War, huh, yeah! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing other than creating an awesome Big, uhh!
War, ebony heartthrob Edwin Starr once sang, should be despised as it means the destruction of innocent lives. But war was also the inspiration for these remarkable Toy Soldiers, so I guess it’s not all bad.
Officially known as Monument to the War of 1812, these sexy servicemen have turned the once-peaceful streets of Toronto into a battleground, and serve as a commentary of the infamous scuffle between the Yanks and the Poms.
Canadian creative Douglas Coupland fashioned the piece after realising Southern Canadians (or Americans, as they like to be referred to these days) don’t mind rewriting history.
“I’ve grown up and a lot of people have grown up thinking ‘Oh, Americans lost that one didn’t they?”‘ Coupland (Digital Orca; dozens of other artworks that aren’t oversized objects and so are of no interest to anyone)gabbled during the shrine’s unveiling in 2008.
“But once I began getting involved in the project and doing research, I began noticing that the Americans are now starting to change history and they’re saying, ‘Well actually we won that,’ or, ‘Actually, we didn’t lose’ or whatever.
“So it’s a war monument but it’s also an incitement for people to remember what’s going on in the present as well as the past.”
Plus, they look really cool!
Love is a battlefield
Big Things are usually peaceful, contemplative creatures (with the obvious exception of Canada’s other giant toy soldier), so it was heartbreaking to find these two at each other’s throats. I mean, you’re hardly likely to see Pat the Dog curb stomping Bruno the Peacock, are you?
Pleading with them to put their differences – and their bayonets – to one side in the name of love, I assured them that we’re all the same colour on the inside. It was a lie, because I’m all red and bloody and full of guts, and they’re made of off-white styrofoam, but I was willing to say anything to stop the fracas.
I cradled the boys in my arms. Asked about their hopes and fears. Massaged their ceremonial bonnets. Normally I love a man in uniform, but this display of toxic masculinity was just too much. Nothing could stem the tide of unrestrained, bestial brutality.
Unfortunately, bringing an end to war was too much for even me. Oh well, I might as well cancel my lunch with Vlad Putin and Volo Zelenskyy.
They’re a weird mob, these immigrants. With their moon-shaped heads, olive skin and bizarre clothing, they just don’t look like us.
And, of course, they’ve already had a baby! And the father’s wearing a tie, so he’s probably after jobs that the rest of us would never consider doing in the first place.
Soon there’ll be so many immigrants that you won’t be able to walk through Toronto without bumping into a nine-foot bronze sculpture with a bulbous bonce.
To my disgust, these were my first thoughts upon meeting the immaculate Immigrant Family. Sure, you could blame my upbringing in a dilapidated caravan, raised by my violent white supremacist step-brother Jeong-ho. But, really, that’s no excuse.
Within moments of arriving in Ontario, I’d fallen victim to the siren song of a group of hatemongers, who surrounded the Immigrant Family to shower them with abuse. It was only as I prepared to hurl a tomato at the father’s oversized cranium that I realised I, too, was a stranger to this land.
As an Australian confused by the silly-sausage customs of Canadians, I had more in common with the Immigrant Family than these unwashed, toothless, inbred, hockey-loving racists. I dropped the tomato and flung myself into the bosom of the family.
“Guys, I know the intoxicating allure of bigotry can prove irresistible,” I told the baying mob. “But Otterness’ work recalls the experience of new immigrants to Canada, capturing their sense of wonder at seeing the city, while gently bringing them close together as they embark on their new life.”
The hateful horde paused for a moment, taking in my heartfelt words, before one particularly unappealing xenophobe rose above the others.
“Firstly, Bigs,” he hee-hawed, “you obviously stole that quote from an art website, and you’re better than that. Secondly, if you’re one of them dang immigrants, we’re gonna have to whoop ya.”
And then, with my new family watching on, the terror began.
Meet Tom Odderness… sorry, Tom Otterness… no, it’s definitely Tom Odderness
Tom Otterness, the savant behind Immigrant Family, can best be described as a lunatic. Despite being one of America’s most prolific sculptors, with his work exhibited from New York to The Netherlands, he’s best known for shooting a dog in 1977.
