Ultimate nightmare!

Woke up drenched in cold sweat after a terrible nightmare… I dreamed of the worst trauma any human can endure. Yep, you guessed right - a long weekend booking with a true pervert! I shudder to even repeat his depraved fetish. He wanted - oh God this is so awful - he wanted to see not just one but several musicals! First that truly heinous one with loads of dudes in awful make-up rollerblading around. But oh no that was not bad enough he also wanted to see the one with the mangy felines, basically a weekend as a homage to the worst atrocities of that horror mongerer Mr Andrew Lloyd Weber has inflicted on his poor victims. I still do not understand that this torturer received accolades rather than an indictment at Den Haag! But the worst was still to come - he had saved the cruellest perversion till last. In bed, he wanted to play a DVD of the Sound of Music. Let’s say the hills were alive with the sounds of my screams! I would much rather spent a weekend in a chic orange jump suit at that adorable retreat in Guantánamo Bay. Put it this way, if you force me to watch that I would be ready to confess anything even admit that Bin is hiding under my bed rather then the Afghan mountains!

Sex sells…

Just cruising the big wide bad web and come across this 1925 advertisement for a taxidermist (as you do) in the windy city.  Suppose sex really does sell everything…..

Get stuffed

A gent who maybe knows me better than I care to admit, gave me a book, ‘The Home Taxidermist’s Handbook’ by Chuck Iglesias. Or alternatively ‘How to stuff, mount and display your beloved pets around the home and garden.’ It is gloriously distasteful and funny, however, the worst thing is that some of the taxidermist projects, including a matching gerbil salt & peppershaker set or hamster tea light holders hold a certain appeal for me. I kind of felt myself drifting off, pondering on and considering it for a brief moment… The material list is gloriously offensive - hamsters, the author muses luckily do not last long and in no time you can amass a good sized collection of tea light holders as one would look a bit strange by itself at a dinner party. Quite! There is also a simply inspired stuffed animal garden chess set; here the manual concedes that you need a lot of animals. Other quaint projects include a canine remote control holder - apparently a midsized dog is most suitable. And the Dachshund baby cushion is simply divine! Here is an inspiration for many Elle Decoration subscribers, given that all those Weimaraners bought to look rather decorative in all white interiors stop looking quite so splendid with advancing years and have a rather unsavoury habit of drooling and slobbering all over the white sofas. Have them lovingly stuffed and they make adorable features that complement the modern stark gas fire. Being the owner of the world laziest Greyhound it is rather handy that her fur matches the couch - keep kind of looking at her - would make ever such a gorgeous cushion… To be perfectly honest, one would hardly notice the difference!

Well, seems the art of taxidermy is not quite as popular these days as in its heydays during the Victorian area. Think the motto then was if it doesn’t move - stuff it! But our forbearers were not contend with just trying to achieve the most life-like effect but were rather keen on recreating entire ‘tableaux’ see the charming portrayal of a boxing match between two stuffed critters on the left. Perhaps an ancestor of Professor Hagen…?

Hair raising stuff…

It occurred to me after contemplating buying some baby toupees for all my friends with bald chubby children, why should the kids just have all the fun…?

And voila, a kind soul let me have a link to some true Kitty delight. Gives the concept of pussy wigs a whole new meaning! Do you really think it is feline abuse if I treat my beloved tomcat to the glamorous Silver Fox model?

Homage to the Trump Tower

Well, it seems my observation of a link between hair and power should not be dismissed. So if you want to ensure that your darling offspring does not just grow up as an obnoxious person but a CEO of a major organisation then perhaps you should order one of these baby toupees. Your infant will be the envy of the playground or at least it will toughen him up a bit…

An ode to Trump Towers

Recently I saw a child ‘Donald Trump’ impersonator - trust me it was scary! But it made me ponder on rather pressing matters of international concern. The Trump Up-Do - is it art or is it nature or is it an incredible feast of engineering? I am leaning towards the latter. Surely, it is a post-modern triumph over gravity! A daring structural accomplishment that is to coiffure what pavlova is to haute cuisine! Besides this audacious oeuvre holds more than a passing resemblance to a fluffy meringue…

Forget entrepreneurial tips on how to become a property tycoon or on how to make a small fortune (other than loosing a large fortune bequeathed from Trump Senior). Just like Samson - I am now convinced that his commercial success is intrinsically linked to his signature hairstyle. So just follow the styling instructions as illustrated and you too will enjoy economic prowess. Rumour has it even Mr Johnson followed this styling advice…

I have scored….

