Swansea Grand Theatre

Baby Birds and Lady Hens

Caitlin O’Sullivan

I’ve seen a lot in my short life, I’ve been to a live sex show in Amsterdam, I’ve seen a male strip show, although admittedly unprofessional. I’ve seen lady’s bits and men’s bobs, but never quite like this. This brought new meaning to the term “giggle stick”.

The theatre was full of ladies and hens, one group dressed as nuns with a giant dong taking his own seat to watch the performance; Puppetry of the Penis. In front of my friend and I, there was an older couple on their first date, and behind us there was a mother and daughter; and the latter squeaked my favourite line of the night, “He’s f****** a piece of wood!”

For the first hour warm up, we’d been entertained by a woman with a ukulele. She was great, every willy-wanting woman was laughing at her jokes, but the hour warm up started to cool after the intermission, and what was a bizarre opening became the show we were all there to see. The two well-endowed men transforming their scrotums were, of course, Australian. My friend gave a little gasp when they whipped off their sparkly velvet capes to reveal their brave burritos. Everyone went nuts. A camera woman named “Naughty Nicky” had a lens trained on their bits to blow them up on the big screen.

Eventually, the novelty wore off, and the warm-up began to feel like a necessity. But generally, seeing men manipulate their walnuts to make a hamburger around their pickle is my idea of first class entertainment. The highlight for me was the “baby bird” gig. You can use your imagination, but this is where the “F****** a piece of wood” came into play. The other slightly grotesque highlight was a Yoda impression. The older gentleman put a card Yoda head on his… head… and made it speak with his urethra. Yup, this show was hotter than the lighter burning a hole in my pants.

Upon leaving the theatre, my friend and I were in a bit of a daze, “I feel so weird, did that really just happen?” she asked me. And I felt the same. We’d just spent an hour watching two men play with their Johnsons, and paid for it. When we stepped into the lobby the ukulele player and two guys were being swarmed by the ladies wanting to buy books and t-shirts. It took us a while to get through the crowd to the exit, and two minutes later we stopped in our tracks. “Were those two guys….?” We went back to check, and indeed, the guys behind the desk were the stars of the show signing autographs for their fans. We’d walked right past, and didn’t recognise them clothed.

“I can’t believe we were so busy staring at their junk we didn’t recognise their faces.” My friend said, looking genuinely traumatised.

“Well, on the bright side, at least you’d know them from the waist down.”


Editor: Joel Emmons


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