This mildly comedic column has been written by a drag queen agony aunt. It is not for the faint hearted and contains sensitive topics which may cause distress to some readers. Be prepared for themes of substance abuse and what your mother keeps in the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet (spoiler alert: your father likes being pegged).
State of the world got you down? Struggling to get up in the morning? Tired of going to constant Drag & Disorderly shows and reading a paper with two (yes, two) drag queen columnists? Get a grip – drag queens need to eat too, and a daily diet consisting of 40 Marlboro Gold and half an Adderall doesn’t come cheap.
Rusty Kate is Oxford’s premier cum-filled crossdresser, a viral sensation (and yes, that burning sensation is viral) known for her sold out shows in glamorous venues (your father’s spare bedroom) all across the city. She’s decided to take a short hiatus from leading Marine Le Pen’s public communications team to teach you about the importance of talcum powder in rubber play. Sorry, wrong column – to answer life’s biggest problems as resident Dragony Aunt.
Remember to submit your questions through this form – buy some merchandise while you’re there. I’ve not done a pregnancy test yet, but I’ll almost definitely have kids to feed at some point soon.
How do I deal with my ever-decreasing desire to have sex in this postmodern, intimacy deprived and ultimately depraved world?
Let the sex fuel you. If you’re like me, being penetrated can help you dissociate out of this godforsaken world. Lie on your front, sniff some poppers, and let the railing take you away to a land of daydreams and thinking about how your grandmother is doing. Is she coping in that house all by herself? She’s awfully forgetful at the minute, maybe you should get her checked for dementia. What if she leaves the oven on? She’ll turn the house into the Reichstag in 1933. What’ll happen to your inheritance then? Not to mention she’ll be left looking like a sunburnt sphynx cat. And by the time you fall down that mental hole, he’s already ejaculated, and he can get back to fixing your plumbing.
My friend has had some trouble getting it up. His girlfriend told me, and she’s a little bit down about it. I’m struggling with what to tell him?!
Ah, I’ve seen this problem before. So, your “friend” has a bit of whisky dick? Pilly willy? Depressed dong? Floppy phallus? Sickly sex organ? It’s not the end of the world – there are solutions. What your ‘friend’ needs to do is to analyse why he’s struggling to get it up. Is it a psychological issue, a bit of trauma from the past rearing it’s ugly, uncle-shaped head – or is it physical? Does he have too little blood spare to fill it up? Are his poor, congested arteries working overtime to do a sub-par job at lifting his miniscule member? It reminds me of an old boyfriend who used to pray to Jesus to fix his erectile dysfunction – but you have to remember that Jesus healed the sick, he didn’t raise the dead.
Ultimately, I say he should go to a therapist and figure out what’s going on in his head. No, not that head. It’s probably got something to do with mummy issues. Worst comes to worst, I know a guy that sells Viagra. There’s also a 20% student discount for Ann Summers’ strap-ons.
Submit your burning questions to Rusty Kate here.
