Dear Fugly,

I started dating a lovely young woman. She's smart, she's beautiful, and she's a wolverine between the sheets. There's just one problem, Fuggles. Her snatch smells like a fisherman's old boot. It stinks. I can't tell her it scorches my nostrils, that would be humiliating, right? Fugly, what do I do? The stench is killing me!

Yours Truly,
Mike Fox

Octopus performing cunnilingus on a woman

Dear Mike,

As you probably already know, Fugly began her lengthy nursing career shortly after the Battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse during the Civil War. A stray musket blast left Fugly with an unsavory bald spot and Fugly vowed to help the Rebel Army defeat those despicable Yankees in any way she could. But alas, their superior artillery blew off more limbs than poor Fugly could tend to.

Whenever Fugly wasn't busy pouring whiskey on gelatinous, bloody, weepy stumps, Fugs used to perform abortions with a Model O Hoover vacuum cleaner in Abraham Lincoln's carriage house.

Dirty old Abe knocked up half of the chorus girls in DC and paid Fugly a hefty ransom to keep his secrets safe. Anyway Mike, it sounds like your little lady has a nasty case of hoof and clam disease. Hoof and clam is a horrendous infection caused by wearing a sweaty, unwashed petticoat for too many humid summer days in a row. What you must do, Mike, is wait for your little lady to doze off, perhaps slip a Lunesta into her Slim Fast to move things along, then insert an antibiotic needle into her bottom. The hoof and clam should clear up in 30 minutes.


Hey Fug-Nasty,

The other day my 14-year-old cousin was wearing pasties, hot pants, and dare I say it… I think she had even vagazzled. So, I did what any caring, gentlemanly relative would do: I told her she just needed a Cesarean scar and a bullet hole in the ass and she could be working the nickel peep show down by the docks. Well, Fugly, she got seriously pissed and slammed a frying pan in my face.

My question, your ugliness, is this: Why do girls like to dress super skanky and then get mad when you treat them like skanks?

Best wishes,

Dear Matty,

Mmmmm, sounds like you need to send that supple teen cousin of yours to Fugly's unmarked van.

Matt, it's every woman's right to dress like a lice-infested strumpet. In the sweltering summer of 1884, Fugly wore the first swimsuit that exposed the knees. The other women at the sea shore did not approve of Fugly's scantily clad sea-wear and they pelted Fugly with horse droppings. Jealous old beavers. Fugly wore this stylish swimming garb expecting to get a vigorous rodgering by a sexually aggressive merman or at least a horny seal. Fugly certainly wasn't hoping to be nailed in the melon with Seabiscuit's stool.

So anyway, Matty, you may continue to treat vagazzlers like the total skankasauruses that they are—they dress that way to get humped, so hump them you prude!

Happy Clam Hunting!

Hey Fugs,

I, like you, call my lover "cream puff" as a fun little nickname. My lover, however, does not like it and pimp slaps me, Mel Gibson style, every time I refer to him as "cream puff." Fugly, why does such an adorable little pet name upset him so much?


Dear Chippy,

Fugly's lovers have called her many fun names, like "the smelly geriatric burro with an eye patch," and "a Frankenstein made of orangutan parts," and of course, "why are there flies on it?" Some say these names are unkind, but Fugly doesn't care what they call her as long as they're still calling… and delivering the donkey punches with swift precision.

So Chippy, what you must do is think of a horrendous knick name, like Flaccid Francine. Call your lover Flaccid Francine in public, repeatedly (like you have Tourette's), and he will long for the days when you lovingly referred to him as "cream puff." Then, after you've broken him, start calling him cream puff again—he'll be delighted, and the beatings will cease.

Ms. Slut