We visited Tussauds in Blackpool and I spent a couple of minutes staring directly into Professor Brian Cox’s eyes, feeling my brain doing mexican waves of horror as it tried to reconcile this uncanny replicant with everything its programming told it about the living, breathing human form. Waxworks don’t sit as well with me in this post-Westworld world. I felt like my fear had been vindicated when Professor Brian Cox came to life and went on a bloody rampage through Tussauds, brooking no mercy.
While waxwork museums are fun, there’s only so much time most sane human beings can spend in one before they have to start dreaming up more and more ingenious ways of pretending to sexually assault the waxworks. This is our story.
“BRING ME SOME-SLIME!”
Who can forget that classic catchphrase from the Three Ronnies?
“And it’s goodnight from me.”
“And it’s goodnight from him.”
“And I’m stroking my fucking nipples. Got a problem with that?”
Matthew Corbett finally loses it:
“I’ve given you a roof over your head for fifty years, and you won’t even magic my car through its MOT, you little son of a bitch?!?”
“Oy! Pull your hammer out of there, or I’ll make you regret it: I’ll get you a part in the next Ghostbusters movie.”
“What dream are you dreaming about now, bitch?”
#metoo doesn’t apply to waxworks, right? Right??!
“WE WILL, WE WI…”
“…Shhhhhhhh.”
“Keep ’em closed, Bill. I’m about to take your Vera up the cobbles.”
“I AM THE GREATEST… at giving hand-jobs.”
This one wasn’t posed. My partner just wanted to see if Cheryl Cole had a set of authentic wax tits, the perv.
“I love you, Bjork.”
“I’m not Bjo…”
“…Sssshhhhhh.”
I AM GRRRRAAAOOOOOOWWWWWWW!
“Don’t let this fucker drive back to the billabong tonight.”
“You’ll get the tower for this, young man.”
“You first, ma’am!” (zip)
“As part of… its dominance display… the… young Scotsman… grabs the… old… natural history presenter… by his saggy balls.”