So Much Linkage

I've opened up a literal Pandora's Box* with this whole who-linked-who thing**.

I wasn't going out of my way looking for it, but I've noticed that a few of my regular readers (ie. those I added to my link list the other day) have now added me to theirs!

The above sentence mightn't be worthy of an exclamation mark to some of you, but I'm excited that people would link to me (even though I've done nothing for three days now other than talk about people who have linked to me).

Pirate-loving Elaine has ever-so-kindly linked me, and I appear as link # 11 on her list! That beats # 21 or # 17. (Take note, ladies.) MelbourneGirl has also linked me, and she has placed me as link # 8, so we're getting close! The winner, however (hang on, when did this become a contest?!), is Channy, who has listed me as link # 4.

The offensive thing about this, though, is that I'm the only legitimate person to have left a comment on Channy's blog - and I listed him as link # 1 on mine. So how do I only make link # 4? Have a look at who got listed above me. Offended, much?

My apologies if you've linked to my blog and I didn't see it when I wrote this. I promise my next post will not mention linkage again. Or shrinkage.

My next post is actually going to be quite serious. Sorry to bring the tone down, but at least I've warned you in advance.


* OK, not literal.

** I think that was an AC/DC song, wasn't it?

(Of Course, ... I Was Already Loved ...)

Uh-oh! I'm in trouble!

La Nadine, the effluent young lady who recently changed the colour scheme on her blog to the amazement and joy and dizziness of us all, read my post from yesterday and was duly offended.

As is her right.

I was amiss in neglecting to state yesterday that Ms Fits is not the first person to link to my blog. That honour (or sickness, as the case may be) goes to La Nadine, whose grotty mouth and rancid night-time activities have well-and-truly earned her a high ranking on my 'Nasty Friends' link list.

So why did I neglect to mention her yesterday?

No reason.

In fact, I remember with some fondness the thrill I received when I first saw that La Nadine had placed a link to my blog in her side menu (which sounds like it could be painful, but it really isn't). I was so delighted that I'd been 'accepted' by one of my fellow bloggers - and not someone I already knew in the real* world - that I sat in awe for a few moments, staring at my own name in her link list, and just 'basked'.

'In the glow', kind of thing.

It was a glorious moment, and one that, until Ms Fits did likewise the other day, has not been repeated since.

Also, while Ms Fits determined that I should be placed as link # 21 on her blog, La Nadine was kind enough to list me as link # SEVENTEEN! That's awesome.

And speaking of me being loved (which is sort of the theme of this post ... kinda), my good friend Riss gave me a belated birthday gift today which she (together with her husband and another friend of ours) had on back-order from an overseas supplier since well-before my actual birthday. So no points are lost for the timing or anything. And check out what it is!

Those of you who remember reading this post will see how wonderful these three friends of mine really are to me!

But like I said yesterday, there's an official Birthday Party Wrap-Up post to come, complete with at least one photo (I hope), and the many other gifts I received, some of which are, of course, Muppet-related.


* Although which world is now more 'real' to me is open to debate ...

I Must Be Loved!

An old friend of mine* has recently added my blog to the list of links on the side menu of her own blogsite.**

This has excited me greatly, as it means the following points are true:

(a) Despite a distinct lack of any comments from her at all on my blog in, say, ... ever, she must have at least visited it once (to get my URL, if nothing more, as I know the content of my blog wouldn't be quite witty or political or crude enough to entice her to actually read it, but a single solitary fly-by-night visit is better than none at all, so this knowledge warms me on the inside);

(b) As she's the blogger who's solely responsible for making me aware of the blogsphere over a year ago, I consider my site a younger sibling of hers, even if they look in no way similar and have different fathers. Maybe mine was adopted, or it's a foster site or something. Actually, mine's more likely to be the disowned poxy red-headed child who was left on someone else's doorstep as a six-month-old, but still. The lineage is there.

(c) She must think highly enough of me (if not of my actual blog) to have finally (after just three months of continual blogging on this site - not to mention leaving comments on her blog for two years now, give or take) added me as a link in her 'links' list. I made the grade! High-fives all round!

(d) Not only that, but she thinks SO highly of me, that I was able to make THE TOP TWENTY-ONE LINKS LISTED!! This is better than the treatment Cottontown received, who is listed as link # 22, and beats the pants off Roguemaze, who cuts a sad and lonely figure at link # 25. (Hahaha - suffer, Roguemaze!)

(e) I can get away with writing this because she's probably not going to read it anyway. Although if she does, and she strikes me from her list of links (or worse yet - drops me below Roguemaze!), I don't know how I'll live with myself.

Still, it's quite exciting! (And seriously, I don't mean to sound sarcastic. Amusingly self-depricating was what I was going for here.) I might take this opportunity to add links on my blog to all my 'blog friends' over the next couple of days.

Speaking of the next couple of days, that's when I said a Birthday Party Wrap-Up post would be coming, but it ain't. I'm still waiting on the picture of my birthday cake that a friend took for me to come shootin' through via email. Until it does, consider yourselves all on notice: Birthday Party Wrap-Up post to come at an unspecified date.



* What I mean is, our friendship is old - in a good, healthy, well-matured-although-completely-immature kind of way. I'm not saying that she's old. ... Oh, you know what I mean.

** I am yet to work out how to do this on my own blog.***

*** Actually, that's not true - I know full-well how to do it; I just have to make the time to add everyone all at once so I don't offend anyone by leaving them off the first attempt.****

**** Well, it's not actually as easy as that. I have to work out if I'm comfortable associating myself and my blog with some of the grotty stuff they write on their blogs.*****

***** I'm just being cheeky by saying that. Hmm, isn't five asterisks a little too much? Good point, I agree entirely. I'll stop this now.

Muppet Question # 3 Answered

Here's a comment my good (but very sick and twisted) friend Kranki-Pants (as he has expressly asked me to call him) left on Thursday, 11th August:


Kranki said...

Wives are great. But if you had to be married to one of the muppets, who would it be and why?


Well, what a fantastic question.

Brilliant.

I don't know how he does it.

It's like English is his first language, instead of American.

Marvellous.

Anyway, upon first reflection, one would assume that there aren't a lot of female Muppets for a guy to choose from, when selecting a potential mate. There's the always-pretentious Miss Piggy, and the constantly-stoned Janice. And that's about it.

Actually, there are plenty more female Muppets, but not really any with much personality (that we've seen). There's Wanda, Zelda, Hilda, Astoria, Cynthia (notice how they all seem to rhyme?), Gladys, Annie Sue, Mildred, ... and of course Camilla. (But who wants to marry a chicken?)

(Besides Kranki, I mean.)

The thing is, if we're talking about being betrothed to a pile of felt and fur, why should I preclude the male Muppets?

Assuming it's not too creepy (considering where we started out with this discussion, after all), I will also look at which male Muppet I'd consider marrying.

I think I'd be attracted to Kermit's integrity and commitment. He was always so strong in his resolve, and tried to do the right thing despite everything going wrong around him. He was also fairly unflappable (but when he lost his temper, he would generally scream), and he was always a true professional once he was out on stage addressing the audience.

Although I've never enjoyed Fozzie very much, I've got to say that he has a heart of gold. He possesses an unconditional love (if you don't offend him - if you do, he can actually be quite childish), and his determination to succeed at whatever he sets his mind to is admirable (particularly his crappy stand-up routines); I'll give him that.

I'd certainly be attracted to Rowlf's sense of humour. And plenty more of his characteristics, but you can read my separate post on Rowlf if you're interested in knowing more about that.

I'd be attracted to the 'sweetness' of Sweetums, the primal urges of Animal, the brain of Bunsen and the ego and daring of Gonzo.

But it's hard to say which of them is the complete package.

I'd probably find more solace and comfort with Kermit, so that's my final answer. Kermit's the marrying type for me.




Sexy smile, huh?

Oh, and if I was to marry one of the girl Muppets, I'd go with Janice. She's cool!




Who would you marry?

So Just Who Is This 'Bevis' Chap, Anyway?

I'm gunna sue those suckers who write for The Twilight Zone! Who gave them permission to write a true-to-life account of my personal situation like this as one of their episodes?!!

Click here to see what I mean.

I can't believe how accurately they managed to re-tell the whole encounter! I mean, who told them?

Was it you?

Muppet Question # 2 Answered

I'll have a Birthday Party Wrap-Up post coming along in the next few days (depending on how soon I can get the photos back), but in the meantime ...

Here's a comment John B. left (for some bizarre reason) on my very first post just last week:


John B. said...

Ooh, Ooh I have a muppet question that has plagued my mind for many years, oh great oracle of muppet wisdom. The question is....Why did the Swedish Chef have hands of flesh and blood but a body made of felt? Some sort of early freakish genetic engineering, or something more sinister?


Well, John B., thanks for asking - and well done for noticing. It's a quirky fact of Muppet trivia that The Swedish Chef was the only Muppet to have 'real' human hands, and therefore he is also the only Muppet to break with tradition and have four fingers and a thumb on each hand. (All other Muppets have the usual three-fingers-and-one-thumb combination that most cartoon characters and puppets across the globe have.*)

The reason The Swedish Chef had real hands was for ease of being able to grab and throw objects during his 'Cooking segment' on The Muppet Show. If the puppeteer's hands had been restricted inside a felt glove (especially one with only three fingers and a thumb!), it would have been a lot more difficult to create a suitable amount of havoc onscreen.

This is why images taken from the show feature hands which are clearly real, such as here:





and here:




However, whenever he was posed for a deliberate stock photo or publicity shot, they created special human-looking puppet hands expressly for this purpose, such as here:




and here:




... At least, that's what Henson Productions want you to believe. I actually have my own theory, which is not too dissimilar to the one you put forward in your question, John B.

My extensive research has shown that The Swedish Chef was part of a radical skin grafting experiment that went tragically wrong. He burned his hands in the kitchen one day so badly that they had to amputate his hands altogether. Later, he was fortunate enough to have a passing politician's hands cut off (no one cared about the politician anyway) and sewn onto the stumps at the end of his arms.

Here's one of his new hands, right before they attached it:




Lovely.

So that explains why he's always groping about, blindly, for whatever object he's about to throw over his shoulder. He has a politician's hands, and we all know how they like to roam!


* The reason for this, of course, is to determine who's real and who's fake if the cartoon world ever comes to life and begins to infiltrate our own, killing us off and replacing us with themselves in some sort of murderous revenge of the creations kind of thing. We'll be able to spot the imposters by their lack of a fourth finger. But maybe don't shoot first and ask questions later if you spy someone with only three fingers and a thumb. They may not be a cartoon character or a puppet. Better check first.

IT HAS ARRIVED!

So what is it that's arrived?

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!




AND I'M 30 YEARS OLD!




(Stop acting like you don't care.)




To celebrate this most joyous day of days, I have decided to take you on a pictorial journey of my birthday cakes over the years. Some of these have been a little strange, but all of them are real cakes I have been presented with (or in some rare cases, made for myself) on the occasion of celebrating the anniversary of the day that I was savagely ripped from the comfort of my mother's womb.*

So go grab a comfy chair (I know you're already seated, but grab a more comfortable chair), squeeze yourself a lemonade, sit back and enjoy ...


THE CAKES OF BEVIS' BIRTHDAYS PAST


CAKE # 1

For my first birthday (as evidenced by the soiled nappies, towels and wipes in the extremities of the photograph), I was of course too young to know what was going on. However, I found it a little offensive later in my childhood to look back at photos of the day and see that Dad (who never enjoyed the task of changing my nappies) decided to decorate the cake himself - and chose the moment to make fun of me.




Thanks, Dad.

Unfortunately for everyone else, he was unable to find any icing mixture, and opted to use white house paint instead. The cake was thrown out and the family ate mini-quiches.


CAKE # 2

This was the cake Mum made me for my second birthday. You can't see much of it there, because Dad was enjoying testing the new toy catapult he'd bought me by using it to hurl chunks of cake at my mouth from across the room. Mum was busy preparing the drinks down the hall at the time. As you can see, it was a dodgy catapult and I was terrorised by the whole experience for a few years.




Thanks, Dad.

The birthday cakes I received over the following years didn't help me get over my fear of cakes much, but at least Mum had instigated a strict 'no cake projectiles' policy in the house by the time my third birthday rolled around.


CAKE # 3

By the time I turned eight, I was so haunted by the idea of an emotionally-scarring birthday cake experience, that I decided to make my own. I had a grandiose plan to create a masterful work of art - indeed, a cake that would not only shame Dad into being nicer to me on my birthday, but also shame Mum for all those simlpy cakes she'd made me over the years. This cake was going to be spectacular. I envisioned in my mind's eye a tropical oasis, brought to life through the magic of cake. Here is the result:




Thanks, me.

It didn't quite turn out how I imagined it would. And a promising career in cake decoration was thwarted before it began.


CAKE # 4

Dad had his moment of glory the following year, though, when all my new school friends were gathered around me and he brought out this little number:




Thanks, Dad.

I never quite lived that one down in the school yard, but at least Dad had stopped using house paint to decorate cakes.


CAKE # 5

Needless to say, My name's not Kylie. This was for my thirteenth birthday.




Thanks, Dad.


CAKE # 6

For my sixteenth birthday, Dad continued the tradition of giving me girls' names to embarrass me, but this time added a little something extra.




Yes, arsenic. We didn't realise at the time that the skull-and-crossbones was serious, and David Tompkins had to be rushed to the emergency room and have his stomach pumped. Turns out he was alright, but he never came to one of my parties again.

Thanks, Dad.


CAKE # 7

After that, things started to get more obscure. Take my seventeenth birthday party's cake, for example:




I'm still not sure what that one was on about.

Er, ... thanks, Dad.


CAKE # 8

For my twentieth, Dad finally convinced Mum to join him in his birthday cake hijinks, and together they created the following culinary masterpiece:




Not only was it not Mum's 50th birthday, but the picture of the girl on the cake was taken from a major Australian newspaper the week before. It was the photo used in all the news reports of a little girl who'd been abducted and was feared dead. I even wondered if she had been used in the making of the cake, and politely declined my slice.

Thanks, Mum.


CAKES # 9 TO # 12

Rapid fire:

For my 21st, expecting a big deal to be made out of the cake, my parents surprised me with this minimalist approach. We don't own a pet rat. They got one from under the house for this effect. I wasn't there when this photo was taken, and was only told about it after eating the cupcake.




For my 23rd, this confusing cake was presented to the gathered guests. Not only was it not the 80th Anniversary of any battle whatsoever, but it appeared with the bottom left-hand corner already removed. Strange.




For my 24th, Dad finally cut me a break by giving me a boy's name, but still called it my 60th. I thought that was the extent of his pranks, but it turns out that he'd switched Mum's self-raising flour with industrial strength washing powder, and then laughed himself stupid as everyone spent the later part of the night throwing up. It turns out the boomerang motif spoke volumes, as each of us who'd had a slice saw the cake return again and again.




For my 25th, I was adamant that no cake would be made for the party, but I received this birthday card from Dad:




Thanks, Dad.


CAKE # 13

Unlucky for some, but here I am celebrating my 28th birthday (my first as a married man) with a special cake on the beach. Note: I have grown the moustache much longer and bushier in the two years since this photo was taken. However, in keeping with the family tradition, my name's not Jon.




Thanks, Wifey.

Here's the wild and wacky decorations my cubicle at work has been adorned with today to celebrate my 30th:




And here's the birthday card I received this morning from Dad:




Thanks, Dad.


BEVIS


* Note: The above statement of these cakes all being real cakes from my various birthdays throughout my life may be false. In fact they are. But it's my birthday, so what are you going to do about it?**

** Don't answer that.

Free-Feed Weekend

Last weekend, Wifey and I travelled up to the country and stayed with Captain Dingbat ...




... and his very pregnant wife Tennille (shown here three months pregnant).




Together, we had a lovely time, travelling around and visiting the various sample shops, where freebies abound and cheapskates like me can get a free feed. Here are just some of the items we sampled over the course of the weekend:



Cheese. An amazing amount and variety of cheeses. Delicious, delicious, delicious!



Mustard. All kinds of mustards, actually. Chili and fruity and spicy and savoury and vegetably and cheesey and heaps more. Delicious.



Chutney. All kinds, like the mustards.



Crackers. These were actually free with the cheeses, mustards and chutneys, really. But it all counts.



As the picture says: Olives.



Olive oil. All kinds.



Meat pies. These actually weren't free, but they were part of what we ate on the day.



My donut wasn't free either, nor was there a massive bite taken out of it when I got it. Or questions would have been asked.



Meringues. I love 'em! I'm like a little kid when I eat one (in that I get meringue powder all over my face and clothes). I had to pay for it, but it was well worth the price. Mine was a 'Bananas in Pyjamas' themed one. (In the good sense, not the bad sense.)



Wine. Although we didn't technically visit any wineries, we could have, and that's good enough for me to list it here. If you'd been there with us, we'd have dropped in to one as we passed. Just for you.



Chocolates. The Captain and Tennille paid for these, but we scored big time. To be fair, we bought them a small box of chocolates as a 'thank you' for having us. Very civil.



Again, the Captain and Tennille bought the bread, but one loaf was crusty white bread (in the good way), and the other was crusty white bread with olives or something. Great stuff - and Wifey & I scored again! :)



OK, not so much with that last one. We didn't score with Michael Bolton.

All-in-all, we had a great time checking out the Dingbats' new digs, new workplace, new surroundings, etc. They've been up there since February, so it was just crazy that we hadn't visited yet. (They're only four hours away, after all.)

On Saturday afternoon, the Captain taught me how to play (the first part, at least, of) ...




Addictive game.

I know, that came out ages ago - but I hadn't played it before last weekend, and now I want to play it through to the end! Haven't got a PlayStation, though - so that makes that a little difficult. I'll just have to go visit the Captain and Tennille more often, won't I.

(And the correct answer there, Wifey, is 'Yes'.)

------------------------

In one day ...

IT ARRIVES

------------------------

Congratulations, Clarry!

A dear old friend of mine (emphasis on 'old') announced his engagement on the weekend.

To a girl.

Here he is celebrating the news with a dance:




Let's call him Clarry.

Clarry and his now-fiancee, for whom I haven't yet thought of a suitably-silly pseudonym*, were delighted with their news (and why wouldn't they be), despite some Random Guy turning up to take photos at the beautiful scenic lookout where Clarry was about to do the surprise-proposal thing. He was just about to drop to one knee and produce the ring when this dude strolled in and started taking pictures. So Clarry had to wait a while until the guy had moved on before deliberately re-starting his intended act of romantic spontaneity.

Either way, she said yes, so it's all good.

I will now take bets. Do you think that:

(a) Wifey and I will be invited to their engagement party and/or wedding ceremony and/or wedding reception;
(b) Wifey and I will be snubbed entirely from the whole event;
(c) Clarry will drop his pants during the Groom's speech at the reception and sing 'Old Grey Mare'; or
(d) All of the above.**

Just in case, does anyone have any ideas for a great engagement party present for a couple with a slight age difference? She's 21 and he's something like 87 (I've never been completely sure on his age, but it's up there somewhere).***

Those who select the correct answer will feel clever about themselves.

* Try saying "suitably-silly pseudonym" over and over again, getting increasingly faster until you pass out. It's fun!
** Options (a) and (b) are mutually exclusive, so 'all of the above' isn't really possible ...
*** Please note: Clarry's age may or may not be an accurate representation of how long he has actually lived on this Earth. But it's funny.

------------------------

In two days ...

IT ARRIVES

------------------------

Oh Big Brother, Where Art Thine Justice?

... or ...

An Outrageous Outcome

I watched the finale of Australian Big Brother 5 last night. I sat down, knowing it was apparently close, but fully-expecting Tim to win, regardless. He deserved it. He'd earned it. But he didn't get it.

Now, I'm entitled to complain about this because I voted for him (by SMSing to evict Greg; although I wonder how many others out there voted for the wrong person by SMSing the name of the person they wanted to win??), so allow me to fall into a slight diatribe on this for a moment. My apologies to my overseas (or otherwise BB-disinterested) readers, but I'm sure the two of you can chat amongst yourselves for a few minutes.




Please don't get me wrong; I think Greg is a good guy who came a long way throughout the show - he started out as just another sport-obsessed twin with poor manners, bad communication skills and a terrible understanding and knowledge of women ... and finished the show as a relatively gentle guy with poor manners, better communication skills and a good understanding and knowledge that he'll never have a good understanding or knowledge of women.

Jokes aside, he grew in such a way as to be a much better person - one who is in touch with his feelings more than he was before the BB experience (and I mean that in a good way), and who was responsible for that growth? Tim! Greg said so himself, on many occasions. Greg has said that he intends to go out and get to know his family and friends on a much deeper level than the superficial way he's known them until this point in his life. He realised how much he's missed seeing his mates and his family so much that he wasn't afraid to admit he wants to hug them when he sees them next, regrets not taking any photos of them inside the house with him, and looks forward to sitting down with each of his mates to discuss their goals in life, their thoughts and opinions, etc. Stuff he's never known about even his closest friends, because all he's ever talked about with them has been beer, babes and balls (footballs).

While I'm happy to see that he's learnt so much and (purportedly) plans to take this on board from this point in his life, the real reason he learnt all of this was Tim. After putting up with so much crap for three months (an embarrassing unrequited love, trying to bolster his physique - successful? Methinks not - being bullied non-stop for ages - I don't care what he reckons, that's what it was - and being the glue who held everyone together through his intelligence, good humour, patience and kindness), it's a crime that Tim didn't win.

For mine, it's not so much that Greg didn't deserve to win; it's just that Tim deserved it so much more.

And 'bloodnut' David certainly didn't deserve to win.

Here's a few things that have annoyed me about the ending to this season of Big Brother:

(1) This tosser getting half the money by rights.




He was second-to-one in the bullying stakes and was a filthy mongrel to watch on TV. Keep your fingers out of your nose, boy! He really knew how to shove them right up there. Pity he didn't stab his brain (more often than he did, anyway). David was one of Tim's main aggressors, and although Greg was initially part of that, once Dean left, both boys came to see Tim in a different light; one not overshadowed by Dean's manipulative and arrogant opinion of him. Greg came to know Tim more and they became closer friends. But I don't think Tim would have stood for any of their crap in the real world.

(2) Dumbass (some of you may know her under her trading name, 'Christie') hoping to get her brain-dead, hypocritical, self-obsessed immature claws on some of the money by emotionally blackmailing Greg into hanging out with her "at least for a little while".




You know she's going to expect gifts and stuff.

(3) This tosspot gloating over Tim not winning the prize money.




You just know he's laughing about it to his friends and the media and his fellow House Mates behind Tim's back. Tim would have nothing but nice things to say about Dean if it was the other way around. That's the primary difference between the two. I also hate that this tosspot will probably also benefit from the prize money via his second-tosser-in-command, David. I hate it when bullies prosper. It upsets nature and goes against the grain and causes massive holes in the space-time continuum to open up and swallow whole continents.

(4) The fact that Tim can't now be a lesson to jerks out there that sometimes nice guys don't finish last.




Where's the real-life lesson that bullies don't get rewarded? We're not meant to be reinforcing the idea that nastiness is the best bahaviour, people! I mean, sure - Tim's going to have his pick of all the girls in the country now, and his career will skyrocket, and his own personal media coverage and personality will be nothing but positive, ... but after you take away the freebies he won, the great press he'll receive, all the chicks he'll bag, the jobs he'll land, the respect he's earned, the ... actually, you know what? Maybe this outcome will endear him to us even more than if he'd suddenly become a rich snob.




And to be fair, the 'Logan Bogans' do hail from a drought-infested farm, so hopefully the prize money will be put to good use there, and not squandered on drinking and women and football and cars (well, not all of it, anyway) ... and please not on Dean and Dumbass.

In a way, Tim's above all of this. Sure, it's still an insult that he didn't get the most votes by an absolute landslide, but hopefully by the time he becomes President of Australia, he'll have forgiven us.



------------------------

OK now, tell me seriously, if you watched any of the show this year at all, tell me honestly: Who would you have preferred to win out of the Logan brothers and Tim? And why? And did you vote?

Leave your answers in the comments section. Even if you hate Big Brother, feel free to say so, but also give an opinion based on whatever limited knowledge you have about it all on which of the boys should have won.

All opinions welcomed. If you're a Logan fan, please explain to me why. There's got to be lots of you out there; help me understand why you voted the way you did.

------------------------

In three days ...

IT ARRIVES

------------------------

I'm In Love!

Wifey sent me an email this morning. It contained a poem she'd written about how much she loves me, and it was beautiful.

All day since, I've been floating on a cloud. She's everything to me.

That is all.

Puppet Injustice - Part 3

OK, it's time to tell you the truth: Rowlf the Dog is my absolute favourite Muppet of all time. Something I apparently share in common with the late, great Muppet maestro, Jim Henson himself.

I mean, look at him:




How adorable is he?

But why, out of all the Muppets, do I favour a relatively indistinguishable large brown dog as my top pick? Well, I'm glad I asked. Allow me to run through his good points for you.

Break it down, now:

Check out his "I don't care about society's standards; I'm posing for a bust statuette and I don't mind looking ever-so-slightly bored to the point that I'm actually ultra cool" attitude. His eyes, lopsided grin and chin resting in his hand all say: "I'm not going to conform, man, so you're just gonna have to deal with it." And there's not an air of arrogance about him.




*marvels*

No wonder this bust was one of the first to sell out.

Look how cute he was as a baby! And a child prodigy at that - before he was even three years old! Wouldn't you just love to own this little guy for real?




OK, yes. I may need help.

He was a consumate performer, able to play Beethoven at double-speed if necessary (and it often was), croon with well-known singers, accompany the Electric Mayhem and their elitist snobbery (once, when the band walked off the show in protest of the theme song being too 'lame', Rowlf was the only one committed enough to stick around and play it on his own), and every fourth bar was played (effectively) blindfolded, due to his ears blocking his eyes as he bopped along with gusto. What an amazing talent!




Many assume that Kermit was Jim Henson's original Muppet. This is not actually the case. Rowlf pre-dates Kermit, and is technically the longest-serving Muppet in the canon. He is shown here with Jim Henson (right) and Jimmy Dean (left), from the stint Rowlf and Henson performed in a recurring guest spot on The Jimmy Dean Show in the mid-1960s. Rowlf (centre) has possibly had some plastic (or 'felt') surgery done since these early days, as his appearance has only improved over the years. He has also been on a diet.




A classic film buff. Well-mannered. And what a sense of humour! Rowlf was loving of all of God's creatures! (Note the distinct lack of any eating he's doing with that cat.)




Romantic!




Thoughtful! Contemplative! A genuine sweetie.




Not to mention able to weave pure magic with his paws. A dedicated professional medico, commited to operate on you no matter what species you are. As long as you're happy with him cracking puns about it.




And not only that, but he was arguably the wittiest, most 'adult-humour' Muppet there was. (For those of you playing at home, Janice probably came a close second, with Dr Teeth getting the bronze medal.)

Don't believe me? Check this out.

When Jim Henson died in 1990, Rowlf was all-but-retired. He has appeared since only as a non-speaking 'crowd character', finally getting a line in 2002's It's A Very Merry Muppet Christmas Movie, which was a made-for-TV vehicle. He plays the piano when needed, but basically his voice isn't heard anymore. This is a travesty. Rowlf was funny, talented, creative, artistic, gentle, sensitive, faithful, and voiced by Henson himself.

And I miss him.