“The lights dimmed and the pit orchestra fired up anew. Ten burly Shagganats in red ballet tunics and bright pink tutus lumbered onto the small stage. It was like asking a bloat of hippos to stand together on a tea tray. Having arrived late from their home planet and missed rehearsals, they’d had no idea the stage was going to be far too small for their act. Forlornly, they tried to give each other space, but this just added to the debacle as their chorus-line routine turned into a bad-tempered bread line.
Next they tried a high-kicking number, but within moments this had degenerated into a desperate free-for-all with legs, arms and snouts crashing into each other.
But, like true professionals, they stuck to their task, the old adage that “the show must go on” uppermost in their small but determined minds. The prima ballerina—a large, bustling slab of energy, sweat and cellulite—moved to the centre of the stage and attempted to pirouette. Immediately wobbling out of control, she grabbed two of her companions and all three plunged headlong into the orchestra pit, wiping out the entire wind section and an unattended double bass.”