Oooooh, I feel so appreciated – a lovely gent was kind enough to heed my not so subtle prompting on here for some feedback. I am all the more touched, as he isn’t normally very keen on writing and much prefers to let his fingers do the talking…. Thank you for both a wonderful time and a field report!

Field report number 6350 on Punternet.

So all you lovely men - if you feel your creative juices (as well as others lol) flowing and you enjoyed your time at my boudoir why not compose some prose or even poetry. Hahahah - I admit even less subtle and more brazen hinting….

Prat alert!

Do mid-term holidays form some secret government mission to encourage more stringent birth control and promote contraceptives? The masses of unruly and noise polluting London off-springs on the public transport last week have certainly silenced my already barely audible biological clock!

However, the truly worst example of parenting gone wrong was accompanied by an older set of parents whose probably five year old child was the most likely contender for the starring role in any new remake of Damian… The infant looked like Donald Trump might have resembled at that age albeit with the current cemented hair do (a post modern homage to deconstructive architecture..) The mother, at least, I presume it was although difficult to spot any family resemblence as she seemed to have encountered some mad plastic surgeon with a job lot of defective silicone and botox, which probably secured a permanent refuge at Madame Tussaud’s. The father was a less attractive Boris Johnson look like with the facial expression of a constipated Rhino who sported the tell take demeanour of a hen picked husband. (Don’t you just bet so that he probably represents one of the most obnoxious and aggressive posters on certain industry related forums…) This social study of a dysfunctional family unit clearly demonstrated that having a kid too late in life does not always just manifest itself in visible genetic mutations. The over indulged child of less than mediocre intelligence was clearly afflicted by some mad ‘Shirley Temple’ disease with an over inflated sense of importance and spoke with one of those really annoying affected voices. Throughout the journey, the child kept whining, unable to sit in its seat and kept kicking and hitting out at his parents. I merely raised one eyebrow and the mother said to no one in particular how her child was so intelligent and creative. The lady next to me sniggered and we both muttered ‘what a spoiled little prat…’

Anyway, I ignored the noisy and disruptive little oik while I carried on reading. It had been a long day and I did not get a chance to eat anything, so I pulled out a little bar of chocolate as I felt slightly faint with hunger. Suddenly, the kid threw a major tantrum demanding sweets, absolutely screeching at his mother. I watched the spectacle with detached morbid fascination whilst delighting in chocolate heaven. The mother tried to mask her rising panic not to mention her lack of parenting skills and cheerfully said ‘maybe the nice lady will give you some chocolate…’ I looked around and then realised with mirth that this suggestion was aimed at me. Well, the chocolate was far too delicious to share and I unlike the gormless parent do not believe in rewarding bad behaviour. So I slowed down to relish its full gooey goodness. She bent forward with a conspiratory wink and told me that they did not believe in denying their delightful offspring anything to ensure he would grow up to become a truly creative individual … I conceded that their by now red faced, snot covered progeny was truly something else (made me think of Lord of the Flies…) but alas it was time for him to learn that he could not have everything in life. Well, at least certainly not the remaining piece of my chocolate bar! Never did a creation by Thornton taste more delicious. The kid’s face by now turned into some weird patchy purple complexion and it looked at me with unmasked fury ready to kick me – I looked straight back and suddenly this modern day Damian realised that unlike his parents I have natural authority. Instead, it battered his mother who pathetically tried to humour him. Well, they certainly raised a horrid monster but sadly sooner or later it will affect society. I come across grown up prats like that who think that they can get away with bad behaviour too if only they throw money at me. They too realise that it will do them no good with me. I insist on good manners and a respectful attitude regardless of what age! But if you are a good boy I might share some chocolate with you

Exoneration of the Big Bad Wolf!

