When I was five years old I became convinced my best friend’s dad was Frank Zappa. I’m not sure how I came to that conclusion. Their surname wasn’t Zappa, there were no guitars or gold records on the walls of their modest townhouse, and Captain Beefheart never joined us for milk and cookies. But my friend’s dad had a big moustache and long hair just like Frank Zappa, so that was good enough for me.

I made another showbiz pal that summer, when my parents took me camping in Scotland. Leaving aside ethical debates about child neglect and whether Social Services should have been informed, I actually enjoyed spending a week camping in a cold, muddy field. And the reason? Billy Connolly was there!

Every evening, soggy campers would gather in the campsite’s musty clubhouse, order pints of Guinness and settle down for a night of music and comedy. And who was providing the entertainment? Why, a tall Scot in a kilt, with long wild hair and a bushy beard! It must be The Big Yin himself! This was better than playing in Frank Zappa’s back yard.

One night, Billy announced he was to perform a magic trick and needed an assistant. I must have looked like a ginger midget on speed as I pushed my way to the front screaming “Me! Me! Pick me!” He didn’t really have a choice.

“Helloooo! What’s yur name, lassie?”

I was star struck.

“Erm… I… I can’t remember…”

“Hello, I Can’t Remember! That’s a lovely name!”

Billy winked at the giggling audience. My parents looked worried.

“Would ye like to help me perform a wee trick?”

“I don’t know. Is it with fire? I don’t like fire.”

“Well, yees, it does involve me burning a magic pound note… tell ye what, how’s aboot singing a funny song insteed?”

By this point, stage fright had kicked in.

“I don’t know any funny songs…”

Billy was beginning to panic. His assistant was letting him down.

“I know, I’ll sing a song and you can dance! Can ye do that for me, lassie?”

“I… want… Mummy!”

I ran off the stage in tears. I just couldn’t match Billy Connolly’s wit and charm. I’d ruined his show!

Once I stopped sobbing and calmed down, I begged my parents to take a photo of me and Billy, so I could at least brag to the kids at school. They didn’t need to know about my lackluster stage performance. This would leave little Robbie Jones’ photo of him with Cliff Richard in the dust.

My dad couldn’t understand why I was so obsessed with this campsite entertainer.

“He’s Billy Connolly, Daddy! He’s the funny man!”

My dad smiled, grabbed his camera and wisely kept his mouth shut. I’d find out one day.

Just one thought. How did I, at five years old, know so much about foul-mouthed comedian Billy Connolly? It’s a good thing Social Services never found out.

Jobbies.

The Lunenburg County Bugler’s top columnist Eddie McMayonnaise shakes his fist and rants about all the things that would get him fired if he wrote about it in the Lunenburg County Bugler.

.As top columnist for the Lunenburg County Bugler I’m not usually one to snark about my fellow journalists. But on the other hand, it’s very easy and there is payment involved.

Have you noticed when the TV or newspaper reports the death of someone, it always says “He passed away at 7:00 am this morning, with his family and friends around his bedside.” Every time! What I’d like to know is:

- How come his family knew what time he was going to die, so they could all gather around his bedside?

- Or, had they been standing there for days, impatiently waiting for the old bugger to pop his clogs so they could read the will?

- Or, was there some kind of machine unplugging ceremony involved?
“Are we all here? Right, who wants to flip the switch?”

- Or, do newspapers… lie?
“He passed away at 7:00 am this morning, alone in the washroom with his head jammed down a urinal…” It just doesn’t have the same brevity, does it?

And how come when someone famous dies, we all have to pretend we liked them? “Oooh, I was such a big Michael Jackson fan!” cried my colleague the other day, as she wiped away a tear. “I loved that song he did with Paul McCartney, you know, Ebony and Ivory?”

For the record, I only listen to dead musicians. That way I won’t be disappointed when they don’t go on tour.

Oooh, it makes me angry! I’m off to HMV to lick all the Thriller CDs. Toodel-oo!

We all know how hard it is to diet - trying to lose those hanging rolls of repulsive flab can seem like an impossible feat! Fortunately those svelte Japanese boffins have invented an incredible new weight loss weapon - Diet Water! It’s fat-tastic!

