Everyone eats three times a day, and look at the massive cookery section at your local bookstore! We have cooking celebrities like Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsey, so why no experts on masturbation to give us all a helping hand?
On the other hand, I suppose we should be thankful Jamie and Gordon discovered their talent lay in cookery, not cockery.

Are the experts too busy playing with themselves to hold a pen and write a book? I suppose they could record their tugging tips by using a hands-free dictaphone (a dicktaphone)? An audio book on masturbation could be a best seller!

Just don’t listen to it while driving.

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Trust me, the vodka will help.

1. Which toe-tapping hit song was featured in Tiggy’s Hit Parade?
A. Kjell Kraghe – Haj Haj Happy Pis!
B. The Butter Fucks – Grease Fire Fantasy
C. Man Without Hats – We Haven’t Found Our Hats Yet
D. Billy Frig and the Twatanauts – Kill All the Pies

2. The main ingredient of Tabouli is:
A. Fire
B. Brains
C. Sandwiches
D. Tabouli

3. In a bear economy, is it better to
A. Buy Meatloaf
B. Sell Meatloaf
C. Meatloaf is not in my portfolio
D. I don’t understand the question

4. For Christmas, Tiggy wants:
A. A helicopter ride
B. A balloon ride
C. Ride me big boy, like the big hairy slut you are
D. Tiggy can want all she likes, Santa ain’t coming

5. Where is the best place to hide your stash?
A. Under your boss’s desk
B. Under your boss’s grandmother
C. In a small child’s birthday cake
D. I have no idea what you’re talking about

6. When in Rome:
A. Do as the Romans do
B. Do as some Romans do, but not all of them
C. Fuck the Romans
D. Rome is not on my travel itinerary

7. Which CD would Tiggy most like to find in her Christmas stocking?
A. Paddy “P-Doggy” Roberts – Songs for Gay Dogs
B. The Butter Fucks – Lard is my Lube
C. Monty O’Drizzle and the Steak Suckers – I Told Ya Meat Is Useful
D. Meatloaf – Is It a Prune or Is It a Plum (Rock and Roll Pudding Part III)

8. What is the best superhero power to have, apart from a Super Trike?
A. Super vision
B. Super strength
C. Super noodles
D. Super balls

9. What was the least appetizing food product reviewed on Shopping Bizarre?
A. Panda flavoured twigs
B. Twig flavoured pandas
C. Meatloaf
D. What the fuck is with all these Meatloaf references

10. What is the worst job Tiggy ever had?
A. Porn Art Movie Director
B. Repulsive Hooters girl
C. Prawn strangler
D. Genial television host of That’s My Cock

*******

Mostly As
Congratulations! You got most of the answers right. Have a cake! Or some LSD.

Mostly Bs
You got some right, but I suspect you guessed your way through a lot of this. I mean, the answer to question #3 is B? Seriously?

Mostly Cs
You’re not very good at quizzes, are you?

Mostly Ds
You’ve not been paying the slightest bit of attention to this blog. You owe the “Mostly A” guys a cake. And LSD.

Happy holidays!

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Get into the holiday spirit with Tiggy this month! Every Tuesday Tiggy will be posting a festive feature to celebrate this most magical of seasons:

* Rainbow Princess has been busy composing a beautiful viral e-mail poem to get us into the spirit of the season! Hopefully it will be less homoerotic than her last effort.

* Those cute kids from Mrs. Davies’ class will be sharing their Letters to Santa!

* Monty O’Drizzle and Bob Nutter will be downing weapons to share some Yuletide Hunting Tips!

* And finally, an end of the year TiggyPops Quiz to tax your drink and drug addled holiday brains!

It’s almost as exciting as a holy virgin birth! But not quite.

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So don’t fear, Betty is here! Here’s a selection of readers’ questions from my postbag.

Dear Betty,
My cat just died. I cry every day, as I miss Fluffster so much. What should I do?
Jack, Fredericton

Dear Jack,
Oh, what a to-do! As the owner of many cats, I have this problem all the time. When they stop meowing and start giving off that strange smell, I know it’s time to say goodbye! My poor old back gets sore from digging all those holes in the garden.

Find something to take your mind off your loss, my dear. Perhaps you could take up a sport, visit the library, or masturbate whenever you’re feeling down. Or become a volunteer at your local cats’ home – you will soon get used to working around dead pets, which will make your own loss easier to bear. Chin up, my dear!

Betty.

