The halloween special was a blast! Everyone was a zombie or ghoul and the audience came in an amazing variety of horrific outfits. We had two now acts, the Doctor & The Zombie and The Dance of The Ghouls, and both had exposive endings that showered the crowd in blood, bone and brains!

So that’s it folks – the final final end of the 2009 season – we all hope you enjoyed it as much as we did

Rot up! Rot up! Ghouls and Beasties, I have the distinct terror of announcing a special one night only re-animation of the show everyone is screaming about!

Creep along early to guarentee your plot and come in the scariest costume you can possess to see the undead treat with more than a few nasty tricks… BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

We rise from our graves at 2pm (SLT) on Saturday 31st October 2009 and then come back for a second bite of your brains at 2:50pm. So crawl your foul way to The Lindenburg in Phobos and make sure you don’t miss the show where dying on stage is all part of the fun!

Pssst! Keep up with the latest TSMGO news on our blog and twitter!

That’s right folks, we thought it was the end of the 2009 season for The Show Must Go on and Professor Antfarmoffski’s Flea Circus, but you wouldn’t let us go So bowing to pressure from our gorgeous and fragrant public, Osprey beat us all on the soles of our feet until we agreed to come out of retirment once more, and what a show we put on! We were packed out for the 2pm showing (nearly 30 in the audience!) and had a fair few for the 2:50pm show and everyone had a great time. It was nice to see some friends from Nova Albion & Bay City as well as Steelhead and from SL Things To Do and of course, the Backpacking Burros! A huge thanks for your support guys!

p.s. This was Kumi Kuhr’s first show with us too! Welcome to the looney bin, Kumi!

If you’ve seen the 2009 show, you’ll have been on the amazing flying theatre airship built by Osprey – well now, thanks to Karuna Sands, it has a name… Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to The Lindenburg!

Come to today’s show – 2pm in Phobos! And again next week on the 12th!

I’m sorry to say folks that we are nearing the end of the 2009 show season *pauses for wailing, weeping, teeth gnashing and chest beating to stop* and you only have a few more opportunities to a) see us and b) book us!

The next two shows are 5th September and 12th September and we have no more planned after that. Now I’m sure we will do some more, but as we also need to film all the acts from this and last year, I don’t think we’ll do many more.

So if you want to see our amazing flea circus and comedy and dance and song show, come along on Saturday 5th September and/or Saturday 12th September.

And if you want to book us, then contact Osprey Therian in-world ASAP. I’d hazard a guess that if you haven’t booked us by the end of September, we may well be full up for the rest of the year filming.

As always, a HUGE thank you to you all for coming and supporting our work – we do it for the fun, nothing more and nothing less and without an audience, it ain’t no fun

Oh, and on a final note, if you think you have an act or talent you’d like to bring to the troupe and if you think you’d like to stand up on stage and make countless people laugh and wOOt! in 2010 then drop Osprey a line – we are always looking for new blood you know

Although the management of the theatre usually compile and compose these short biographies, but in this case Comrade Bumble Bee from the Glorious Soviet Socialist Republik Hive has provided us with the text himself(1):

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Dear all western pigs, capitalist dogs and your childer! Greetings from the Glorious SSRH! We bees of the State wish you and your filthy capitalist ways well and hope your pathetic health services are succeeding in keeping you healthy. Nice things said, we move to tale of Comrade Bees, yes?

In Glorious Mother Hive, all Comrade Bees are equal. In Glorious Mother Hive I learn music and dance from workermother for pleasure of Glorious Leader Bee. This is what we are bringing to you, flabby westerners. Yes? Dance and music in air above you all with faces of wonder and smiles.

With music in air, we dance for joy of Communist Utopia created by Glorious Leader and her many, many Glorious Purges and Pogroms. This is happy for us, yes? No! We never happy while trivial things coming in world! Not like westerners with their smiling faces and clowns. Hello Childer, enjoy show yes?

In end, we Glorious Communist Bees of the Hive State equal, You not. We better and dance from joy of knowing and for the small childer with their fat faces and laughings, yes? Goodbyes!
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There you have it folks. And thank you Mr… I mean Comrade Bumble Bee.