According to our calculations, regular water contains zero calories, so this magical mineral water must contain minus 50 calories, or something like that! Drink Diet Water and you are actually LOSING weight! Or something like that!*

* Enjoy all those forbidden foods including burgers, pepperoni and lard sandwiches - Diet Water will wash those fatty calories right out your system and replace them with negative calories, somehow! Save up your negative calories as credits towards your next uncontrolled McBinge session!

* Need to squeeze yourself into that wedding dress or manly beach thong? Simply consume nothing but Diet Water for just ONE WEEK and you could flush away up to 2lbs of disgusting body fat!*

* According to our calculations, assuming a margin of error of approx 98%.

So we shoot the shit and discuss all kinds of shit. Don’t worry, I say. Your shit is my shit, and we’ll work to clean this shit up together. That’s what friends are for.

So I take some of his shit and add to it to my shit. My friend feels the burden of shit lifted from his shoulders. He ends up giving me all his shit. He’s shit free. But now I have all his shit, plus my shit. I’m totally in the shit. My friend then leaves town without his shit. No shit.

Moral of the story: never do anyone else’s shit. It’s their shit. Let them deal with it. You have your own shit. If everyone dealt with their own shit, and left everyone else’s shit alone, we’d all be a lot happier. And a lot less covered in shit.

This post is dedicated to Halifax Harbour.

It’s time for another Meat Beat with the Prince of Pork, Monty O’Drizzle!

Monty: Howdy, Tiggy fans! Now, me and Bobby don’t wanna get all riled up about other people’s eatins’. We know a lot of the internet folk and Tiggyblog fans are them homosexual liberal vegan types, and we respect that, hey? Jus’ don’t start invitin’ us to your parties or nuthin’, no offense. And the more vegans they is, the more meat fer us! Kinda works out, hey?

But I would like to talk to yous about foods that are just not right, see? They just ain’t men’s food. I mean, you ladies can eat them jus’ fine, and we know better than to tell you little ladies what to do, hey Bob?

Bob: Yes Monty, sometimes ladies take us the wrong way, don’t they? Like the nice lady you took out for dinner, but she didn’t realize she’d have to gut the main course herself.

Monty: Holy heck, all that cryin’ and screamin’ sure put me off a lady’s company, fer sure! Anyway Bobby, about this nasty food stuff we warnin’ the nice people about. This is our list of foods you shouldn’t be puttin’ in yer mouth.

1. SUSHI
Bob: Monty and I don’t have anything against fish, of course! There’s nothing better than spearing a salmon or wrestling a swordfish for the grill. But we both agree that sushi is just… well…

Monty: Lady food, Bob, that’s what I’m sayin’! It’s all pretty colours and all itty bitty. And they want you to eat it with lil sticks! What the hell is that about? Them crazy Chinese.

Bob: Monty, the Japanese have a long history of sushi-making, it’s a very delicate art.

Monty: Art, Bobby-boy? Ya don’t fill yous belly with art! I’d have to eat five hundred of them piddy-tiddy things just for starters. And if yous wanna eat raw, there’s nuthin’ finer than the insides of a freshly-shot deer. You try eatin’ that with fiddly lil sticks, hey?

2. TABOULI
Monty: Bobby, I have no idea in holy hell what a tabouli is. Is it like some kinda moose?

Bob: No.

Monty: Then I ain’t interested. Is it some kinda squirrel?

Bob: No.

Monty: Then I ain’t interested. Does a tabouli have a look a fear in his eyes as he sees yous aiming fer his heart?

Bob: No Monty, tabouli is a mix of bulgar wheat, parsley and spices. It’s like a salad.

Monty: Holy heck Bob, don’t let that salad stuff near me. Might turn me all homosexual, like my brother Mike. He’s a big homosexual, but he sure loves his meat, so he’s all right with us, hey? Our momma was not happy when she found out about Mike likin’ them hairy sailor types that…

Bob: Anyway Monty, maybe we should look at the next item on our grocery blacklist.

3. TOFU
Monty: Now, I’m not one to go swearin’ in polite company, but what the freakin’ hell is tofu for? Tiggy says it’s a good meat replacement. Did ya hear that, Bob? Meat replacement? I don’t think I even understand what them two words mean together.

Bob: Some people substitute tofu for meat in their diets when they are trying to lose weight, Monty.

Monty: Why the hell you wanna go lose weight? There’s nothin’ finer a big meaty man, that’s what men should be like, hey? And Mike would agree on that too.