Personally, I always think that there are usually at least two sides to a story. Yet for absolute ages, lupicide has been cruelly advocated due to what many now suspect were malicious lies spread by Red Riding Hood. According to some sources, Red Riding Hood had been known to solicit in her signature red thigh high boots and red PVC Basque trying to pick up lone wolves on her frequent trips to a secluded woodland incall location. Apparently, on that fateful day, she was en route to deliver twenty Marlboro Lights and Onion & Cheese crisps to a mature service provider when she tried to entice the unsuspecting wolf to come along for a threesome with role-play. Forrest officials also long suspected Red Riding Hood of illegally collecting endangered plants from protected nature reserves and harvesting magic mushrooms. The poor gullible wolf was lured to the working cabin and encouraged to express his inner feminine lupa with some cross gender/species dressing. Ok, he may have slightly misunderstood the principles of CIM… Red Riding Hood arrived late for the booking and then began taunting the poor wolf on the size of his schnozzle, which has always been a source of embarrassment for the sensitive creature. The wolf was understandably upset by that and because he was lured to the place under false descriptions - the second female was much older then described, definitely not a natural blonde nor a busty size 12 and of indefinite non English origins. Both refused to kiss him despite clearly offering this service, as he was apparently too ‘bristly’. The wolf also was not too happy that Red Riding Hood was more interested in talking rather than providing a personal service. Of course, he was going to leave negative feedback to warn other wolves of this unscrupulous pair. At this point, the lady working under the name Red Riding Hood started screeching and screaming for the security guy to deal with the dissatisfied client who then used excessive force. The evil pair spread false warnings and destroyed the reputation thus branding the maligned lupus as the Big Bad Wolf.

Currently, there are also some investigations into malicious claims made by three little pigs who flouted major building regulations…

Newfangled things…

Not sure when and how it happened but some time ago I transmogrified into a cantankerous codger. There I said it! Feels liberating doesn’t it - hello, my name is Burlesque Honey and I am a grumpy old Moo! Today, I ventured into a mobile phone outlet with a view to purchase a basic, cheap as chips phone. When I embarked on this quest, I was in a reasonable good, upbeat mood… But the ear shattering, thousand decibels of Yoof music that featured eloquent prose which highlighted the best features of hos, namely their ample derrières was not entirely conducive to my shopping experience and gave me a splitting headache.

Then once inside, ‘hostage negotiations’ began as I was accosted by a swarthy salesman who seemed determined to not let me leave without at least a two year contract on the most expensive monthly rate plus an over the top phone. Well, I just wanted the cheapest most basic PAYG phone. Thus began a battle of wills and we circled each other like venomous spiders appraising their pray. He pounces for his first attack and praises the billion Gigabyte camera, I grumpily retort that I am no David Bailey, besides I have a good digital camera and no desire to indulge my creativity via my phone. He quickly recovers and waxes lyrically about the inbuilt MP3 player - I counter that I have a nice iPod. He gives me an incredulous and slightly disgusted look. Then hisses that the phone can download millions of (annoying) ring tones, I insist I just want a neutral and basic bell. But he has not given up and throws down another gauntlet, the next phone on a super, which incidentally equals ridiculously long contract boasts SatNav - well, so does my car and I don’t want to be traced by the US army. He glares at me and snaps well, what DO you want from a phone. I bark back - I want to make and receive calls - you knows as in the old fashioned notion of telecommunications, not an entirely preposterous and strange concept! I don’t want an all singing Can Can Dancing multi media teleportation machine, I just want a cheap, reliable phone that can store enough numbers and that helps me to receive calls anywhere in London. The salesman looks at me like I have uttered the most ridiculous request he heard in ages. By then the deafening music in the store advocates ‘let dem bitches know who is da boss’… I am off down the road and buy a cheap and cheerful basic mobile at a supermarket that prides itself on every little thing that helps. The phones has one special feature - quite big buttons and a loud enough ring tone to offset the possible onset of age related deafness…