Tag: entertainers

Tiggy’s Hit Parade: Puppet Pranks with Harry and Terry!

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Music fans! Confused by the choice at your local record store? Want to get ‘with it’ and ‘hip’ like all the cats at the local Hop? Or something? Check out Tiggy’s Hit Parade!

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

Let’s rock around the cock!

A puppet show... in audio! Hmmm.

5. Harry and Terry

Attention fans of freaky little mechanical puppets! Top ventriloquist Terry and his little woody friend bring you the finest in voice-throwing fun… you won’t even see his lips move!

This amazing record showcases the talented duo’s spectacular routine including:

* Tap dancing – boy, that little wooden fella can move!
* Magic tricks! Pick a card, any card…
* Terry drinks a glass of water while Harry sings a song – you won’t believe your ears!
* A rousing rendition of their 1988 chart-topping hit I’m Inside My Best Friend
* A fabulous finale with dancing showgirls and a unicycling hamster

Hopefully a video version of the show will be released in the future.

Thanks to Worst Album Covers for their toppermost of the poppermost record collection.

Next time on hit parade… break out your polyester pants and glitterball for a spec-tacular Eurozone disco sensation!


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Dirty Dancing

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The Chorus line, shortly after Tiggy fell off the stage.

It was a nice afternoon so I decided to take a stroll along the harbourfront. I wandered along dreaming about puppies, unicorns and being spanked by…never mind. A crowd of tourists from the nearby cruise ship pottered around and took photographs of seagulls.

“Yoo hoo! YOO HOO!”

A high-pitched American voice squealed behind me, interrupting my spanking dream.
“Yoo hoo, girl with the red hair! Hi! We really enjoyed your show!”

I turned around to see a chubby couple waving at me and pulling out their cameras. I was confused. I wouldn’t class Tiggyblog as a show. They didn’t look like how I image my readers to be (I assume you are all rather attractive and under 70). I still had stars in my eyes after my recent movie appearance, but that was probably on the cutting room floor by now. Had I been in a show recently? I get forgetful sometimes, but nothing sprang to mind.

The lady tourist flapped her chunky arm and beckoned me towards her.
“We saw the show last night… loved it! I loved your dancing,”
Dancing? Me? This woman was obviously drunk. I mumbled something about being late for rehearsal and fled. I could still hear her shrieking “You hoo, dancer!” as I stumbled away.

I had been a dancer, once. I was four years old and landed the part of “pink rabbit” in the village variety show. I don’t recall much about the performance, although I distinctly remember a rabbit ear falling off and pissing my tutu in sheer panic. Not exactly Bolshoi Ballet material.

Modern dance - wtf?I wondered what kind of freak show I had supposedly been dancing in. I couldn’t think of any dance genre requiring a big arse and the flexibility of a tree trunk. What had this misguided couple been watching?

Maybe it was a contemporary dance show? Perhaps I was in an art-house production about 19th century lesbian vegetable pickers, depicted in a pretentious display of arm waving and scary music. I probably played a carrot or something. But my tourist fans didn’t look the type to be watching arty modern dance. Hmm.

This being Nova Scotia, maybe they had attended a traditional Highland show, where ruddy-faced girls kicked their legs like pit nags to the sound of bagpipes. Oh, the horror! I would never dance like that. My boobs are too wobbly and bagpipes make me violent.

Work it, Tiggy!Then a horrible thought crossed my mind. Maybe the couple were not what they seemed? After all, they were on vacation, full of cocktails and free to go a little wild… in true maritime fashion, maybe they had disembarked their boat and headed straight for the local strip club? Had they spent their evening watching a “show” involving pole dancing and spanking?

Maybe the club had been packed with curious cruise tourists. And they all thought I was that girl who was dirty dancing in a sparkly thong!

My reputation in this town is in tatters! What must people think? A boatload of Americans think I am nothing but a cheap, pole-dancing slut!

However, the spanking part I can live with.


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Flaming Magicians and Chocolate Cake

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Another flaming birthday.

Children’s parties are a disaster waiting to happen. Assemble a bunch of restless children dressed in their best party clothes and fill them with sugary pop and Cheetos. Then run.

Create further chaos by hiring a children’s entertainer to keep the little darlings amused.

The local magician’s audience for the day was a gaggle of noisy seven-year-olds at a birthday party. They chattered and fidgeted on the community hall floor as the magician dabbed his aging face with make-up in the washroom. He lurched onto the stage from behind a cloud of white smoke. The children cheered. Looking like Peter Reveen’s long-lost brother, his polyester sequined jacket glittered in the lights and his bouffant dyed-black hair and pointed beard shone with lacquer. Behold the Great Lorenzo! He looked neither Great nor Italian, but the children were mesmerized.

The birthday girl was summoned to the stage, nervous and giggly in her pretty party dress. The Great Lorenzo whipped up a couple of balloon animals before her eyes, tugged her braids and asked her to help perform the Greatest Trick Ever Seen! The children cheered, waving their Cheeto yellow hands in the air.

The Great Lorenzo - either For Hire or On Fire.The Great Lorenzo opened a glittering magic box and pulled out a velvet bag full of ingredients. They were going to make a magic chocolate cake! The little girl rummaged through the bag and dropped eggs, flour and magic dust into the box. Now to bake the cake! The Great Lorenzo waved his wand and dropped a burning match into the box. Abracadabra!

A massive yellow flame shot from the magic box. The little girl screamed and ran off the stage. The smell of burning bouffant and melting sequins wafted across the hall. The children cheered. “It’s alright kids, everything’s fine!” squealed a voice from behind the flames as a fire extinguisher was rushed to the stage.

The Great Lorenzo emerged through the choking black smoke. A showman to the last, he was not going to let the kids down. He stumbled towards the little girl, who had peed her pants in terror and was crying in the corner. He presented her with a slightly charred chocolate cake. The children cheered again. He really was magic after all.

I don’t know what happened to the Great Lorenzo after that. Maybe he ended up performing in some smoky nightclub in Las Vegas. Maybe he never performed again. And the little girl? That was me. And I’ve been terrified of chocolate cake ever since.


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