All you obese Tiggyblog fans out there, you takes my advice and get yerself a huntin’ bow. You’ll get some good exercise runnin’ round the forests chasin’ and killin’ some nice healthy food.

Bob: Amen. Next on our list is tempeh.

4. TEMPEH
Monty: Bob, are you makin’ this stuff up? That’s not a food, that’s some place in Florida! Man, yous been breathin’ them fumes from the barbecue.

Bob: Monty… oh, never mind. The last item on our shopping list is tomato.

5. TOMATO
Monty: Now, red is a nice colour when it’s seepin’ outta a fresh kill. But you don’t wanna be go puttin’ them big red tomatoes in your mouth! You know how they grow them? And I wanna apologize to the ladies here, but let me be candid bout this - they grow them outta a big pile of shit! Yep, you heard straight! Poop!

And we don’t like poop, do we Bob? Ya can’t eat poop, not even if you barbecue it. We tried it once, but it weren’t so good.

Bob: No Monty, the only acceptable way to eat tomato is in tomato ketchup. No barbecue party is complete without it.

Monty: Not me, Bob, I ain’t touchin’ tomato ketchup! I’ll just have the regular ketchup thank you.

Bob: But Monty, ketchup is…

Monty: That’s enough yappin’ Bob. Now, y’all noticed a lot of nasty food starts with the letter ‘T’? That’s somethin’ to be aware of next time yous in the grocery store. Jus’ avoid all food products startin’ with the T. Jus’ to be safe, hey?

Bob: What about turkey?

Monty: Oh yeah, turkey. But that’s kinda like a big ugly chicken, so you okay with that.

Bob: T-bone. Tenderloin. Tripe. Trotters.

Monty: Yeah, technically they begin with ‘T’s but, oh, Bob, jus shut yer shute and fire up the grill, hey? I’m gonna strap on some steaks and exorcise them tofu things from my mind.

Bob: You mean ’slap on’ some steaks, Monty?

Monty: Sure I do Bob, that’s what I jus’ said! See y’all next time folks… an’ watch out for them taboulis!

Yes folks, in most possibly the worst news of the week, Tiggy is sad to report that the King of questionable TV infomercials, Billy “HI, I’M BILLY MAYS!” Mays has shuffled off this mortal coil, and will now be flogging OxiClean in a better place. Why do the loudest have to die so young?

Thanks for the endless comedy material Billy, rest in peace. Sorry, REST IN PEACE.

My poor friend Sparky had been dumped by his girlfriend following the “fun lol” incident. Super Dave and I decided to take Sparky to the bar to take his mind off his woes.

Unfortunately, none of us had much money. The barman was not pleased when Sparky paid for our rounds with a pile of quarters. I suspect Super Dave had been ‘fixing’ Pepsi machines with a screwdriver again. We sat at the bar in a cloud of gloom, sucking on lemon slices to extract the very last drops of rum and coke. What a crappy evening.

Suddenly, Super Dave let out a squeal like a little girl on a fairground ride. He leapt from his bar stool and rushed towards some tall, tanned dude who had just walked into the bar.

“Sparky! Sparky! Take a photo! Photo of me and Billy!” he squeaked as he magically produced a camera from nowhere and thrust it into Sparky’s hands. Sparky rolled his eyes.

“I recognize him. He’s that actor guy off the TV. Big deal.” murmured Sparky as he spat his lemon on the floor and pointed the camera at the grinning pair. “Honestly, call acting work? That idiot spends all day getting his hair done, then he rattles off a few lines and gets paid a shitload of cash…” his voice trailed away as he spotted the row of free cocktails lined up on the bar for Billy actor guy.

And then Sparky too was gone, pushing his way up to Billy, shaking his hand and giving him that “I think we could do business” look. Oh no.

Sparky spent the next hour duping Billy into thinking he and Super Dave were talented local actors looking for work. Phone numbers were exchanged and descriptions of recent performances were invented. Billy promised he’d help the boys get some work. Apparently his director friend was looking for help with a costume drama he was filming by the waterfront. Some kind of cool pirate adventure movie, a big name star - a great opportunity for talented actors looking for serious roles.

Sparky and Super Dave were ecstatic. If Billy recommended them, the director would be sure to hire them. The boys spent the rest of the night schmoozing with Billy, racking up a huge drinks bill and leaving the bar with stars in their eyes. Don’t worry, Tiggy would pay for the drinks with her credit card. She’d figure out a way to pay it off somehow.

