Better ask Bob

Dear Deloise,

I am worried about my dogs. Though they are in the prime of life and should be out there working every day on their own, after my servants feed them and drive them to the dog park, release them for an hour to wander around, and then recapture them, the dogs come home and go to sleep. ‘Don’t wake me widdout you gots food,’ is the dogs’ vibe, and implied grammar. Should I worry about this?

Worried

Dear Worried,

Are you out of your mind?

Your friend,

Bob

{Bob: How dare you write a column under my name? You are my editor, not my byline. Certainly not my colleague, from this moment. Deloise}

Dear Deloise,

I am worried about something, but I forget what. I am adult Caucasian, Male, enjoying the days left over, which I have exceeded from my Biblical Fair Share of Three Score and Ten. Could you help me with this?

Anxious

Dear Anxious,

You got any money, sucker?

Your friend,

Bob

{Bob: You cannot malign my name like this! This is a legal newspaper. Surely you know what a tort is. Deloise}

Dear Deloise,

I am worried about my pet slug. I was worried that (s)he was not getting enough salt, so I upped the salt in her diet. Then she sort of disappeared. You got any clues about this?

Desirée

Dear Desirée/Heloise,

Come on, girl, I know it’s you. You’re the only one in the Greater Western Quadrant who keeps pet slugs. Did you think you could pull a fast one on a grizzled old editor? Better luck next time.

Your friend,

Bob

Dear Desirée, or Bob, or Deloise,

I have a persistent itch in my foot. I am a 28-year-old blonde, or brunette, as you wish, 109 lbs., proud of all of them, trim, slim and ready to go, and understand from basic internet research that you enjoy foot massage. If so, why’n’t’cha gimme a call at XXX-XXX-XXXX.

LaDonna

Dear LaDonna,

I believe you have confused me with my brother.

Your friend,

Bob

(Editor’s Note: Bob is resting at home under light sedation. He seems to be enjoying it. “Play B.B. King,” he keeps saying. “Play B.B.”)

Categories / Op-Ed