Dear Agony Aunt,

For some time now I’ve been plagued by my inability to believe it's not butter. All of my friends do, but I just can’t accept the fact that something so creamy could possibly be anything other than that divine liqueur which we call milk. Its beginning to tear my family apart at the seams. No-one believes that I cannot believe that it is in fact, not butter. What should I do?

Dear Imbecile,

How you could possibly think that grey muck Suburbia calls ‘marge’ is butter is quite beyond me. But let us forget that for the moment. The real question is, why is your family buying ‘I can’t believe its not butter’ instead of actual butter? You go to Cambridge, and lets face it, you’re probably upper middle class – so what are your relatives playing at?

Secondly, just because it’s not butter, doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Heroin is not butter; indeed, neither is crack cocaine. You might try one of those instead: they’re just as bad for you as margarine, but far more enjoyable – delicious even – to consume.

PS. Pro tip: next time there’s a sunny day, leave a pat of butter and a tub of - shudder - ‘I can’t believe it’s not butter’ out in the sun. Come back in an hour. Your butter will be covered in flies, your ‘marge’ will be untouched. Because not only is ‘I can’t believe it’s not butter’ not butter, but it’s also not any kind of fucking food at all. Even a fucking fruit fly is clever enough to know that. You’re not a gnat, you’re a Cambridge student. Get it together, for goodness sake.

Ever yours,

Agony Aunt

Varsity Agony Aunt,

I have a problem. One of my columnists is editing for another paper and I don't know what to do. Is this the worst betrayal since Judas? I just don't know. Thanks, Anon.

Dear Charlotte,

What a horrible situation. This columnist – whoever she is – sounds like a treacherous wretch if you ask me. If I were you, I’d start plotting an elaborate revenge. If you need inspiration, I recommend you read The Count of Monte Christo, available in all good bookshops (you might try Heffers). Failing that, I would be happy to personally assist in her take-down. This is getting too meta now.

See you on the other side,

Agony Aunt

Dear Agony Aunt,

I'm in love with my evangelical Christian next-door neighbour but don't have the courage to admit it to her, or even myself. What should I do?

Dear Heathen,

There’s only one thing for it. You ought to get into the serpent mindset. She is Eve, and you’re that sexy snake. Role play that shit, she’ll go nuts for it.

If the fall of (wo)man happened once, it can happen again. That’s what the bible says, so it must be true.

Amen,

Agony Aunt.

Dear Agony Uncle,

Four years ago my father dumped my mother and his wife of 25 years for his secretary. My brothers and I were understandably apoplectic – my Mum had been cruelly swept aside once she reached middle age, for a 21 year old who we saw as nothing more than a gold-digger. But over time I got to know my stepmother – alarmingly, only 6 years my senior. I came to find her funny, charming and affectionate. Not only that: I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she is stunningly, stupendously, rapturously attractive.

Then one night I was staying at my dad’s house when he was working late. I’d just come out of the shower. I was wearing only my boxer shorts, and my step-mum was standing right outside the door. She was in nothing but a tight fitting t-shirt and bikini bottoms. She ripped off the former and cocked her head in the direction of her and my father’s bedroom. The bikini bottoms soon came off, and I had the best night of my life. We’ve been having a passionate affair ever since. We feel such intense sexual attraction to each other that on a dirty weekend in Paris she sucked me off in the back of a taxi while the driver looked – and none of us cared one iota about the repulsed look on his face in the rear-view mirror. Please help me. It’s a clusterfuck of a situation and I don’t know what to do. I love my dad and my family – and they’d obviously be beyond horrified if they knew what was going on. I love her and the sex is great (in the average day in Cambridge when she hasn’t sneaked up, I get through 4 wanks powered by nothing but memory and anticipation of her). She wants me to leave Cambridge and my family behind and run away with her to Las Vegas. I couldn’t live with doing that. But neither could I live without doing it.

Dear Rio Tinto business analyst,

Your lady friend’s gold-digging business sounds incredibly successful. You must follow her to Las Vegas to survey her nagyagite ore gold mines. After all, before entering into a commercial partnership you must assure yourself that the facilities are up to modern day extraction standards. Concerning the Parisian taxi episode, I dare say that her negotiating style is unusual, very much an American modus operandi, yet you seem to be unfazed by the whole thing- an emotionless outlook is commendable in such business matters. Similarly, financial interest must come before your family; I understand your father was also interested in this lady’s mines- well as the old saying goes ‘you snooze, you lose’. Don’t feel bound by family loyalties if you think she can offer you a good deal. My Rio Tinto shares could do with a bit of a boost.

Yours in Las Vegas gold,

Agony Uncle.

Dear Agony Uncle,

I want to be a professional bat (not a batman), how do I achieve this and do you know what the average wage in this area is?

Dear Unemployed,

I went down to the local Job Centre Plus to make enquiries for you- there is currently a vacancy in the belfry of Great St Mary’s Church. They are looking for a well-qualified, talented and energetic individual to join their excellent department from September 2015. The post would suit a qualified bat or someone like you looking for a phased introduction to the profession. In the first year, applicants with limited experience would benefit from an extensive induction programme, a reduced timetable and team teaching with an experienced colleague.  Great St Mary’s has a thriving belfry with a particularly friendly and supportive pigeon and bat community. For further details of the position, belfry and application procedure you should visit their website: www.gsm.cam.ac.uk/great-st-marys/bats-in-the-belfry or apply to the Belfry Office: 01223 741720, thebelfryoffice@gsm.net. Applications should be submitted to Ranulph, The Head Gargoyle, Great St Mary’s church, Cambridge, CB2 3PQ by noon on Wednesday 20th May 2015. The weekly wage is about three groats- just enough for a young bat to subsist on.

Yours in hanging from the rafters,

Agony Uncle.

Dear Agony Uncle,

What should I do! I'm not in my college drinking society and so had nothing to do for Caesarian Sunday?

Dear Brutus,

Caesar and Mark Anthony are losers. I mean who calls a drinking society after themselves? I suggest that next year, you create your own drinking society with your mate Cassius – you should call it ‘the bullfrogs’, because they make a fun noise. You could then croak at each other as a secret greeting between members – that would be cool and people would probably think you’re BNOCs.

Yours in plotting,

Agony Uncle

If you would like any of your queries answered with such panache, please anonymously report them here: https://docs.google.com/…/15YIoxA7XjzsYYpsLR4GK3RP…/viewform