Tag: sexy

Tiggy is a Bad Girl

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


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Tiggy Investigates Man Boobs

Man Boobs - they're all the rage!

Man boobs have been on my mind. Now the sun is shining and the winter coats are off, I can’t help noticing t-shirted men who seem to have grown lady-like appendages during their winter hibernation.

But what are man boobs? Are you a man worried by the condition? Are you a woman who could do with a giggle? Read on.

Owning a pair of man boobs can result from lack of exercise, bad luck or something to do with the thousands of hormone-pumped, estrogen-infused triple cheeseburgers a busty boy has shoved down his throat. But how are men affected by this terrible tit trauma?

I decided investigate by visiting the local gym to observe shirtless men lifting weights for the afternoon. From my lengthy observations, I noticed there are two types of protrusion.

These are good. Tiggy approves. The first and rather more attractive type is the Resting Pec as I like to call it. These once-proud muscular mounds are reasonably firm and pert, but perhaps require their owners to consume a few less KFCs and spend a bit more time pumping the Bowflex in order to reach their optimum manliness again.

The second type are the more feminine looking he-humps or Saggy Old Witch Tits, the sort of flabby gristle you see on female bus drivers and at over-55s porn sites you accidentally click on sometimes. These poor chesty chaps must have so much estrogen in their system they probably went to see Sex and the City: The Movie and cry when they run over chipmunks.

How do you know if you have harmless resting pecs or worrying witch wobblers? Take this tit-tastic quiz to find out!

Moobs of doom!1. Can you hold a pencil, spoon or small mammal under your mammary gland?

2. Can you kiss your nipples?

3. Do your man boobs hit you on the chin when you run?

4. Are you too overweight to attempt question 3?

If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, I’m afraid the prognosis is not looking good. And neither are you.

A strict regime of tofu burgers and bench presses is the only way to banish that bosom and replace it with a macho six-pack. Alternately you could move to Bangkok, join a lady boy troupe and perform as a novelty Sumo wrestler/cabaret artiste. Believe it or not, there are a lot of Japanese businessmen who would pay good money to see that.

So in conclusion it seems that having both a cleavage and a cock is not as much fun as it sounds. Unless you think the lifestyle may be for you, in which case have another cheeseburger!

They have big manly chests over at Humor-Blogs.com


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Tiggy Dreams of Hamster

Richard Hammond He So Dreamy!

Dreams do come true, they say. I hope not. I keep having a recurring dream about dating diminutive Top Gear presenter Richard “Hamster” Hammond. I have no idea why. I’m sure he’s a lovely chap and all, but I don’t exactly lust after him during my waking hours.

Strangely enough, this budding bedtime romance is going rather well. Richard and I have been on a number of dreamy dates and shared a romantic dinner together (I must point out he is always a perfect gentleman and keeps his hands to himself). But why Richard Hammond? I really can’t explain my brain’s logic. I suppose it could be much worse – my unconscious mind could one night confuse him with

Richard Simmons

Richard Simmons? No.

Richard III

Richard III? Possibly worse.

or Keith Richards.

Keef Richards? Come back Hamster, all is forgiven!

That would be very wrong.

Trouble is, I’m worried where this nocturnal relationship is heading. Everything is going so well, I just know he’s going to dump me. I’m reluctant to go to sleep because I know one night I’m going to hit the pillow and hear “Tiggy, I really like you, but…” Oh, pretend imaginary Richard, how could you do this to me?

Revenge! Mwah hah hah.I should dream up a plan of revenge. I will attempt to make Richard jealous by secretly dating Top Gear co-presenter Jeremy Clarkson. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Jeremy is much taller and can probably drive faster. That will teach Hamster to play with my dreams!

Knowing how my dreams usually end, Jeremy will probably turn into a huge beetle, eat the Eiffel tower and I’ll end up hitchhiking naked around the Paris Ring Road. And then all my teeth will fall out.

I can’t avoid sleep and my Hamster forever, so I better prepare for the worst. Providing Richard Simmons doesn’t make a nightmarish appearance, I might be able to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and soldier on until morning.

And I must remember never to watch Top Gear before bedtime…


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