Dear Betty,
I just can’t get my Victoria sponge cakes to rise! What am I doing wrong?
Anna, Moncton

Dear Anna,
What a sorry tale! There’s nothing worse than a soggy, flaccid sponge. I consulted with my friend Doris at the Ladies’ Institute; she recommends adding an extra egg, a teaspoon of ejaculate and a pinch of salt to the mix, just before popping it in the oven. It makes all the difference, she says!
Yum yum, enjoy your nice fluffy sponges!

Betty

Dear Betty,
Ever since I discovered mojito cocktails, my life has gone downhill. I just can’t get enough of them! It’s affecting my work, my relationships, and my looks. I don’t want to be an alcoholic, but I just can’t resist that minty flavour!
Gerald, Grand Falls

Dear Gerald,
Now my dear, you probably won’t like what I have to say, but you must stay away from those cocktails, otherwise it will end in tears! My friend Maude at the book club went through a similar battle, in her case it was those fancy vodka shots you snort up your nose… terrible business.

My dear, every time you feel yourself craving mojitos, drink something else instead, like a refreshing glass of lemonade, cock juice, or herbal tea. If you are craving the taste of mint, try dabbing toothpaste around the rim of the glass or penis.

Take great care,
Betty.

Well my dears, I don’t know about you, but my sack is empty. But no fear my loves, just post your questions in the electronic message box below, and who knows, Betty may be giving you some Good Advice next time!

Kiss kiss,
Betty

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Do you ever watch a stand-up comedy routine on TV, by a comedian who has since died? Do you feel a bit guilty when you laugh? The guy is funny, but he’s dead. He’s rotting away somewhere in a casket, yet there he is, cracking funnies and full of life. Your humour buzz dies a little. You feel mean for laughing at a dead guy.

Then the comedian makes a joke about… death. And it wouldn’t matter if it was the funniest joke in the world, all you can think is “Oh, it’s so ironic! He’s dead, and he’s joking about being dead, but now he is dead, and it’s so sad…” and you feel time slipping away and you realize the whole transient nature of the universe and that we are only here for a short time and you’re going to die and you wish you’d watched the news instead.

If the dead comedian was also hot, then you’re really in trouble.

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The other day, my tummy started making noises. It rumbled. It made a horrible, gargling noise that sounded like a dwarf being flushed down a toilet. I assumed I must be hungry, but no amount of potato chips or beer seemed to pacify my gurgling gut.

I decided to scour the Internet for information on my minor, if irritating, condition. It was probably just gas, or too much beer, or that moldy bean burrito I should have thrown away but ate after I’d scraped the green stuff off.

I trawled cyberspace for medical blogs, message boards, and self-diagnosis forums. According to my online diagnosis, my symptoms pointed to one obvious condition. It wasn’t caused by green burritos. Or eating the wrong flavour potato chips. Or consuming vast quantities of alcohol. No, that grumbling sound was the terrifying roar of GUT WORMS. Hungry, angry, 6ft-long bowel beasts. No question about it.

According to my Internet research, we are all at risk, as gut worms are very easy to catch – you can pick them up by touching an infected person, sharing a cab, or attending a KISS concert. In fact, everyone’s insides are probably crawling with huge, squirming parasites that are slowly eating our brains and sucking the very life out of our bodies.

So, next time you hear that familiar growl deep inside your belly, you’ll know what it is. It’s a very hungry gutapillar. Throw it a donut and it won’t eat your brain.

It’s true! It said so on the Internet.

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So we shoot the shit and discuss all kinds of shit. Don’t worry, I say. Your shit is my shit, and we’ll work to clean this shit up together. That’s what friends are for.

So I take some of his shit and add to it to my shit. My friend feels the burden of shit lifted from his shoulders. He ends up giving me all his shit. He’s shit free. But now I have all his shit, plus my shit. I’m totally in the shit. My friend then leaves town without his shit. No shit.

Moral of the story: never do anyone else’s shit. It’s their shit. Let them deal with it. You have your own shit. If everyone dealt with their own shit, and left everyone else’s shit alone, we’d all be a lot happier. And a lot less covered in shit.

This post is dedicated to Halifax Harbour.

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Never mind the last bunch of losers, nutcases and dicks, here’s some more people I’m avoiding right now.

