Editor-at-large Alexi Duggins is at your mercy… So you had him make a knob of himself on stage.
It all went wrong when I lost the tiny balloon penis. ‘Tiny Tim’, I called him. Nestling forlornly at the front of my festive Xmas mankini, Tim’s job was to invoke pity. With Tim on board, my ensemble had a soupcon of Dickensian poignancy, a whiff of misty-eyed Christmas cheer… No? Okay. It was a dick gag.
I’m upstairs at Brick Lane’s Vibe Bar, competing in Last Man Standing. It’s a ‘live, interactive quiz show’ where contestants take part in odd challenges, but only after the finalists are decided in the ‘True or False’ round. And in my desperation to win a prize, I’m losing the plot.
I harangue my team into holding up their ‘false’ card in response to ‘Salvador Dalí designed the Chupa Chups logo.’ Do we win? No we don’t, because it’s true. And my furious attempts to crotch-thrust two plastic balls into a net tied to my waist? I win nothing. If only the task had been: ‘Impersonate Russell Brand in a honeymoon suite.’
Throughout, the hosts shower the audience with profanity. When contestants race to giftwrap each other, one who’s completely hidden by paper is accused of using it as an excuse for ‘heavy masturbation’. During the task involving landing balls in a waist net, the hosts yell ‘Control your balls!’ And when one contestant’s outstanding artistic talents are used to delicately craft a stunning Play-Doh gorilla for a sculpting task, one host says ‘You’ve just bashed that Play-Doh into a flat bit of shit that looks like a crap Batman sign.’ Which is out of order, because that gorilla was beautiful and it took me… erm, I mean them, ages.
So I’m a tad nervous when called on stage to exhibit my mankini in a fashion parade. Flustered, I answer the bowtie-sporting host’s question of ‘What’s your name, sir?’ with ‘I’m worried I’m going to lose my tiny balloon penis!’ He takes this in his stride. ‘Yes,’ he replies, looking down, ‘you do have a tiny penis.’ Oddly, he omits the word ‘balloon’.
Then I’m told to parade. I flounce forwards. I flounce backwards. You could not get more flounce to the ounce. ‘What do we think?’ asks the host, putting it to an audience vote. The room is filled with the roar of one person gently clearing their throat and I lose to a lady in a balloon penis hat. Sigh. No prize and my penis proves less impressive than a woman’s. Erm, I mean ‘balloon penis’. There’s nothing wrong with the actual thing. Guys? GUYS?!? Oh, never mind. Alexi Duggins
For more details see Last Man Standing.