Halloween needn’t be Hell this season! Now your kids can spread the word of the Lord while scaring the neighbourhood with these fetching costumes! Lovingly handcrafted at the Convent of the Blind Virgins in Alabama, these beautiful costumes will warm even the coldest of atheist hearts!

* Anoint your own Pope Cute I in this fetching papal gown. He’ll have great fun bestowing Sainthoods and rounding up heretics at the kiddies’ Halloween party.

* Your little Angel will be a vision of purity in the St Agnes of Diphtheria costume! She will be charmed by the story of Agnes, a simple Syrian farm girl who saw a vision of Christ and was promptly beheaded by those dreadful Muslims.

Don’t forget your kids’ friends are only laughing at them because they are jealous and sinful! And their parents are probably poor.

Fun for the faithful shouldn’t stop at bedtime! Treat your tots to a set of Evangelical PJs! Available in Bride of Christ or Crusading Infidel Destroyer themes for your innocent little lambs!

With cute hand-crafted “Righteousness” motifs and a fetching red cross of war, your kids can sleep peacefully knowing the Lord is protecting them through the power of polyester.*

* Not tested against evil spirits or machete-wielding clowns. Highly flammable – do not wear near burning bushes or crosses.

Head on over to the Humor Bloggers’ Halloween Carnival  –
guaranteed to put the willies up you!

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Shopping Bizarre | 12 Comments »

You know how sometimes you get a good idea but halfway through doing it, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea any more? Well, I decided to take my motorcycle test. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

I used to be a biker babe when I was a teenager and able to fit into skin-tight leather pants. I rode everywhere on my bike and together we had lots of high-speed adventures and horrific accidents. Happy days. But after digging the bike out the snow one winter’s evening, I decided to sell the damn thing and buy a nice warm car instead.

So there I was at the training centre the other night, shivering with nerves and squeezed into my old leathers (they must have shrunk over the years). Of course I was saddled with the biggest, heaviest bike the instructor could find. Me and the bike got acquainted in no time. By that I mean I ended up lying in the gutter with the bike wedged on top of me. I was just testing the weight of the machine, obviously. It had been a while since I’d ridden.

After wobbling up and down the street on the hideous metal beast for hours, the instructor waved me on to the assault course, complete with sharp turns, gravel and pot holes.

There must have been something wrong with my bike as it refused to go around corners. Bright orange traffic cones jumped in front of the wheels like they were on a suicide mission. They should build one of these torture courses at Gitmo Bay – send a few prisoners around that on rusty Honda 125 and they’d be howling their confessions in no time.

Of course my fellow trainees were all burly men who whizzed around the course like Evil Knenivel on a Vespa. I chugged behind them all, a stream of curse words and sobs echoing around my fogged-up helmet. The only way I could avoid coming last in class was if Steven Hawking joined the course.

As the rain started to pour I realized this idea was not my best one.

But by some miracle I passed the course! The miracle coming in the shape of the bottle of whisky I gave the instructor just before the test. Ha! Works every time. How do you think I got through school?

Now to decide on a new bike.

What I can afford is this:

I can see the benefits – fuel efficient, space for several friends and handy for trips to the shops or lumber yard. But I’d look like a twat.

What I really want is something like this:

Sports bikes are sexy, sleek and totally impractical. Not sure where I’d put the shopping, but I could solve that by only buying really small things and putting them in my helmet, like sliced cheese.

Now everybody seems to think this is the ultimate bike:

But there’s no way I’d ride one of those metal monsters. A Harley is about the same weight as a shipping container. If one fell on me I’d have to stay under it forever.

And as a Harley-owning biker chick, it is compulsory to wear the following attire, as this young lady demonstrates:

I can see the benefits of a thong ‘n’ chaps combination on those hot and sticky days, but what about winter riding? One sharp frost and I could hire my bum out as a ski hill.

I need a machine that is safe, practical, and suits the level of my motorcycling skills. I think I’ve found my new bike.

Chaps and thongs are mandatory over at Humor-Blogs.com.

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A Bad Idea | 7 Comments »

Chelle B. of Offended Blogger and Humorbloggers fame has started a campaign to Save Greenland. She is attempting to haul Greenland into the 21st century (or at least the 20th) by drawing international attention to the country’s lack of internet access, hot women, nail bars and Dairy Queen restaurants. Or something like that.

In my attempt to help the cause, I’ve spent literally minutes searching the internet for fascinating facts about this frigid land. I couldn’t find any, so I’ve made some up instead.

1. Greenland was discovered by Viking explorer Erik the Red. Being ginger-haired, Erik didn’t have many friends, so he encouraged folks to immigrate to his new land by giving it an appealing name. The new inhabitants of Freewhoreland were to be disappointed.

2. Many wars have been fought over Greenland as countries have attempted to palm it off onto their enemies. Norway tricked the Nazis into annexing it during WWII. Hitler was so enraged he ordered the Luftwaffe to bomb Greenland out of existence.

Unfortunately the Luftwaffe couldn’t be bothered and dropped their payload on England instead, leading to an escalation of the war and many more years of misery. Thanks for nothing, Greenland!

3. The Queen of Greenland is Denmark’s Margrethe II, but she doesn’t like to talk about it.

4. The Greenlandic alphabet consists of only the letters Q, L and T. By law, every word must contain a Q. Interestingly, the letter B is banned due to its similarity to a pert pair of breasts.

