Dear Beejay
Dear Beejay was a popular column in The Teepee webzine. It is reproduced here for the sake of posterity but bear in mind that new letters will not be answered by our resident psychiatrist as she has recently taken up a new career as a poodle hairstylist. No doubt she'll take her fabled ingenuity, penetrating insight and sense of humour to her new job and to delight and enlighten many a poodle - good luck Beejay!


Dear Beejay,

I am a fastidious person, and lately my marriage has been on the rocks. All because of my husband's smelly feet, which he insists on airing as soon as he comes home. He also walks around barefoot in the children's playroom and I think this is a bad habit as he might infect them with something nasty. Our youngest child is already looking wan and listless. Please advise as I want to get rid of him as soon as possible but I fear the garbage men will refuse to take him away. I mean, he REALLY stinks!

Yours, Donna Reekawful.

Beejay writes:

Dearest Donna,

Believe it or not, there *are* a couple of solutions to this odoriferous dilemma. The first thing I would suggest is that you take your husband in for a foot amputation. The feet could then be put in a Hazardous Bio-Waste receptacle at the hospital, and you would no longer have to deal with them. If your husband's problem were (heaven forbid!) to migrate to his legs and organs after the operation, your county might have a way to dispose of him! My mother once found a dead crow, which, I imagine, smelled quite a bit like your husband's offensive appendages. She telephoned the sanitation department to ask what to do with such a horrid thing, and the good fellows sent over a special vacuum truck which sucked the crow up into an airtight chamber, never to be smelled again. And, Donna, until you take care of this problem, I recommend that you keep your children in a plastic chamber similar to the one in "E.T."; Foul Foot Odor is ten times worse for the lungs than second-hand cigarette smoke!


Dear Beejay,

I have found the original copy of the Llama Lisa in my attic. The problem is, no art dealers in my region will give me an honest appraisal...they keep insisting that it's a farce and therefore worthless. Can you steer me in the direction of someone who *really* knows the value of a fine piece of art? I checked with Robert at the gallery in the city, but all he did was look like a lovesick puppy and murmur about getting a tux or something.... I am getting desperate for money, as my isp is about to discontinue my service if I don't pay the bill, so I really need to sell this masterpiece ASAP!! Thanks in advance for your help, oh wise goat!

Art lover

Beejay writes:

Sweet lover,

I hoofed on over to the hillsides of Peru to find out about this painting and came across the great- granddaughter of the beautiful, mysterious llama in the painting you have found. I can hardly get over my amazement. The owners of this llama lassie, who is called Mona, told me of the Curse of the Llama Lisa, which befalls anyone who looks into the eyes of this stunning creature. Her life was a sad one. Her mother was stolen by bandits and used as a pack animal for a Kosher meats and cheeses company, her father couldn't take the pressure of single parenthood, went insane, and ended up living in a cave with a group of grizzled tortoises, and the Llama Lisa grew up in poverty with her six brothers. She married a young llama named Goozo as soon as she was old enough to leave home, but it turned out he was unkind and spat all the time. At the age of seven (twenty-eight in human years), shortly after the birth of a daughter, the Llama Lisa was murdered. To this day, no one knows why. Many llamas tried to solve the mystery and avenge her death, but nothing came of it. Her portrait had been finished just days before her murder, and after the dirty deed was done, whoever gazed upon it became overwhelmed with sadness and began to founder in life--money, friends, love, health, all down the tube. I imagine the art dealers you spoke with know the painting's history, and were afraid to take it from you for fear of tainting their lives. You must do one of two things: destroy it, or solve the mystery! I highly recommend the latter of the two options, as it will bring you not only fortune, but fame and llama love from all around the world. I noticed that the site of The Naked Dancing Llama has a reproduction of the Llama Lisa on its pages. I have a hunch that its creators may know more than they are letting on about the curse; take a trip over there and solicit their help in finding the killer and giving the Llama Lisa the eternal peace she deserves. The Dalai Lama, whose relation to llamas is only thinly veiled by the spelling of his name, may also have some tips. But beware! If you have already looked the Llama Lisa full in the eyes, your ISP bill will soon be the least of your worries, unless you get to the bottom of this! Let me know how things turn out. May the Great Llama be with you!

