakes, and Miranda will say, “How’s yours?” and Carrie will reply, “Pretty good, Miranda….pretty good..” with a slow, mysterious smile, and the audience is left wondering whether Carrie was referring to the cupcake or her urinary tract infection….or both.

Mum: How’s the new job going?

Me: Good.

Mum: Tell me something about it!

Me: Today I wrote a 30-second radio spot.

Mum: Wonderful! Did I ever tell you I used to write for radio?

Me: No.

Mum: I wrote a jingle for Mr Tickety’s Farm Hire. Mr Tickety’s a friend to you… Mr Tickety’s a friend to meeeeee….

Me: Please don’t sing it.

Mum: That was back when I was teaching in Moree.

Me: What station was it? One-oh-four-point-middle-of-fucking-nowhere? Redneck FM?

Dad: Haha!!

Mum: Don’t laugh at her, she’s nasty.

The best part of Poking Seaweed with a Stick and Running away from the Smell is when the kids are so poor and bored that they pull down their pants and run around the house half-naked while their mother tries to insert objects into their anuses, and you feel grateful that you did not grow up in Scotland.

The best part of Sybil is when the mother is angry with her neighbour so she takes a dump on their front lawn during the middle of the night, rather than just eating an entire cheesecake and bitching about them to her Bible study group the way my mother would.

The best part of A Million Little Pieces is nothing, because it is such a turgid steaming mass of literary rape that I wouldn’t waste a match to set it on fire.

Arsehole: Why won’t you go out with me?

Me: You’re coming on a little too strong.

Arsehole: What do you mean?

Me: Well.. it’s like when a cat is trying to sneak up on a bird. If the cat runs up to the bird, making lots of noise and sudden movements, then the bird will get scared and fly away before the cat makes it within a five metre radius. But if the cat moves towards the bird slowly and quietly, one step at a time, eventually it might be able to sit right next to the bird.

Arsehole: I don’t understand.

Me: I’m the bird.

Arsehole: Do you have any hot friends?