Frustrated by his inability to find acceptance in the dog-eat-dog world of contemporary art, a young Tom turned to shock tactics to gain attention. He tied a labradoodle to a tree, made sure his Fujifilm Super 8mm camera was rolling, and blasted the poor critter in the face with a Glock 43.
These days that would gain him a cult following on Tik Tok, but in those less enlightened times was met by stunned silence. Disheartened, Tom skippered plans to film himself bonking a cow with a baseball bat, and left the lucrative world of animal snuff films forever.
He turned to something even more disturbing – corporate art, financed by faceless megaconglomerates intent on ruling the world. Whilst his work has been called everything from flaccid to morally bankrupt, it did deliver us the Immigrant Family in 2007, and so what if we had to lose a few dogs along the way to get there.
Meanwhile, back at the scene of the crime
Having had their way with me, the white supremacists raced off to find another minority to oppress. Silence descended upon Toronto, and I lurched into the gentle embrace of the Family.
As I snuggled in, my tears drying upon their rotund bodies, it became obvious that we spoke a common language; one of ambition and hope despite a lifetime of persecution and ridicule. Finally, after decades of searching, I’d found my tribe.
“I love you, Mummy,” I chirped. “I love you, Daddy.” Time stood still as I waited for words of affirmation that never came. They just smiled into the distance, clutching their beloved baby. There was no room, it seemed, for one more son. I gathered the pieces of my shattered soul and staggered into the night.
They didn’t beg me to come back. They never do. Although I’m not proud of it, I punched a street sign on my way home, breaking my hand in several places. The silver lining was that I was sequestered away to Toronto Women’s Hospital, where the service was exemplary – hi, Mahmoud!
My tragic experience shouldn’t prevent you from visiting the Immigrant Family, however. They’re charming, huggable and extremely quirky.
Just don’t get too attached. They’ll kick your hopes dreams into the gutter, and leave you guzzling Prosecco out of an ice cream container in a futile – and really quite destructive – attempt to dull the pain. Just let them go off and play happy families by themselves.
Everybody wants to eat something From the Giant Table’s top Everybody wants something They’ll try to climb it But never get up
Everybody get ready With sandwiches and beer The Harbour Square sensation, The only and only Giant Picnic Table’s here
Everybody face up to The facts as they are You have to seat it To believe it ‘cos it’s The size of a car!
A word on Colin Hanks
As you can see from these photos, I encountered popular character actor Colin Hanks during my time with the Giant Picnic Table. Colin, an affable fellow with a dry wit and an intoxicating aroma, often clambers atop the enormous wooden totem to meditate, but was pleased to have his peace disturbed by this lifelong fan.
We subsequently spent several days exploring Toronto and each other, but Colin asked me to keep the details of our encounter to a minimum. Out of respect for him, I haven’t included the delightfully crude love heart with ‘Colin Hanks 4 Bigs Bardot 4 Eva’ that he inscribed on one corner of the table.
If you want to see it, you’ll just have to go there yourself.
Sew, you want to visit Toronto’s most fashionable tourist attraction? Then it’s thimble – oops, I mean simple! Pop over to the corner of Richmond and Spadina, where you’ll find Uniform Measure/STACK, a three-metre-tall Big Thimble that seams too good to be true.
Needles to say, you’ll have a great time!
This zany bunch of buttons and bits and bobs was patched together by the ever-trendy Stephen Cruise, who wanted to celebrate the area’s stitch – oops, I mean rich! – fabric and textile history.
The bonkers monument may soon be the only sign of the area’s industrial past. The factories and sweatshops have been torn down, replaced by co-working spaces for so-called digital nomads who sit, frappe in hand, slaving away on text for websites that will barely be read and certainly not appreciated.
“As much as the street signs have the additional text to them, saying ‘fashion district’, in another short period of time it’s going to be just a memory. So the stacking of the buttons and placing the thimble atop it, there was this thought that I was creating a memory. So it’s evidence of what once was a colourful past.
“It really was not the beginning of an industry,” the maestro pronounced, “but the signing off of it.”
