Aunty Maureen Gives Her Two Cents On 'Pizza Babies' And Christ Our Saviour

oldlady (1)

Maureen is an incredibly, incredibly old woman from Ballisodare in Co. Sligo who, after months of fear and hysteria surrounding the changeover to Saorview, has now gone on to receive her first ever fibre-optic broadbrand package.

Maureen used to babysit William Butler Yeats, and has a pet swan named Bunt. She'll join us on the Sliced Pan every week to answer your questions on romance, relationships, sex, swans, drugs, tea and pretty much anything else you can think of.

Last week it was Star Wars fetishes and scones. This week it's even more frightening:

Dear Maureen,

I recently ordered a pizza from a reputable takeaway in my area. The pizza boy, I think his name was Justin, arrived at my door 15 minutes late with a 12-inch margherita when I quite clearly ordered pepperoni. One thing led to another, and long story short, I think I'm pregnant.

Will I be judged if I have a pizza boy's baby?


Hi Jacqui,

It sounds like your pizza being late is your last concern. You should have kept his 12-inch away from your reputable area by the sounds of things!

Will you be judged? Absolutely. Unless he's Italian. I assume you're looking to marry the man if you're carrying his child, like a good Catholic should. And if you marry an Italian, it doesn't matter what his occupation is. He's Italian. Have you seen Irish men? They wear black socks with shorts. You'd never see that from a hunky Italian, I can tell you that much. Phweew, Italians. Where were we again?

Oh yes, the baby!

I had 7 or 8 of them in the '60s and let me tell you, I don't remember a single thing about it. But I can quote the entire 'Please Please Me' album by The Beatles.

Mind yourself,


Dear Maureen,

I recently got stocious drunk at my friend's birthday party. I woke up next to her 16-year old son.

When I got home, it hit me. The hangover. I mean, Jaysus, it was astonishing.

What I want to know is, what's your perfect hangover cure?



Hello Karen,

I'm sorry to say there won't be any hangovers where you're headed, as you've left me with no other option but to call the Gardaí.

Mind yourself inside,


Dear Maureen,

I'm having a steamy relationship with a girl half my age – the trouble is, she’s my niece.

What's going on there?



...Ah for fuck's sake, Billy.

Dear Maureen,

You seem like the religious type. I often wonder, if Jesus could walk on water, could he swim on land?


Richard D

Dear Richard D,

Sure didn't he ascend into Heaven, for God's sake? I mean literally for God's sake.

"And as they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst of them, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you.
And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven." - Luke 24:1-51

Sounds like he was the Michelle Smith of land-swimming to me, Richard. Minus the fecking drugs of course. Sorry, 'allegedly.' Did I do that right? I moved my hands for the inverted commas like the Americans.

Mind yourself, and Christ be with you,


If you're facing a personal crisis or are just generally curious about Maureen's swan, drop her an email at [email protected]

Aunty Maureen
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