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Evil Puppets

[Stuff magazine, UK edition, 1998]

WITHOUT A HAND up their harris they are nothing - and yet they are the incarnation of all that is sinister. They stare and grin like button-eyed imps of Satan. When left alone they become possessed of all evil. They dance vile little dances. They induce their owners to murder, or do it themselves if they're feeling frisky. They are puppets and they must be destroyed, every last one. Even Sweep.

Ginger, posh, scary - sixty per cent of the Spice Girls twenty five years too soon. Those of us whose childhood beds were haunted by squat, tweedy vermin will never forget. Or forgive. Boom-boom-bye-bye you bin raiding batty bwoy.

Mint sauce is too good for this arch, bleating ovine. Not so much wholesome family fun as light entertainment scrapie. Diseased souls placed this Lambchop on their children's TV dinner tray. The damage has already been done.

From the movie, Magic. Looks scary even sitting on the knee of Anthony “Hannibal Lecter” Hopkins.” Take the knife on up the hill, lover, and kiss the girl goodbye.” The dummy talks back to him. Not surprising. He's a ventriloquist. They all succumb sooner or later. The streets are rife with them, their eyes glassy, dummy in one hand, toasting fork in the other. “No!” they gasp. “Noooo!” Oh yes.

Odious macrocephalic bird-thing with the eyes of nightmare and the beak of a squid. Who do you love, Orville? Enquiring minds want to know. And how many times? That's right, oh yes, yes, stuff my duvet, you filthy little featherbrain.

Snooty perfidy embodied in a single mannequin. Besuited and monocled and perched on an older man's lap as if he were an armchair in the Garrick. Didn't we hang him after the war, this haw-hawing effigy? Shouldn't we have?

“Wanna play?” Not with you, Chuckie. You're the bad boy my parents warned me about. So why did they buy you for me? Any fool can see you're a bantamweight death-dealing fuckpig. They wanted to terrify me. For that, they die.

Training kiddies in the ways of domestic violence. Bludgeon your wife! Cudgel a copper! Fight over some sausages with a crocodile! The same sorry tale is told in reptile refuges across the land: it was the seaside puppeteer's booth that did this to me. When we will ever learn?

Sesame Street. The telly child-minder you can trust. And while you're not looking, this simpering, goggle-eyed melon head is turning your tots into giggling wimps who tickle each others tummies for fun. They'll never be big swinging dicks on the stock exchange now.

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