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Dear Velociraptor,
Thank you for your advice in my previous letter re: what's that smell? It was indeed food, so I took your advice and I ate it. Sadly, I find myself in a similar situation and I once again need your wisdom. I smell something delectable nearby in the water. What is my course of action?
(Sorry for the wet paper.)
Confused and hungry,
Liopleurodon
~~~
Dear Liopleurodon,
Eat it. RAR!
~~~
Dear Velociraptor,
I need advice. I'm a mathematician with a string of bad marriages behind me, and more than one child support payment. I know what you're thinking: I'm living the dream life, right? But it's not all wooing hot chicks with Chaos Theory and hoping my offspring don't pick the expensive therapists later on in life. I want more, and the burgeoning ennui is really harshing me. Can you give me any guidance to revitalize my joie de vivre?
Crying a single emo tear,
One Plus Zero Equals Alone
~~~
Dear One Plus Zero Equals Alone,
Even Velociraptor can count to five. Three movies minus two islands equals, uh, come back and I can eat you! RAR!
~~~
Dear Velociraptor,
I just found your advice column and I desperately need advice. You see, I booked passage on a trans-Atlantic oceanliner. All was going well, and then, wouldn't you know it? We struck an iceberg. I hear you say, "Do not pause to write a letter to an advice column, you fool! Board the nearest life boat!" And thus we arrive at my problem.
Do you have any advice for those of us about to drown or freeze?
Learning to tread water,
Mrs. A. Lipscombe and children
~~~
Dear Mrs. Lipscombe,
Put on good perfume. Velociraptor suggests Chanel No. 5. Wait. Solution to your problem will come soon.
~~~
Dear Liopleurodon,
Start sniffing for Chanel No. 5. Bring friends.
RAR!