Tag: fail

Tiggy is a Bad Girl

Posted on by

What Tiggy sees in the mirror.No, this post isn’t about whips and leather fetishes. Maybe I’ll post those pictures later, but in the meantime I have a problem.

It states on my birth certificate I am female, but I wonder if the doctor made a mistake. I appear female, but I’m incapable of being girly. I only own four pairs of shoes, I’ve never been to a spa and I’m terrified of hairdressers. I’ve seen more feminine transvestites (even the ones with beards).

As you may know from my previous beauty attempts my face does not improve with make-up. Attempting to conceal my morning hangover with expensive beauty products, I look like I’m auditioning for a Rob Zombie horror flick. Those beautiful ladies on the make-up adverts promise I’ll look radiant and sexy, but neglect to add “This product will smudge, crack, get stuck in your eye and cause small children to laugh at you in the Post Office'”. Bitches.

But I’m A LADY! I do Lady things!

If my face is a multicolour disaster zone, my nails are even worse. I’ve seen battery farm chickens with better manicures. Not that I would dare have them done professionally – I’d get laughed out the beauty parlour with “I have an emery board, not a magic wand,” ringing in my ears.

Clothes shopping is a retail pastime for proper ladies, but a journey to hell for me. I go out with the intention of buying nice girly dresses. After trying every dress in the store and sobbing in the changing room until Security ejects me, I go home with a t-shirt and a vow never to leave my house again. Why do lady clothes make me look like a bad drag act?

Tiggy will not be appearing in this publication any time soon.

OK, I Give Up

And the horror of wearing high heels! It’s not a sexy walk, more of a lurch. I would rather use the excuse of being drunk and on drugs than admit I’m sober and cannot walk in stilettos. (Although that excuse doesn’t go down well at job interviews, trust me).

So I clatter awkwardly down the street in my transvestite dress and zombie make-up, about to fall off my heels into the path of oncoming traffic. I wonder how many more are like me. Not that I can tell who they are, as they look like bad drag acts too.

I’m going to stop trying to be girly, burn my clothes and become a back-to-earth naturist. Hippies danced around all day with nothing more than a flower in their hair and seemed perfectly happy. I’ll have an excuse never to leave house and if I do, I would be a bad girl. I’ll post some pictures after the cops release me.

Tiggy, tomorrow.

They like dressing up in ladies’ clothing over at Humor-Blogs.com


Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinteresttumblrmail

Hurrah For Canada!

Posted on by

Hurrah for Canada Day!

July 1st is Canada Day! The day when all Canadians avoid work, crack open a beer and then crack open another beer. To be honest, that happens most days in my house, but today we do it with pride!

To get into the spirit of things and help my non-Canadian readers join in the celebrations, I decided to find a photo that sums up Canada and what a cool place it is.

And what better than a picture of our national animal, the beaver? I set to work and Googled ‘cute furry beaver’. Unfortunately, the images Google presented me with… well, let’s just say a) I will remember to switch ‘Moderate Safe Search’ ON in future and b) I now have an image of Britney Spears burned into my brain I didn’t really need.

Britney-free beaver spotting.Never mind, I decided to head to my local wilderness park with my camera and snap the cheerful critter myself. After crawling through the undergrowth for hours, I finally chanced upon the fluffy little fella! Great, now I could get my shot. Come on little guy, do something cute and Canadian!

Unfortunately, I seemed to have caught my little beaver friend in, let’s just say, a rather private act of self-gratification. I waited patiently as the creature fiddled around with his nether regions. And waited. And waited some more. Get on with it, you little cocksucker!

More time passed. A group of curious tourists began to gather behind me.
“Mommy, why is that lady with the orange hair taking photos of a beaver playing with itself? I’m scared.”

I was escorted from the park by the rangers who were under the impression I was some kind of depraved fur-fancier, my protests that I was doing it for Canada Day falling on deaf ears.

Cover your eyes!

I’m really sorry about this, everyone. I just wanted a nice picture for Canada Day and all I have to show for it is a photo of a beaver masturbating. The day is all spoiled now. The only other picture I got was of three recidivists from the local trailer park. Admittedly they are not quite as fluffy, but they are Canadian and will have to do.

