

Dear Doktor, I am unattractiv, sexually immachure, lazy, stupid and meen. What career would sute me best?



Journalism.



If you fail there, try music journalism.









Dear Doktor, Is it a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife?



It certainly is. And we want yours for another week or so. Kindly keep away from our tour bus.









Dear Doktor, My friends say I would look cool in a hundred pounds of crushed velvet, and cobwebs painted on my temples.



You have no friends.









Dear Doktor, I'm a good guitar player, but my songs are feeble-minded. If I play with the Sisters for a year and then leave to become a full-time gobshite, will I be able to steal your thunder?



Definitely. For about sixteen seconds.









Dear Doktor, If I play your records backwards, I can hear occult messages.



No you can't.









Dear Doktor, My snake has no ears and no balls. How does he smell?



Like a record company.









Dear Doktor, Is space curved?



It is in Leeds.









Dear Doktor, The Sisters kick. But I've heard you've had queers in the band!



Maybe right now. We just don't care.









Dear Doktor, I'm in a tenth-rate goth band. That's as good as goth bands get. Naturally, we don't have the faintest idea what the Sisters are about, but we try to evoke as many superficial similarities as possible.

Our 'original material' is devoid of substance and wit. What would you say to a whole album of Sisters songs, as played by my band and other pasty-faced Californian dweebs? Aren't Cleopatra Records always up for this kind of rubbish? We'll try to ignore everything you put out in the last thirteen years.



Fuck off.









Dear Doktor, I've been harassed and abused by your online associates at Baxcorp.



That's because you're dim.









Dear Doktor, My lifestyle statement requires me to wear a large and untidy cat on my head at all times.



We've noticed that too, Bob.









Dear Doktor, Your website ignores incoming email. You don't seem interested in what I think.



Too right. If you think that anybody wants to read your daft poetry, hear your crap band or put up with a torrent of cheap emotional blackmail, you've got another think coming. If you reckon the Sisters want to perform in your garden for ten quid, you're wrong. If you think they're going to respond to every stupid rumour or assertion that goes charging around the net, you're mad. If you think they want to hear you banging on about other bands uploading whole albums or spending fifty grand on web videos, you can go climb a rope.





Click here if you want to send mail anyway.