1. A cop wearing only one shoe

2. People who order skinny lattes but aren’t sure what skinny lattes are

3. People who believe Sunday is the first day of the week

4. People who insist a tomato is a fruit

5. A lap dancer that smells of cheese

6. Eighty-seven Goths

7. A door-to-door tampon salesman

8. A Christmas Parade Santa with a weak bladder

9. A vicar clenching a potato between his buttocks

10. An underage ambulance driver

11. A one-armed pizza chef

12. A dwarf dressed as a pixie

13. Anyone who bought a ShamWow because they liked the TV ad

14. A superhero with Tourette’s

15. A door-to-door door salesman

16. A bishop with a squirrel under his hat

17. A lawyer who lives in a trailer

18. A heavily perspiring Hooters Girl

19. A pixie dressed as a leprechaun

20. A Wal-Mart greeter with an erection

Have you met anyone you don’t want to meet recently?

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I’m proposing a new game called Google Fuck Bingo. To play, enter a really innocent word like ‘bicycle’, or ‘pigeon’ in Google image search.

Count how many images are displayed before the inevitable double-penetration/cumshot/naked transsexual photo appears. Player with the most fuck-free images wins.

In the unlikely event you tire at looking at pictures of fake tits and multiple naked gay pile-ups, you could also try Google Bingo with the following variations:

* Dead Cat
* Motorcycle Crash Leg
* Car Bomb
* Hideous Facial Disfigurement
* Foreign Object in Rectum
* I Can’t Quite Tell What I’m Looking At But I Think It’s Dead

In the event this game scars you for life or gets you fired, you didn’t hear about it from me, okay?

Thought over!

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A seat. A ferry. A mystery.
An unknown scribe carves a strange message into the plastic seat of the Halifax to Dartmouth ferry, and disappears back into the shadows.

“Geoff Brown eats sandwiches”.
Who left the message? What could it mean? Would Tom Hanks be interested in starring in the movie adaptation? I decided to investigate.

1. Who was Geoff Brown?
I asked around my fellow ferry passengers, but no-one knew of this man. I spotted an overweight, scruffy-looking guy eating a sandwich on the upper deck. “I am not Geoff Brown,” he declared. “Please go away, you are spoiling my lunch.” This investigation was going to be harder than I thought.

There was only one thing for it; summon the God of information, Google. In its wisdom, it responded that Geoff Brown could be a website developer, a snowboard instructor or a stand-up comedian. None of them fitted the profile of a mysterious cross-ferry sandwich muncher. Google, you let me down!

I called the local police to ask if they could check their records. The police lady on the other end of the phone wasn’t very helpful. She just kept repeating “Look madam, is this an emergency or not?” How the hell was I supposed to know? Supposing Geoff Brown was stealing baked goods from Halifax-area cafes, and consuming the evidence on the ferry ride home? This message could be a cry for help from an out-of-control ciabatta criminal, like those serial killers who leave calling cards on their victims’ corpses. Honesty, I try to help the police, and all I get is abuse…

2. What was significant about the eating of the sandwiches?
The identity of Geoff Brown, be he friend or foe, remained a mystery. In the interests of wild speculation, could the next part of the message provide any clues to his identity… and what was so great about these ruddy sandwiches?

Like the idiot who scrawled “TIGGY IS GHEY” on my office’s washroom wall, perhaps the graffiti artist was trying to spread nasty rumours about poor Mr. Brown. But why would his love of sandwiches be such a shameful secret?

Maybe Geoff Brown was a kung-fu wrestling smackdown champ. Rather than gorging on raw meat and tree trunks for lunch, he secretly consumed delicate cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. For a guy who spent his days grappling with sweaty semi-naked men, any claim of effeminacy would be pretty hurtful. Maybe his opponent was conducting a dirty-tricks campaign of psychological torture… by scrawling insults on a ferry seat. Well I don’t frigging know, wrestlers are a strange bunch.

Then I had a breakthrough-supposing the message was incomplete? Perhaps the scribe was caught in the act, and thrown overboard before he could finish his carving. This opened up lots of new possibilities. Maybe it was supposed to read “Geoff Brown eats sandwiches from Tubby Jack’s Sandwich Shack! Try their Beef & Bacon Mega-Sub today!” So the graffiti was nothing more than a cunning advertising campaign? Or perhaps it was one of those stupid subliminal ads, which never actually tell you what it is you’re supposed to be buying.
I think Tubby Jack should ask the ad agency for a refund, to be honest.

3. Why was I spending so much time thinking about this?
Well, aren’t you wondering now?

Despite my thorough investigation, the mystery of Geoff Brown and his sandwich fetish remains unsolved. The scribe will take the secret to his grave, Geoff Brown will continue to consume/steal/advertise his beloved lunchtime treat, and Tom Hanks hasn’t returned any of my phone calls.

I think I might take the bus in future.

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