I think you’ll agree it’s a knitting – oops, I mean fitting! – tribute
A Thimble of Hope
After spending years roaming the area’s abandoned textile mills in search of inspiration, Mister Cruise finalised his bizarre design and found a location for the five-tonne behemoth. “That’s the only position on that little triangle of land that that amount of weight can fit,” the artiste thread – oops, I mean said!
The project took 18 long months to complete, and faced cost blowouts due to the ambitious nature of the work. So Doctor Cruise, like many artists before him, took up work in a nearby steel foundry to pay for it.
For months he slaved away in the oppressive heat, sweat pouring down his brow until his muscles rippled like those of a Greek god. Side-by-chiselled-side with a foundry full of handsome, masculine, frustrated steel workers, each brawny and brave, many with long beards and even longer stories to tell, this sculptor-turned-sculpted sex symbol forged steel as he forged lifetime friendships.
One sweltering afternoon, when the fiery furnace burned so fiercely that the men were forced to strip to the waist as they grappled with a particularly strenuous task… [alright, alright, that’s enough! Bigs kept going on with this for almost 3000 words and entered some very troubling territory, so I had to give him a good dressing gown – oops, I mean dressing down! Let’s just keep going – ed].
In return for his hard work, Professor Cruise was able to forge the thimble and buttons out of 28 separate sections of brass. His outlandish masterpiece was formally handed over to the people of Toronto in 1997, which gar-meant a lot to all involved.
“It’s great that they’ve embraced it,” Lord Cruise tapestry-vealed, “and it’s become part of their neighbourhood.”
Alright, I’m out of material – hope you enjoyed my yarn about the weird and wonderful Uniform Measures/STACK!
Sixty-seven million years ago, when rivers ran red with molten magma, the towering tyrannosaurus traipsed across the bleeding badlands we now call Canada. Standing six-metres tall and with a head full of lancinating ivories, this terrifying thunder lizard tore all before her to shreds.
Well, it’s 2022, and the tyrannosaurus has evolved. Now seven-storeys tall and capable of gobbling dozens of bemused tourists at once, she towers over the streets of far-flung Drumheller and is one of the most celebrated Big Things on the planet.
The undulating curves and tortured ravines of central Canada remain a hellscape from another time. The red dirt heaves with the bones of long-extinct creatures, attracting budding palaeontologists in their thousands. But all of this lies, quite literally, in the shadow of Tyra.
This Jurassic jaw-dropper dominates Drumheller’s unassuming skyline, and can be seen from every corner of the town. At 26.3-metres tall, 46 metres from titanic tail to stately snout, and tipping the scales at a sensational 66 tonnes, it’s hard to appreciate just how massive Tyra is until visiting in person.
I was completely unprepared for how small and insignificant Tyra made me felt, and it took my brain a while to process the unreal spectacle before me. At first, she looks like an optical illusion, because she’s so out of proportion with her surroundings.
Tyra’s immense size is matched only by the quality of her construction. Incredibly lifelike, she seems poised to rip the passing tour buses apart at any moment. The World’s Largest Dinosaur was recently renovated, so her lifelike green and yellow hues really pop against the arid landscape. She’s the most gorgeous lizard you ever did ‘saur.
Honestly, I could never get Tyra’d of looking at Tyra!
Get on the floor…
October 13, 2001, was a big day for the good people of Drumheller. That’s when Tyra was officially introduced to a world that could scarcely believe her dimensions, and the town was put squarely on the Big Thing map alongside Barellan and Nadym. Her story, of course, began many years before that fateful moment.
The idea to build a thought-provoking theropod in the centre of town was floated by Cory Campbell, the former executive director for the Drumheller Regional Chamber of Development.
“The town was bringing 500,000 people a year, but a lot of them were just going to museums and leaving,” Cory whined. “It was a day trip for them. So we were trying to capitalise on that. The idea of a big dinosaur had been floating around the community for a while.”
“My thought was ‘Well, that’s a good idea, but it needs to be interactive, it can’t just be a statue, take a picture, leave. We need people to stick around,’” he chattered. “It’s a great success story for the community. And I’m hoping that our downtown core will continue to develop around it.”
It wasn’t until 20 years later that The World’s Largest Dinosaur, who previously presented as non-binary, was revealed as female She took on the name of world-renowned paleontologist/part-time model Tyra Banks, who is also a self-confessed Big Thing fanatic. Sadly Tyra was in Budapest for a high-profile meeting of the world’s greatest minds when I visited Drumheller, but she sent me her best wishes.
