Big Bazoomers!
Have you ever seen Boy George without his makeup? It came as a shock to me, I can tell you. He looks like a pickled onion in dreadlocks.
Boy George 'Before and After' - now you know why he wears make-up!
However, it is not Boy George of whom I wish to speak but of Kevin. I am pleased to say that the lad has finally seen the light, renounced his wayward ways and got himself back on the narrow if not exactly straight. Kevin, you will recall, having decided that the life of a butcher’s boy in Plaistow was not for him, had moved into the strange and shadowy world of show business, first as the voice and hand of everyone’s favourite avian glove-puppet (not counting Rod Hull’s emu), Flapjack The Duck, and, more latterly, into the bizarre world of what, in order to spare your blushes, I shall refer to as ‘exotic dancing’.
Now, heaven knows, I’m not a prude but, in my view, if you happen to the owner of the hand that is stuck up the rear end of everyone’s favourite duck, the last thing you want to do is to get yourself photographed with that very same hand shoved somewhere where you wouldn’t want it wrapping your fish and chips, if you get my drift. Kevin, unfortunately, is a boy of high spirits and low intellect. And so, when his picture (with discreet blobs placed over two significant areas of activity) appeared all over the front pages of some of our more lurid daily newspapers, the silly boy didn’t just go into hiding, keep a low profile and deny all knowledge - he actually phoned up the feature editors and offered to do interviews!
Lucky for him, then, that just as his scandal was about to take off an even bigger scandal came along in the form of TV starlet Frankie Fischer (the grannies’ favourite) who was snapped in a compromising position with his plumptious sidekick, the lovely Shirl.
The next thing you know, Kevin’s story vanishes from the newspapers while Frankie Fischer’s story is all over them. “Frankie Says It’s Wedding Bells!” says one headline; “In A Whirl For Shirl!” says another - and before you know it what started out as a minor scandal has turned into a heart-warming romantic tale which, alas, stretches credulity to breaking point. I mean, not only are we asked to believe that the wrinkled old queen, Frankie Fischer, is a red-blooded heterosexual but also that his luscious young assistant, Shirl, has fallen madly in love with him!
Anyway, the upshot is that Kevin has got off with his reputation only slightly tarnished and, moreover, he and Flapjack the Duck have now been snapped up to appear in a late-night TV show called ‘Big Bazoomers!’ which will, I am told, be a no-holds bared ‘adult’ version of the Saturday morning kiddywinks show in which Flapjack has hitherto featured.
Meanwhile you are no doubt asking yourself: but what of Dolly Pop and the Raspberry Nipples?
Well, I am at this very moment seeking the Raspberry Nipples. I’ve put some adverts for talented and good-looking singers in the musical press and I am now sitting here awaiting applications which (I have no doubt) will soon start rolling in. I shall have to conduct the auditions myself, of course. Not sure how to do that exactly. Just play it by ear, I suppose. I said to Emma, maybe I should buy myself a casting couch. I won’t tell you what she replied other than to say that I doubt whether it would be physically possible even if I didn’t have a bad back. Ah well, such as the demands of being a top-flight impresario. Stardom here we come...
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