Non-Specific Advice From Francesca! Get it while it's vague!

[Slip_Mahoney]

Dear Fran,

My wife says she loves me, but I know for a fact that she also loves Gilbert and Sullivan. She has admitted to loving a guy named Mozart, as well.

Is this grounds for a divorce, and what’s up with all the sqirrels? They’re everywhere!

[Francesca]

My party is wandering around the city of Baldur’s Gate. We were in the upstairs room of a magic shop when we decided to piss of a couple of mages so we could kill them and take their stuff. I was wondering if you could tell me about the legal and moral ramifications, considering we have a reputation for being heroes and all. Also, should we wander around the countryside looking for adventure, or infiltrate the Hall of the Seven Suns and report back to the Flaming Fist? Or vice versa? What is the deal with the whole Flaming Fist thing anyway?

I have no idea what you’re talking about. Stop touching me.

Can I call you Fran?

Of course you may. I like to think of myself as friendly and approachable. Stop touching me.

I’m a crewman on the last Battlestar, Galactica, fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, on a lonely quest for a shining panet known as Earth.
My question is-- Did we just take a wrong turn at Pismo Beach? Should we go via Route 66?

This is the interplanetary version of “how many roads must a man…” isn’it? But space aliens don’t need to walk. No, they fly. And not with wings either, but with tiny little rocket boosters implanted in their heels. Like a hi-tech Hermes. So, you did not take a wrong turning, for there are no wrong turnings. It’s all pre-determined. Think of Pismo Beach as a sandy crossroads in your life. Grains of sand, crossroads, interplanetary angst in the face of seemingly random and directionless flight. It’s all good.

[Francesca]

I have had a series of disastrous financial reverses of late, and I find myself needing to throw a large dinner party that may result in some new business contacts. I desperately need to know how I can masterfully disguise cheap hot dogs as a variety of wondrous and unusual dishes.

Oh. And by the way, I want to be an artist. What kind of artist should I be?

There is an easy and profitable way to combine the two. Be a hot dog artist. By that, I don’t mean that you should artfully arrange hot dogs (although, if you’re really keen, I don’t mind if you do this in your spare time. Go ahead, Hot Dog Girl. That’s what everyone will call you. Weirdo). I mean that you should employ the hot dogs as your tools of art. Paint with them. The glorious flexibility of your new painting implements will bring about a new style of art. You could call it after yourself. That would be nice wouldn’t it? The Tabithina Movement. Make sure you use edible paint though. You want to be able to eat the hot dogs afterwards. Even multicoloured hot dogs provide nutrition.

I have a “thing” for girls with accents, especially those of the British Isles. My current girlfriend is from Wyoming and has no accent whatsoever. Franny, whatever shall I do?

Joey, Joey, Joey, you’ve made a basic error. It’s all the riding on ponies. You pay them money and they let you ride them. Prostitute ponies. Spank them. On with the question.

Your girlfriend does have an accent. She has a Wyoming accent. Granted, it’s not what you’re looking for, but it’s an accent nonetheless. Possibly an underappreciated one. I don’t know what people from Wyoming sound like. Perhaps they sound like flowers and meadows and the scampering of happy field mice. Yes, I bet that’s what they sound like. You could get her to practice an English accent by forcing her to watch Fawlty Towers repeats and screech “Basil!” at you. That is, of course, the proper pronounciation of basil. BASil. Not Baysil. Herbs. OreGAno. Once you get the culinary basics down pat, you’re halfway there. Follow her round the kitchen, chanting basil, herbs, oregano. She’ll soon pick it up. Duck.

[Gyrate]

Dearest Franula,

I haven’t read the rest of this thread before posting. Did I miss anything important?