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(1) Which we are contractually obliged to reproduce, god help us.

Little is known about Pheobus’ background. We know he has a funny accent and is very careful with his money(1) so it’s a safe bet he’s either Scottish or from Yorkshire, but no record can be found to back this up. Still, he’s never bought any of the other fleas or circus hands a drink ever. Not once. Not even a coke. Tight fisted little sod.

Anyway, the first records of him seem to be those of the Linden Youth Offending Board (Corn Field Division) where he was reprimanded for a series of griefing attacks in which unfortunate noobs were set on fire moments after setting foot off the ferry. These poor noobs were heard to say “Hey! What’s going on?” and “What? What’s this fire? HELP!!!1”and “Babe sex please me?” before he pushed them into other noobs setting them on fire too.

Clearly a troubled soul(2), he was sent to the Corn Field which he promptly burnt down. He was then sent to a secure facility in a Linden Lab server farm which he burnt down. From there he was sent to an underwater containment facility just off Nautilus which he burnt down.

The exasperated Lindens held a special secret meeting (delayed three times due to fire alarms as Pheobus tried to burn it down) and decided upon their most radical solution yet. Exile to Prokofy Neva’s Free Tibet! Here amid the snowy wastes the young Pheobus was to be schooled by one of the grid’s most renowned pacifists, The Great and Benevolent Guru Swami Bernard.

Although Pheobus managed to burn down two mountains, one party of hikers and several of Guru Bernard’s best beards, the good Swami’s patience and fatherly concern slowly worked their magic on the dear little troubled soul and within a year the old Pheobus was gone. Instead, in his place, stood the new Pheobus! Focused, caring, dedicated and 90% less dangerous! A tough regime of mental and physical training had yielded great results and the young Fire-Flea was almost ready to rejoin society(3), all he had to complete was Guru Bernard’s final task – a three week long blindfolded hike through the mountains juggling five blazing termites in which he must never stop for food or sleep or drink and he must never, ever drop a termite or allow it to go out.

And so it was that one day from the end of this mammoth task the exhausted Pheobus came to trip over a snoozing Professor Antfarmoffski and drop all his termites. The rest, dear reader, is history…

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(1) It’s rumoured that his purse contains groats and the small desiccated bodies of moths…

(2) In this case, code for ‘right little arsehole’

(3) Probably as a stoker on the Caledon Light Steam Rail Network.

Frollo Shamus O’Murphy(1) was born a nomad, his mother and father having eloped in order to give vent to their burning love. From being an egg Frollo never knew one place for long, cast adrift on his father’s endless quest for the pot’o’blood at the end of the rainbow. This endless (hopeless) quest saw the small O’Murphy clan travelling the grid in a grand pea-green boat(2), but when the stolen money and honey ran out they family found themselves in dire straights and had no other option but to apprentice out the young Frollo to a catfish in the Omidyar sea.

Frollo never saw his parents again. Legend says they were killed in a terrible particle storm just off Da Boom, other reports say they were roasted by the firece underwater Sea Osprey in Bodega, whilst still others just say they found the pot’o’blood and forgot about poor Frollo altogether. Whatever the truth, which will be mostly lies and make believe, one thing is for certain, young Frollo was raised on the back of the kindly catfish and became the grids first (and only) Sea-Flea!

Although he traveled the Seven Seas of the grid, he never forgot the inland sea of Omidyar and often returned to play amongst the kelp, gambol amid the sponges and bite the arse of anything with warn blood in it. It was the latter activity that led him dto develop his superflea-like dextrity as his favourite pasttime rapidly became shark taunting and Sea Osprey biting.

It was during an attempt to beat his personal best and not only taunt the Bodega Bay shark but also twist the sea-snakes into a balloon poodle and bite the dreaded Sea Osprey right on the arse in one daring lightning raid, that Frollo came across the good Professor Antfarmoffski trembling under a large lily leaf. and the rest, dear reader is history…

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(1) His Father was Irish who lived in Athlone on a shark in the local aquarium. His mother was a minor French aristocrat passing through on the back of a particularly fine Persian. It’s the beautiful age old love story of the haughty and the lowly crossing the social divide to rut like two monkeys sugared up on love juice and UmBongo. Awwww.

