Ask Row-Row: The world’s worst advice column


I get thousands of fan emails every day, and a large number of them are from down-on-their-luck champions looking for advice. And why wouldn’t they look to me for help? I’m living the dream.

So here’s my advice column.

If you have any burning questions about life, love, and the art of drinking wine from a Fanta can at 10am, send them through to the comments section, and I’ll answer them as soon as this hangover wears off.

I was walking past the local fish and chip shop the other day when the lady called out to me. She told me there was a blackout and all the shit in the freezer was melting and getting fucked up, so she said I could take as many ice creams home with me as I could carry. Well, I’ve got big arms, so I cleaned the joint out! I got back to my place and got stuck into the frozen treats, then decided it would be nice to share them, and sent my mate Gary a message asking him if he wanted to come around for a Gaytime. Imagine my surprise when he turned up 20 minutes later with a dildo in one hand and a jar of KY jelly in the other! To save embarrassment, we had an evening of aggressive bum sex, and I didn’t tell Gary about the ice creams. Thing is, now he’s always coming over and asking for bum sex and I don’t want that, I just want my mate back. I keep making up excuses about having diarrhea or something, but I’m afraid that if I tell him the truth, it’ll be the end of our friendship. What can I do?
Row-Row: Macca, mate, relax – we’ve all been in a similar situation to the one you’re in. I remember asking my mate if he wanted a Paddle Pop, only for him to misunderstand the situation and accept what he thought was a gay marriage proposal. Of course, so as not to offend him, I went along to a whole bunch of equal rights marches and other bullshit like that, but my heart wasn’t really into it. Eventually, he walked in on me getting sucked off by the single mother next door, after which his stormed out of my life forever. Well, until I saw him at the pub next week and we watched the footy. So, I guess, receive mouth love off someone’s mum, then get drunk.

Hello, Mr LeRock, how are you?  I’m fine, thanks for asking. I’m a keen fan of the film The Human Centipede, and I’m planning to create my own centipede. Obviously, I’d like you to be part of my ‘pet’, so my question is, whose arse would you like your mouth to be stitched to, and who would you like stitched to your arse?
Row-Row: I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, and I’ve decided that I’d like my mouth to be sewn to Jennifer Hawkins’ blurter, for the simple fact that she’s far too lovely to ever actually shit, so I’d be sweet. You can sew my arse to one of the idiots who votes for the Greens, because they’d be used to swallowing shit. Honestly, though, it would be brilliant if you could decide against kidnapping me to include me in your centipede. Perhaps you could take up a different hobby, like salsa dancing, model railways, or wanking in traffic? All the best!

Yo dawg, it me, MC Tuff Grill$. I the illest hip hop casanova on the scene today, so smooth you think I peanut butter, aiight. The smooth peanut butter, I mean, not da crunchy stuff. I spit dope rhymes, all y’all bitches start lining up, you know it! I fuck five, maybe six bitches a night, sometimes in da pussy, sometimes in da arse. I don’t even know they names, but they know mine – MC Tuff Grill$, don’t forget it, bitch, ‘cos your pussy won’t! Anyway, I got a launch party for my phat new tune Big Tit Bitch (“Yo bitch, you got big fucking cans/like two big juicy fucking hams/wanna shoot my love chutney all over dem honkers/fuck you in da mouth and cum on dem melons till you go bonkers) and I need a date, dawg! No, ya’ll ain’t trippin’, I’m having trouble getting a bitch, probably ‘cos I already fuck every hot slut in Australia, y’know what I say? I know you use that Tinder thing, so you got any advice for me? I want big titties, a jiggly arse, a face just beggin’ for a load of my precious jizz. I need my dick sucked pronto, motherfucker, I’m counting on you.
ROW-ROW: Using Tinder is simple, Grill$y. Firstly, you’ll need a good profile picture, so try to find one where you’re not flashing you silly golden teeth or flashing gang signs that make you look like an epileptic. Then you have to try to match with some girls, and I think you’ll have to cast as wide a net as possible, so make sure you say yes to midgets, fat girls, transvestites and other assorted losers. If you ever find someone who is intelligent enough to use a phone, but stupid enough to think you look like a good sort, it’s time to impress her with your conversation skills, so you might want to get a homeless bloke or someone from the local sheltered workshop to do that for you, because your email looks like the rantings of a maniac. If all that fails, just send her a dick pic. Shit, send her the keys to a brand new Lamborghini, I doubt it’ll do a knob cheese like you any good.

Hi, Arjay. You’ve been around the world and have seen so many wonderful things. The Great Wall of China, Rome’s Coliseum, the waterfalls of Samoa. You’ve parasailed in Malaysia and fought street thugs in San Diego. You’ve met people and experienced things that most of us can only dream of, and have had adventures that have thrilled readers all over the world. You must get asked this all the time, but where’s the best place you’ve ever been?
ROW-ROW: Your mum’s bed.

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