Dahlings, I think it high time that I introduced myself to y’all, don’t you? My name is Blanche Mudson: Actress, singer, sow.
I am somewhat of a recluse now that I have retired from the glare of the public eye. But in my day I was a Big Star. You may remember me from such classics as The Pig Easy, Pig Fiction, Pig on a Hot Tin Roof, Piglette s’en va-t-en guerre, Whatever Happened to Pigsty Jane, P.I.Gane, Hello Porkie, Piggy Dearest… the list goes on. Wiki me!
In my time as a star of sty and screen I worked with all the greats: Dustin Hoggman, Robert Pigford, Pork Newman, Rock Hoggson, Kevin Bacon, Sty Stallone to name but a few… I have of course collaborated with Serge Gainsbacon on a couple of projects and Take Speck begged me to come out of retirement to work with them. But I said no, and gave little old Lulu a chance. God knows she needed the boost at the time.
Of course I am also known for my work with a number of animal charities and I am a Goodwill Ambassador for the UN entity for Swine Equality. But I don’t like to talk about all of that.
Now my poppets, it has come to my attention that my personal assistant (she calls herself Bibsey Mama – I have another name for her of course) has been using unauthorised shots of me on her… oh, it’ s too vulgar to even contemplate… on her Blaaahg. *shudders* Whatever in hell that is. And I imagine that she fancies herself a writer now that she has a teensy weensy little following ‘online’. *gags slightly on word*
Now I had a following. I was adored. I was glamour, dahlings. I had to step out of the limelight in the end. The pressure of fame and celebrity was taking its toll on my personal life. I started to crackling. And of course I needed more time to devote to my work for animal charities and my children – I couldn’t keep them in the attic indefinitely you know.
Now, it seems that my errant PA is holding herself up as some kind of voice of ex-patriotism and a paragon of motherhood. Ha! *snorts* And writing about it. Ha Ha! *rolls eyes* Well that fairly well made me spit out my Mint Julep through my snout! Let me just tell you that there isn’t a padded satin hanger in sight.
And that child, what is it, Bibsey? That child is running amok in my rose garden! Almost completely wild. There is no discipline, the place is a sty – and not the good kind – and I can barely hear myself think for the constant racket. That child chatters like a babbling brook and my lord if she doesn’t fancy herself as a dancer. Now I could dance…
Anyways, I sometimes wonder what I am paying that ninny for. Over the summer I unwisely gave her a little time off her assistin’ duties to spend time with visiting family and friends. Give that girl and inch and she will take the proverbial mile. I had to put up with her dribbling cronies draped all over my terrace and gracious living room, sucking up my sun, sticking their grubby little fingers in my slops, drinking my liquor and generally taking all manner of liberties up and down my mountain.
And now. Now that all the visitors are gone. The party is over. She is mooning about all over the place, claiming some kind of disability, and getting hardly a stitch or work done. Lord, I might have to sack her. That child could do a better job.
I will just have a snack and a rest and then I will sack her.
Yet, my stellar success, my glittering past, has imbued me with a strong sense of noblesse oblige. So now it behooves me (although naturally trotters are more my style) to do my bit as patron and urge you (through tightly gritted gnashers) to scribble down some kind words about the li’l ol’ blaaahg and post them here at the Expatblog.com Top Expat Blog Awards, where they judge such things.
You see, if that hussy Bibsey Mama insists on moonlighting from the day job with this wretched blaaahg, then we might just as well get a li’l ol’ gong for all my sacrifices. Who knows, if she wins, she might even get to keep her job. Go on y’all, don’t be shy now, click on the badge and make her a li’l ol’ star.