(2) Filched from a sap of an owl and his soppy cat lover when they weren’t looking.

With his massive thorax and legs as thick as matchsticks, Hugo cuts an impressive figure with many a lady flea swooning full away as he strides past them on his way to lift a pebble or bite through an ant. Men want to be him, women want to be with him. And the men who want to be him also want to the women who want to be with him to be with them when they are him. Oh yes, Hugo is one whole hunk of He-Flea and no mistake!

But it wasn’t always so.

Many moons ago, when Hugo Siciliano(1) first emerged from his egg he was a scrawny 97 milligram weakling. Girls laughed. Boys bullied. His parents despaired. But his dear mother did not give up on him. She fed him a daily diet of blood she gathered from only the fattest of pampered moggies to build up his body. His father developed a series of exercises for him to do and built him some equipment until a new improved Hugo emerged from the gym.

All the hard work not only crafted Hugo’s body into a work of living art, but also honed his mind to a sharply focused point enabling him to rise above the flotsam and jetsam of the average flea populace.

He climbed every mountain. He forded every stream. He followed every byway and even searched high and low. All of this he did in the nude because he considered it to be character building. He dined only on the blood of British Bulldogs and the finest of iron filings. He began to travel extensively seeking out greater and greater challenges with which to test his metal. He bested the Great Sansara Sasquatch. He defeated the terrible Jageroth Jaberwocky. He even trumped the Evil Nipple Beast of Ursula! But it was on his way to sort out the fabled Blingapotomus that fate took a fateful turn. It started with a grid quake trapping one Professor Antfarmoffski and ended with the rest, dear reader, being history…

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(1) His father was an Italian docker who followed his fortune on a tramp steamer to New York where he met a beautiful young French exchange student flea who was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar. The rest, dear reader, I will leave to your sordid imaginations…

Widely regarded to be the most beautiful flea ever to have hopped on the flat earth(1) of the grid, Esmeradla Consuela Conchita Adriana Alondra Jones(2) has always had an uncanny ability to turn heads and bring calm to where there is discord. Born in Svarga, she was raised, as were all the flea clans of that part of the world, on the blood of the much feared Sarcastic Sloth of Svarga, a beast known throughout the grid for reducing even the most hardened of travellers to tears with its sharp tongue and keenly observed cutting remarks. Over the years, a constant diet of this blood had a terrible effect on the once relaxed and friendly fleas and they became a mean bunch of malcontents given to liking bare-knuckle boxing and pig-sticking. And so it would have been for poor Esmeralda had it not been for her mother.

Her mother(3) was, unbeknownst to her clan, a vegetarian and sucked only on the pure, sweet nectar of Svarga’s many floral delights. She raised Esmeralda to do the same and in doing so, raised the sweetest creature the grid has ever known(4).

Although shunned by the other fleas as being a “flower hugging liberal commie” the young Esmeralda consoled herself in dance, a medium she used to express her joy and happiness. She practiced her beautiful dances alone in the forests and bluebell glades of the islands – or she thought she was alone! The frogs came at first, a few hopping by saw her and spread the word. The rabbits came next. And the bees. Then the crocodiles. And even the hippos. All came to watch this enchanting flea pirouette and sashay between the wild orchids. Until eventually the sloths came.

They came en masse with the dark intentions of pouring so much sarcastic bile on the proceedings that as one the audience would hop off the nearest cliff in a mass act of desperation. But as soon as they clapped their peepers on the be-tutued flea, their hearts melted and their taunts stuck in their throats. Esmeralda had calmed the wild beasts of Svaraga once and for all and whenever she danced, travellers were safe from having their choice of clothing mocked and their sexual preferences called into question.

It was in the rescuing of just such a traveller that she came to the attention of Professor Antfarmoffski and the rest, dear reader is history…

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(1) Until anyone proves me wrong, this world is flat and that is all there is to it.

(2) Her father was Welsh. From Blaenau Ffestiniog. Lived on a slate miner.

(3) Spanish. From Minaro. Lovely lass.

(4) With the possible exception of Violet Faulds, of course!