* * *

True to his word, Billy got them the job. I couldn’t believe it. Sparky and Super Dave were going to be movie stars! This director must be desperate. Immediately I began my campaign to ensure I got access to the set. This movie sounded big. Maybe Johhny Depp was in it? He did a lot of pirate stuff. I wanted my picture with Johnny Depp. I’d paid for the drinks that night, it was the least they could do for me.

Sparky and Super Dave were more concerned about the number of ladies present on set. Dressed as swashbuckling pirates, they’d have no trouble picking up young starlets who’d pay for their drinks and do a bunch of other stuff with them too. Super Dave was even pondering getting his hair cut.

The morning of the boys’ first day of shooting, I rushed to the waterfront to wrangle my place on the set. I’d even put on some make-up, just in case Johnny was there. I had to battle my way through a large crowd of excited schoolchildren. Get out of my way you little bastards, I hissed. I’m with the cast.

The sea of bobbing brats parted before me to reveal the spectacle of a great pirate battle. Two giant fluffy rats dressed as pirates were throwing punches at the director. A large purple dinosaur dressed as a cabin boy was running around, shouting “Get these fucking idiots OFF MY FUCKING SET!” Didn’t look like much of a swashbuckling adventure to me.

A giant rat stumbled towards me.

“Tiggy! He fucked us over! Billy fucked us over! Friggin’ kiddies’ dinosaur movie!” squealed a voice from inside the costume. “Sparky’s gonna kill him! Fuck, I can’t see!” the rat squeaked as he tripped over the lighting cables and was pounced upon by two security guards.

Cover your eyes, kids. This pirate adventure was about to get bloody.

Never mind the last bunch of losers, nutcases and dicks, here’s some more people I’m avoiding right now.

1. A cop wearing only one shoe

2. People who order skinny lattes but aren’t sure what skinny lattes are

3. People who believe Sunday is the first day of the week

4. People who insist a tomato is a fruit

5. A lap dancer that smells of cheese

6. Eighty-seven Goths

7. A door-to-door tampon salesman

8. A Christmas Parade Santa with a weak bladder

9. A vicar clenching a potato between his buttocks

10. An underage ambulance driver

11. A one-armed pizza chef

12. A dwarf dressed as a pixie

13. Anyone who bought a ShamWow because they liked the TV ad

14. A superhero with Tourette’s

15. A door-to-door door salesman

16. A bishop with a squirrel under his hat

17. A lawyer who lives in a trailer

18. A heavily perspiring Hooters Girl

19. A pixie dressed as a leprechaun

20. A Wal-Mart greeter with an erection

Have you met anyone you don’t want to meet recently?

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

It’s tizzy fizzle! I think.

6. Kjell Kraghe Featuring Ricke Low’s Orkester! Or something!

James Last and his Orchestra too highbrow? Looking for an eclectic Euro pops album with a cool synth vibe? Kjell Kraghe is the genius behind Vind I Selgnbthing, featuring Ricke Low’s Orkester (a bit like an symphony orchestra, but with more hair).

Non-stop Eurozone disco fun includes:

* Ich Bin Sexy Love Boat
* Hot Dog, Hot Dog
* Lumpen Pants Gestuffen
* Hajj Hajj Happy Pis!
* Fingerfuch am Disco Party

The album cover is a work of art! By the wonders of Photoshop wizardry, Kjell-baby appears to be rising from the sea like a polyester-clad Neptune. Es gut, ja!

Thanks to Worst Album Covers for this masterpiece of LP art.

Next time on Hit Parade: Shiver me timbers and lash me cockles… It’s Pirate Pops!

I’m proposing a new game called Google Fuck Bingo. To play, enter a really innocent word like ‘bicycle’, or ‘pigeon’ in Google image search.

Count how many images are displayed before the inevitable double-penetration/cumshot/naked transsexual photo appears. Player with the most fuck-free images wins.

In the unlikely event you tire at looking at pictures of fake tits and multiple naked gay pile-ups, you could also try Google Bingo with the following variations:

* Dead Cat
* Motorcycle Crash Leg
* Car Bomb
* Hideous Facial Disfigurement
* Foreign Object in Rectum
* I Can’t Quite Tell What I’m Looking At But I Think It’s Dead

In the event this game scars you for life or gets you fired, you didn’t hear about it from me, okay?

Thought over!