Hi Igor. This is my first time writing in to a magazine, much less a magazine so obviously flawed as Angus. I’m writing in for medical advice. I know you’re not reliable in medicine but you have a cockeyed way of seeing things so just maybe you can help me. I’m thirty-two and I organize dog fights for a living. I used to work in a mill but that was a while ago. So now with all the exhibitions I’m always on the go — from town to town. I spend lots of nights in back alleys taking bets on which dog will destroy the other in the quickest time. But some of these matches can get pretty tense. I usually can’t cover the spread for all these bets, so if my ringers don’t rip and chew their way to a bloody victory then I have to get out of there quick. Usually things work fine but if it’s really close I have this nervous habit of holding my breath. But the last few times I’ve held my breath for any length of time I’ve blacked out only to wake up handcuffed to a bed in some scuzzy hotel. I know you’re not a real doctor of any sort and a bit of a freaky headcase but, as you can appreciate, this is a sensitive issue on numerous ethical and legal fronts. So whaddya think? Is there hope for a guy just trying to scrape out an existence for himself? As there are many people looking for me, I’d prefer to keep this query anonymous.
Truly, Johnny Knuckles
Trenton Gables, ON
Dear Johnny, first off—you are an ignoramus. Dogs are people too and Igor passes severe judgment on you for running such an uncivilized business. Any blood sport not sanctioned by a legal governing body is not good, so says Igor. But as Igor tends to do, he is quick with getting over his initial biases and works to help anyone requiring medical advice. But Igor will go on record with his objection to the reference of being a “freaky headcase.” Igor is spending too much of his time taking exception to and fending off the many slanderous personal attacks. Igor’s character has been assassinated too many times to count, so Igor pleads for it to stop. Now, Igor will address your problem with blacking out and waking up in scuzzy hotel rooms. By holding your breath you deprive the brain muscle of what we call ‘good air’ and if the brain muscle don’t have ‘good air’ it will protest by showing you what happens when the brain don’t have ‘good air’ any longer by freezing up like Igor’s crap PC clone. This is what causes you to black out. Igor is no fool and knows that the good air/brain muscle theory only partially explains your dilemma and Igor can offer no explanation of the scuzzy hotels and handcuffs and for this Igor apologizes. Now, in closing, Igor has a very tiny dog that is quite nasty. I think he may be a good ringer for you and your scandalous adventures. Let me know. His name is Poo-Poo Gum Drops.
Igor PHD
(Although Igor does have a PHD, it’s in Kite Repair and philosophy so in no way is he qualified to dish out any kind of medical advice. So, just so you, uh, know. Yes? Yes!)
Hi Igor. Ever since I was young boy people have said that I wear my heart on my sleeve. I guess they don’t mean anything other than I’m a sensitive person. This has never bothered me. I think it’s perfectly okay for people to be able to read me by just looking at my face. I can’t help showing my emotions. Maybe if more people showed some sensitivity and compassion this world would not be in the deplorable state it seems to be in. But, this is not why I’m writing. Now, like I mentioned, I wear my heart on my sleeve and people ride me about this. But things have gotten progressively worse. I was in the mall when a group of menacing looking teenagers passed me. I was holding a large spider plant and one of the boys who was wearing a basketball jersey and pants that seemed too big for him made some strange comment. I stopped and asked him what he said and he just looked at me all horrified and pointed to my sleeve. The other kids started screaming and there really was quite a panic. It seems that what was once my heart that I wore on my sleeve had been mysteriously replaced by my pyloric sphincter which would now account for all the gastrointestinal pain I had been recently experiencing. Is it common for the pyloric sphincter to make its way out from the body? I bought a little holster for it to keep it from getting banged up too bad. It’s one of those things you buy for a cell phone or an iPod.
Truly Dexter Rolls
Toronto, ON
Hey Dexter. There are a few things that has gotten Igor quite worried about your letter. First is the fact that young men still wear ill-fitting trousers. Igor feels it important to speak out against baggy pants. They are dangerous and are sewn from our loosening moral fibers by child labour. Now Igor will explain about how the pyloric sphincter is a muscular ring composed of a thickened portion of the circular muscle layer. The sphincter contains some longitudinal fibers which dip inwards to interlace with the circular fibers of the ring. Most people that Igor drinks regularly with refer to the pyloric sphincter as the “circular muscle band that controls the opening of the stomach into the small intestine otherwise known as the duodenum.” Yes, they are jerks but Igor must admit that they sure know their anatomy. Igor has trouble with his pyloric sphincter but nothing as serious as having to wear it on the outside of his body. Igor is aware of many people who have suffered endlessly due to their troubled sphincters. There is a case of a man that taught Igor how to drive a standard 5-speed Datsun B210. He had the forked tongue of a snake due to his pyloric valve being severely defective. He did live a full life however and a movie was made about him and his inspiring story. He became the first forked- tongued Reeve of Serpent River. But, as with most of the cases Igor has prattled on about, they all have had the relative benefit of having their sphincters protected from the elements by being within the safety of the body. Yours is on your sleeve so I suggest immediate hospitalization.
IGOR, PHD
Dear Igor. Something’s wrong with me. I am having difficulty censoring myself in public. While others are able to socialize and stay in control I’m just saying whatever I feel like and pretty well doing whatever I feel like. I just say it and do it and of course this has become quite problematic in many areas of my life. I remember back at Nipissing, I studied some psychology. I particularly recall with fascination Freud’s psychoanalytic theory about how the personality is made up of three parts - the id, ego and the new improved superego with less bad cholesterol. Last month I was shoved by a young hoodlum while pushing my groceries out to my car because all the assholes in the store told me I had to push my own cart because…ooops!
See? I just did it again. What I was going to say was that while in the slushy parking lot I slipped and hit the back of my head on the bumper of someone’s truck and now I think part of my personality may have jarred itself out of synchronicity.
Now, do you think you can help me you dumb, ugly, dink-face! (Ooops! Sorry again!)
Tanya Le Baron
Onionville, Manitoba
Tanya: Igor must explain a few things first about Mr Sigmund Freud, the so-called father of psychoanalysis was a bit of a ball of nerves himself. I shared a room with him in 1932 somewhere in Austria.
Igor was hiding from people who though that Igor was some type of ghoul. People chased poor Igor with torches. It was a terrible time for Igor. That’s when I met Sigmund Freud. You see, Tanya, it is not widely known but I had a terrible addiction to cocoa as did Mr Freud. We met while trying to score. Alas, poor
Igor has put all that behind him now. Freud is dead. We became close back in Europe and he would stay awake for days going on and on about the Pleasure Principle and anxiety and dreams. Igor told him to shut up about it all or Igor would be forced to do bodily harm to him. Freud was a tiny man and his woolen pants always sagged in the bottom. Igor could have easily destroyed him with a mere swat, so strong is Igor. Freud would not shut up because of his voracious appetite for the cocoa. Igor was forced to paddle him rather thoroughly in 1939 while we were living in a castle. Now, Igor will address your question. There is nothing wrong you as far as Igor can tell. All the fundamentals of psychoanalytical theory is based on Freud’s whacked out drug binges. Igor knows. Igor was there when it all went down on paper. Igor planned an intervention but no one showed up except cocoa dealers and women with questionable morals. ID? EGO? SUPER EGO? EGGO? SUPER EGGO? LET GO MY SUPER EGGO!
Igor thinks it is all bunk. But again, I am more interested in Igor’s personal anecdotes than your problems. Igor wished you nothing but joy. Igor says bye.
IGOR, PHD
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