Handy’s Problem Page October 2009



Hi Handy. My brother is such a chav. He wears so much bling and he has such an attitude. I wondered if you have ever had problems like this and if so how did you deal with your annoying bro?
Anon x




AnonSeptember 30, 2009 at 7:05 pm

  • Thank you for your question Anon. Are you from Croydon by any chance?

    Evil Sandy
    Evil Sandy

    As it happens, I do have a brother, my identical twin Sandy. The evil one. Unlike me he is unrefined, blingy and the epitome of chavness. His fingers are covered in gold- that’s if you can see them under his hoodie- and he is always getting into trouble.
    For a long time people thought he dominated me and that my serene nature meant I was in fact gay. Are you gay Anon? Is that what this is really about? Well, I can’t help you there love, unless you need converting of course. Back to straight that is. Obviously.  Yes, yes, obviously assuming you are a girl. Oh fuck off.

  • All I can say is that I have learned to love myself (sometimes several times a day) and no longer lurk in his shadow. Be proud of who you are, don’t worry about your brother. If he is really that “bwad” he’ll get shanked soon enough and be out of your hair forever. But remember Anon, there is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But I bet you’ll still bend over to have a look though won’t you ducky? Talk to the hand. Tsk!




Dear Handy,
I didn’t win the lottery last night as I planned to do, and I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.  What should I do?
Annoymous, from errrr, ummmm, rampton upon sea




Handy says:

Hmmm. Rampton eh? Straight outta Rampton. Are you a crazy muvva fucka?

Are you chav boy from the letter above? Seeing as you are in a high security prison, two things occur to me immediately. First of all, that you are barking mad, and there was no lottery. There’s no job, no alarm call. Except Nurse Ratched “administering” your medication each morning. Freak.

Secondly, it means I can insult you without fear of reprisals. The truth is hard to take sometimes and I won’t lie to you, I’m going to give it to you straight. Because those rumours about me aren’t true. You are a loser and if you’re lucky, on your release you may drift into alcoholism and finally a noose fashioned from a bedsheet hanging from a rafter in some dingy bedsit in Catford. The last thing you will hear is the drone of traffic on the South Circular.

If you’re unlucky, your story will unfold identically to that above, but your suicide attempt will fail and you’ll be forced to live in Catford for the rest of your life.

I wish you all the best and don’t worry about work tomorrow. Or ever. Talk to the hand sucker!


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