Give me a hand (Part 1)

I love puppets. Freakin' love 'em. I'm not even joshin' with you. Now, I'm not talking about creepy puppets, per se, like this:

(Note: Are the nipples necessary?)

No, no, no...more like this:

*Massive apologies to a reader I know of that is positively frightened by Fraggles.

Now, this hasn't won me any popularity contests. Frankly, some people find it questionable. Even weird. I say, "Away to you!"

I remember watching this sitcom a few years back where a character (I think it was Ricki Lake and the show was something like "We Didn't Have Anyone of Note to Cast and Ricki Lake Was Available") comes out of a beau's bedroom and comments, "Wow...I don't think I've ever seen that many marionettes before." The audience laughs but I was offended. Like...who doesn't have a marionette in their room? I have one. And he is a moose. And he is AWESOME.

That being said, my obsession in my youth began with "The Sound of Music" and Jim Henson and has never waned. How I longed to be a Lonely Goatherd and have talking and singing goats around me. I wasn't too jazzed about the blonde girl in braids, but you deal with what you're given. I would watch "The Jim Henson Hour" religiously and quote from all of his specials and movies. Hell, I have a Kermit tattoo on my back.

This lead my parents to a decision to send me to PUPPET CAMP in the summer of 1995. When I found out, I went apeshit. Puppet Camp? Where everyone who is awesome's dreams come true? My parents sent me off to what would amount to be of the most definitive weeks of my life. I'm not even playin' you.

Stay tuned, my fellow goatherds.