Running wild in Peru,

dear Bejay,

 pls help me i know you can because i've seen you and i thinkyour cool. i am a lustymuder and ppl there always accuse me of stealing they're loot and stuff and this is definatly not true! they also say that they have caught me multiplayng and thse false acussations hurt me they do and especialy the voodo dolls they keep jabbbing me withm in the most embbarasing places. and no one will sell me anyweapons and armor. and the last time i was there i went idel and came back and found a nasty spider in my inventory yes a spider nearly kiled me and i went ld and when i came back on this person calld dot askd me to marry her but honstly i hate wommen!

anonymous lustymuder

Beejay responds:

Dear LustyMudder,

How very unfair! Your life must be dreadfully hard. Gosh. I recommend that you look up "stealing" in the dictionary and "multiplaying" in the 'help' files of the MUD. Perhaps you will see that these accusations have something to them. Or perhaps not. If not, demand apologies from everyone who has ever insulted you. If you don't get them, quit the game. Spiders can be squashed with a quick flick of the wrist; they don't run nearly as fast as cockroaches, so I wouldn't worry too much about them. Plus, death on the MUD is never permanent. You'll always get another life; the players are like cats on steroids. Voodoo dolls can be really embarrassing--all too many times has my prosthetic booty been punctured by someone's wayward voodoo pin. (Just be glad that the screen doesn't say, for all to read, "Somebody has been jabbed in the nipple!" as you scream, "Owowowowow!") One more note: I'm a woman.


Dear Beejay,

Help me, I am in the depths of despair. I think I have been impregnated by Barney the dinosaur. You know, he keeps singing "I love you, you love me, let's make whoopee-e-e" - that kinda addles the brain after a while... It's just the thought of raising a little baby purple dinosaur that gets to me. You know, I'm just afraid the neighbourhood kids won't be kind to him or her. Please advice.


Beejay replies:

Dear Anonymous,

You are lucky that you made whoopee with Barney instead of wookie with Chewbacca. I learned that the hard way.... Anyway, it's always difficult for a child who is different from the others to make friends and feel accepted. Let little Dino take up smoking and drinking; this assures that he will be "cool" and "in." I hear that's how it is with kids these days. Also, encourage Barnito to stand up for himself if he gets picked on; his soft purple body should make a dandy smotherer.


Dear Beejay,

I am a proud Svirfneblin woman. Of late, there have been intruders in our peaceful little Svirfneblin hole - they kill our soldiers, brutalise our helpless children, murder our men and our chefs in cold blood. But worst of all is this: we are made to look like IDIOTS by the one who created us! We are forced to sidle up and smile seductively at our killers, or stand by and look sexy and alluring when they barge into our homes! I ask you - what sort of treatment is this, of the 90's woman? Yes, even the 90's Svirfneblin woman? What do you think we should do?

Yours in Sisterhood,

Beejay writes:

Dear Sister,

I am sure I know why there have been so many seemingly-cruel intruders in your burrows lately. Everyone I know who has ever entered the Svirfneblin tunnels has done so for one reason: to speak with your eminent leader. However, your home's set-up is such that it is impossible to get to the leader without stumbling across your children, who have NO manners and even less bladder control! Believe me, if twenty children piddled on *your* shoe, you'd feel you had no recourse but to kill them, as well! After encountering your kids, people see only red, and mass slaughter follows. I am sorry to break it to you, but until you do something about this constant flow of urine, your people will continue to die. Smile seductively and bear it.


Dear Beejay,

I have been browsing through the Internet and came across the homepage of the mighty Cabbage Alliance, of which you are a distinguished member. I have also seen homepages where you can turn into logs, chickens or cows. However, my ardent wish is really to become a Pez dispenser. Indeed, I was aware of that fact since I was very young. Now I am 22 and I am truly miserable, a Minnie Mouse Pez dispenser trapped in a woman's body. But I've searched the web from A-Z and still have NO IDEA how I may get to undergo this self-actualizing operation. Please don't ask me to accept myself the way I am because I CAN'T. Help me!


Beejay advises:

Dear Pezzina,

Yours is a problem faced by many people in many forms. I truly empathize with your need to become a Pez dispenser; it was only last week that I was able to become my true self, a purple cabbage. It had been a hard many years for me, as well. The Internet, although rich in resources, is not the only place you should seek help. Check your local community center for a listing of support groups; there may be one that applies to you. You might also want to scour drug stores and antique dealers for Minnie Mouse Pez dispensers. When you feel that your collection is as large as it will get, hire a psychic channeler. Chances are that one of those dispensers is longing to burst free of its candied chains and gain its true human form. The channeler could help both of you escape your wrongful confines, and switch forms! Then will you be a Pez dispenser, my dear.

Squeak squeak,

© Copyright The Teepee 1997