Sorry.

Give them some chicken fingers and they won't steal your barbeque.


Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinteresttumblrmail

Tiggy Joins The No Cussing Club

Posted on by

Swearing - not big or clever.

My language is often less than lady-like. I could give a 350lb Docker with a spade through his foot a run for his money in a swearing contest. I didn’t want admit I had a problem until I called my boss a cock pirate (to be fair, he took it entirely out of context). It was time to act.

Sign of Intelligence
I joined the No Cussing Club. Happy orange-shirted kiddies smiled at me from their website in encouragement. I too could a live profanity-free life! All I had to do was swear a pledge of allegiance (without swearing), buy an orange Club wristband and my potty mouth would be silenced forever! I couldn’t let the children down.

“I won’t cuss, swear, use bad language, or tell dirty jokes. Clean language is the sign of intelligence and always demands respect. I will use my language to uplift, encourage and motivate. I will Leave People Better Than I Found Them!”

I made it through the oath but as I tried to order my wristband my computer crashed. “Fuck!” I yelled, and realized I’d broken my pledge in under two minutes. “FUCK!” I exclaimed again as I realized I’d just said ‘fuck’. This was going to be tough.

Switzerland
The website suggested I try alternatives to swear words. Just use an everyday word, the first one that pops into your head. My friends began to wonder whether I was high on drugs as I randomly shouted out “Switzerland!” “Fudge Bucket!” and “Wooden Monkey Carving!”. The fact that these were the first words to pop into my head was worrying. Maybe the Club wristband was affecting my circulation.

I sounded like a Dictionary with Tourette’s and was becoming reluctant to speak in case I slipped up. I imagined tears running down the children’s orange glowing faces as I wrestled with my fudges and fucks. I had failed the No Cussing Club kids.

I’m sorry kids. It’s not that I have a limited vocabulary and don’t know lots of big clever words. But sometimes only a fuck will do. When you’re grown up and you put a spade through your foot you’ll understand.


Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinteresttumblrmail

Tiggy’s Hollywood Movie

Posted on by

You like me, you really... oh, maybe not.

I didn’t know what Hollywood scriptwriters looked like until I saw them on the picket lines during the recent writers’ strike. They looked normal enough – they didn’t drive up in their Ferraris flashing botox smiles like Tinsel Town big shots. They wore normal clothes, had normal faces and probably had messy houses and an overdraft like everyone else.

Hollywood needs them. Can you imagine if they were filming CSI: Las Vegas and the director says to the cast “Hmmm, maybe someone can pretend to be dead, here’s some fake blood. Fucked if I know, just make it up as you go along…” Gil Grissom wouldn’t look like such a know-it-all forensic fancy pants then.

Awesome Movie
Maybe I had what it took to be a movie screenwriter. Stupidly, I wondered out loud to my friends how easy it must be. All you need is to think up some characters, put them in a situation and then resolve that situation, somehow, in about 95 minutes. Go on, my friends said. At least come up with an idea.

My movie script needed careful planning. I had to come up with fascinating characters and an intriguing plotline with plenty of twists. Half an hour of solid work through my lunch break later, I had the foundations of my awesome movie – a dark road trip comedy with a clever subplot. I’d hardly finished my cup-a-soup as I typed out my synopsis. I am in the wrong job, I thought. Just wait until my friends read this. I wonder which producer will call me first?

Hot Dog-Eating Monkeys
My friends’ reviews were lukewarm. “Um, Tiggy, hasn’t this been done before?” “I don’t get that bit about the monkey and the hot dog eating contest…” “I’ve noticed one major flaw in your plotline…”

What a bunch of loser armchair critics. How dare they trash my idea! I played the whole movie back in my mind – it was fantastic! I’d pay to see it several times at a theatre. I sulked like a diva for the rest of the day.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a screenwriter. The pressure to come up with original, logical and entertaining material is too much for me. The trauma of a rejected idea is unbearable. These Hollywood writers must have a thick skin, even without the botox.


Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinteresttumblrmail