It used to have class

I spotted a review on the weekend of a book called Striptease: the Untold History of the Girlie Show. Of course, before reading anything I arranged for a priest to sit beside me, mash his rosaries, rock backwards and forwards, catch globs of milky vomit in his mouth and sermonise interminably about blind people with "overworked fertility instruments" (in his case "futility", I jested). But when, eventually, I was permitted to read the sinful bits of the review free of millennia of trans-generational guilt (he fell asleep), I was quite taken by the following description of a couple of old time burlesque acts:

Blaze Starr tied small pieces of steak to her bra and panties before allowing a black panther to slink onstage to nibble them off. Diane Ross ... did an act in which her pet monkeys, Tweaky and Squeaky, took off her clothes, and sometimes their own.

Move aside Sam Kekovich. Fearsome and funny animals, scantily clad women and meat. I see a whole new concept in vegetarian vilification. And good on you Tweaky and Squeaky! If you were alive today, you could have shown Bubbles a good time (bless him).