5. Greenland’s national dish is frozen prawns. No cooking time required, simply pop an icy prawn in your mouth and suck until its little head pops off. Mmm, shrimpy.

6. Greenland’s capital Qptqqtl is both the world’s smallest and largest city! Every summer the ice sheet it sits on breaks up, and parts of the city drift hundreds of miles into the Atlantic. It is believed one part of Qptqqtl is now a suburb of Boston.

7. Greenland’s main exports are ice cubes, huskies and parts of Qptqqtl.

8. The Greenland national anthem, Qppt! Qlt! (roughly translated as Fuck Me, It’s Cold) goes like this:

Oh, the endless piles of snow
It’s the iceberg we call home.
We have everything we need
Except free whores, sun and weed.

We’d love to move to other lands
With their palm trees, sun and sand
We’d rather suck a husky’s cock
Than be men of Greenland stock.

It must bring a tear to every Greenlander’s eye.

9. Christmas day can be traumatic for Greenland’s gadget lovers. Because there are no trees on Greenland, locals have to put their presents under a large pile of snow. Great if you’ve asked Santa for a box of frozen prawns, not so good if you requested a Playstation.

10. With the onset of global warming, Greenland may disappear completely within 20 years. Oh well.

I’d love to donate to the campaign to “Bring tomorrow to yesterday’s Greenland today”, but to be honest I can’t be arsed. Good luck Chelle!

Show your support for Greenland by clicking the happy face at Humor-Blogs.com!

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Thinking About Stuff | 19 Comments »

Canada’s top humour blogger is appearing in a movie. And in case she doesn’t turn up, Tiggy is there too. Read all about her preparation in Part 1.

Part 2 – Performance

There must have been something wrong with that mineral water I had flown in from the French Alps. A few days before shooting, disaster happened.

NASA scientists were just about to hold a press conference announcing they’d discovered an amazing red giant star, but then realized they’d been pointing their telescope at the HUGE FUCKING RED LUMP on my face. Noooo!

Three tubes of ointment and several panic attacks later, the crimson globe subsided. Phew.

A phone call from the casting office brought the next disaster. My call-up time (that’s showbiz speak for “Be on set looking good, or else”) was 5:30… in the morning. I had no idea such a time existed.

That night I woke up at midnight, 2am and 3am. I was too terrified to sleep. By the time I got up, I looked like I’d spent the night being beaten by an angry dwarf with a spanner. If this movie required a zombie character, my luck was in.

I groggily attempted to apply my makeup (and we know how ineffective that is) but to no avail. I decided that until I woke up, I would stand as far away as I could from the camera. Like in another building or something.

So there I was on set at the crack of dawn, grumpy and blotchy. The cast and crew fiddled with cables and checked their scripts. The shiny camera lens glinted menacingly at me from the gloom. I don’t like having my picture taken at the best of times, so what the hell was I doing here?

Before I had a chance to flee, a production assistant grabbed me and waved me towards the set. It was time for my performance! Oh bugger.

My big scene took place in a smart office building. I was told to look busy and do something very businesslike and important. This was going to take every last drop of my acting skills. I wished I’d taken more notice of my drama teacher at school. Shouldn’t I have lurked around offices shadowing important executives in preparation for my role? What was my motivation? When was lunch? I felt my makeup begin to dribble down my perspiring face. Oh bugger. But I couldn’t let the director down!

“Cameras… Take 1… Rolling… BACKGROUND!”

That was my cue. I wobbled awkwardly towards the camera, trying not to trip over the lead actor as he swept across my path. I fumbled and clattered and sweated my way through the scene.

“CUT!” shouted the director. Hurrah! I’d done it! I had acted in a movie! Can I go home now?

“Take 2…. Rolling…”

Again? That take was perfect! Oh well, maybe one more time…

“Cut! Reset! Take 3…”

Time passed.

“Take 19… Rolling… BACKGROUND!“

By now I was really getting into the swing of things. I don’t know if it was due to severe dehydration or overconfidence, but as I got to know my character during those long hours of filming, I began to understand her.

She wasn’t just some office nobody. I decided she was worth more than that, so I promoted her to Assistant Manager. I think I would call her Princess. I’m not sure why, but the set lights were making me feel rather dizzy.

Princess was a high-powered executive who knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. She had just signed a multi-million-dollar deal with MegaCorp Holdings and was on her way to bust some balls in the Boardroom.

But not before she’d flirted with that hunky security guard across the corridor. And now she was going to file this paperwork in a really foxy manner. Oh yeahh….

“CUT! Erm, could the girl with the red hair please go to makeup? You seem to have carbon copy ink all over your face.”

Oh bugger.

Anyway, I’m not allowed to reveal the movie plot, so I won’t tell you all about the next scenes where I battled a terrifying invasion of mutant starlings, filmed a steamy washroom scene with the hunky security guard and was then beaten by an angry dwarf with a spanner. The action never stopped. This movie is going to be a sure-fire hit!

So when the movie hits your local theatre, look out for a pasty ginger girl falling over a filing cabinet. That’s Tiggy!

Thanks to Mike Clattenburg and the boys for letting me stumble around their movie set for the weekend. (I’m sure you can edit those bits out later).

There’s a star-studded lineup of Drama Queens over at Humor-Blogs.com

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Tiggy Makes Movies | 15 Comments »