Losin’ My Muse

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I’ve lost my muse. My supernatural writing mentor vanished two weeks ago, leaving me alone and devoid of inspiration. Unfinished blog drafts sit neglected on my desk; a half-written movie script collects dust instead of Oscars; even my shopping lists are dull and lacking in pace.

Have you seen this chicken... I mean, man?Have you seen my muse anywhere? He’s an overweight, hairy guy called Dave. I know muses are usually beautiful Greek goddesses, but Dave was cheaper. I thought we would work well together. He wasn’t bothered about grammar rules and all that verb-participle stuff, but he liked a good laugh and a cold beer. So I took my chances with Dave.

Maybe it’s my fault. I didn’t appreciate him when he was around. To be honest, he spent most of the time asleep on my couch, waking only to scratch his ass and shout “Have ya written anything yet? No? Get on with it! Write about bees or something.” Then he would fall back into a drunken coma. Did I mention he liked his beer?

Dave might have been drunk and asleep most of the time, but whenever I felt my inspiration slipping away I could rely on him to slap me on the back, belch into my ear, and give me a few words of wisdom:

“Get drunk. Works for me!”
“Copy someone else’s stuff!”
“Go for a walk. I’ll come with ya, if we can stop at the hot dog stand.”
“Drink more.”
“Why don’t ya write about bees?”

Sometimes Dave would disappear for days on end. He would always let me know where he was going; he was good like that. He would leave post-it notes on my desk that read “Bored. See you Tuesday” or “Gone to a rock festival – back when sober”. Oh well, at least Dave’s absence gave me an excuse to procrastinate. I’d work on that storyboard when he got back.

Writer's block? Blame hot dog eating competitions.One time, Dave attended a muse convention. Muses from around the world came together, shared their literary horror stories, and took the piss out of their protégés. There were drinking games and hot dog-eating competitions too. Dave returned from the convention hungover and smelling of mustard. I had hoped he’d learned something, and would be bursting with inspiration.
“I got nuthin’ for ya. Wake me up in a few days and we’ll work on that bee story.”

This time, Dave didn’t leave a note. He just left. Maybe he read my latest script and lost the will to live. Maybe he was tired of all my penis jokes (and no man, not even Dave, can persuade me that a penis is not funny). Maybe he is now asleep on someone else’s couch, smelling of beer and mumbling about bees.

If you have my muse, please, please can you send him back? I promise to be a more attentive student. I promise to get that story finished. Tell him I have hot dogs.


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Music fans! Need to brighten up your miserable existence with a jolly jig or a dollop of juicy jazz? Thank the Lord for Tiggy’s Hit Parade!

(Unfortunately, Tiggy doesn’t possess a turntable or any musical knowledge, so all reviews are entirely fictional).

Get jizzy with it!

Cock Pirates

7. Anchor’s Away! Captain Hook and His Pirates

Shiver me timbers and suck me cockles! You’ll will have a scurvy-licious time listening to the Cap’n and his hearty high-seas shanties! Real-life pirate Captain Randy Hook and his first mate Annie MacMuffin welcome you ‘all aboard’ their fantasy ship stuffed to the rafters with friendly pirates and barrels of booty!

Hook’s musical pieces of eight include:

* Pat the Pirate’s Special Sword
* Going Down on the Good Ship Molly
* A Stormy Night and a Rough Ride
* The Tale of Salty Seaman Jack
* A Jolly Roger
* Jig Around My Mast

Kids will also love the FREE eye patch included with this musical marvel, and give them hours of rollicking one-eyed fun. Arrrrrr!

Next time on Hit Parade: The space-time continuum gets all fucked up with a folk singer from… THE FUTURE!


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There's some hot meat cookin' tonight!

Hey there meat maniacs, it’s time for another Meat Beat!

Bob: Hi, Tiggy fans! Bob Nutter here, assistant to the High Priest of Ham himself, Monty O’Drizzle. Sadly, Monty can’t join us this month; he had a bit of an accident involving a steak sandwich and a tub of glue. Probably best not to ask questions at this point. Instead, Monty’s brother, Mike O’Drizzle, is here to share his extensive meat knowledge!

Mike: Hello there, boys! And hi to the little ladies too, I guess. You’re lookin’ mighty fine today, Bob! That shirt sets off them muscles of yours mighty nice.

Bob: Erm, thanks. Mike, now summer is here, it’s time to think about buying a new barbecue. I’m hoping to have a party this weekend, get some hunting buddies together on my deck, and fire up some hunks of fresh meat.

Mike: Bob, there’s nothin’ finer than firin’ up a few hunks. Of fresh meat, I mean! Can I come to yous party?

Bob: Of course, Mike! But be warned, my buddies have lots of stamina and party pretty hard, it will be a long hot night!

Mike: Sounds like a party that’s right up my alley, fer sure!

Bob: Yeah, anyway Mike, about this barbecue …

Mike: Bob, bein’ a huge meat fan, I was happy to do some research for y’all, and conduct a thorough test of the top barbeques out there. So I went down to my local Home and Garden centre to check out some best buys.

Bob: That’s great Mike, very kind of you. So what did you find out?

Mike: Well Bob, I was assisted by a nice young guy called Dan, who is a barbecue expert at the store. He was mighty enthusiastic about sharin’ his expertise with ole Mike.

Bob: OK, shout out to young Dan there! Honestly Mike, is it just me, or are these in-store experts getting younger these days?

Check out the grill!Mike: I know what yer sayin’ Bob; I’d say young Dan was only in his early twenties! And about 180lb, six foot tall, dark brown eyes, looked like he worked out, I’d say.

Bob: OK Mike, I think that was probably more information than we needed. Anyway, I guess you and Dan had a fine old time in the barbecue department, prodding and poking, and exploring all the options?

Mike: Fer sure, Bob! I ran my hands over all the parts, we tested the knobs for sturdiness, and then we got a bit of meat goin’ on there.

Bob: So Mike, from your research, what model barbecue would you recommend to our readers out there?

Mike: Barbecue? Oh, I don’t really know there Bob, me and Dan were havin’ too much of a good time to look at barbecues. I guess any of them would be fine.

Bob: OK Mike, thanks for that barbecue test. I’m sure Tiggyblog readers will be rushing to the Home and Garden store right now to get some advice. And thanks to Dan for giving a helping hand.

Mike: Oh, you got that right, Bob! I’m goin’ back to the store tomorrow to test the power drills.

Bob: Mike, once again that was too much information. Anyway, I’m looking forward to having a great time grilling steaks on my new barbecue this weekend!

Mike: And I’m lookin’ forward to comin’ to the party, fer sure! And if any of you male readers out there are chefs or have meat handlin’ skills, be sure to give ole Mike O’Drizzle a call, and send a photo if you have one, as I’ll be lookin’ for some guys to help me out at the barbecue. Ain’t that right, Bobby?

Bob: Oh Christ. Anyway Tiggy fans, let’s all pray Monty is back in one piece for next month’s Meat Beat. Keep on cookin’!


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Wriggle, wriggle, wriggle. Roar.

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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