Everybody walk…
Tyra may be a proud Canadian, but her DNA is uniquely Australian. Queensland company Natureworks, the wunderkinds responsible for Ally the Alpaca, Frilly the Lizard, and the Big Koala Family, took on the mammoth task of building Tyra. As always, they created something magical, but the project remains a dino-sore point for the company’s Imagineering Director, David Joffe
Rather than relying on David’s experience and creativity to design the creature, the good people of Drumheller handed him a small toy dinosaur and told to blow it up to epic proportions
“I was appalled when told that, after much discussion, the client had approved this pathetic T-Rex toy-like model,” David lamented several years later in a tense-yet-illuminating interview, the shockwaves of which still ripple throughout Central Canada. “I was told to shut up and just make it bigger.”
Tyra was built in pieces in the Philippines, then shipped to Drumheller in a convoy of 10x40ft containers. The result, as you can see, is remarkable… but try telling Dave that!
“Over one million dollars later, the finished dinosaur is as sh***y as the original model,” he raged. “The finished photos don’t deserve the paper to be any bigger than a postage stamp. This is what happens when artists’ egos are not tempered by realists.”
It sounds like Drumheller’s leaders were so preoccupied with whether or not they could turn a tiny T-Rex toy into the World’s Largest Dinosaur, that they didn’t stop to think if they should!
The World’s Largest Dinosaur!
There is one Aussie who is hopelessly, unapologetically infatuated with Tyra, and that’s me, the inimitable Bigs Bardot. I respect and admire David Joffe more than any man on the planet, but believe he’s doing his work a disservice with his claims. Tyra is big, buxom and beautiful, and a must-see for any Big Thing fanatic.
It was a long and bumpy scooter ride from Calgary to Drumheller, but I found the desolate scenery breathtaking and enjoyed every rustic moment of it. Western Wayne and Squirt the Skunk provided welcome company but, as delicious as they are, they’re little more than appetisers for Tyra the Temptress.
Her size moved me to tears. Her elegance caused my stomach to flutter like a freshly-cooked bowl of poutine. Even my flirtations with Ploddy and Big Kev and Digby and Fruity – some of the largest dinosaurs in existence – couldn’t prepare me for the emotions that crashed over me like the overripe waves of September.
Wanting nothing more than to be inside Tyra, I paid my $5 at the adjoining gift store and climbed gleefully into her bowels. One-hundred-and-six steps took me to the apex of the World’s Largest Dinosaur, and I climbed out of her gullet to gawp in wonder at the view of majestic Drumheller. It was one of the defining moments of my life.
Yes, Tyra can take hundreds of people in her mouth each hour without gagging, although she complain about having a bit of a ‘saur throat afterwards!
Hey you! Yeah, you, reading this! You belong in the nuthouse!
Tee-hee, don’t worry, the inimitable Bigs Bardot hasn’t gone mad and resorted to cyber bullying. I’m merely suggesting that you visit the Nuthouse food emporium in Toronto’s eclectic West End. There you’ll find a wondrous walnut large enough to feed a family of chipmunks for a year.
Wally, as he’s known to the ragtag bunch of office monkeys, social media influencers, hobos and Big Thing fanatics who meander past him every day, is certainly worth pecan at. You might even want to pop by during the evening to bid him goodnut. Pistachi-Ontarians have, understandably, gone nuts for Wally, but I guess that’s one of the perks of being a walnut.
Sorry, that was a bit acorn-y! I remember when I was a serious writer, at the top of my field, and didn’t have to resort to tired old puns. I hope to legume my career one day – ha!
Nut wait, there’s more!
The health food store sitting beneath Wally’s pert rump offers a sumptuous selection of dried fruits, cakes and juices to please even the most punctilious of palettes.
Feeling a little peckish, I opted for a bag of the Nuthouse’s famous Margueretta Martian mixed nuts. The lavish ensemble of almonds, sultanas and, of course, walnuts proved to be both noroushing and extremely moreish.
Unfortunately I have a severe nut allergy and spent the next week clinging to life in the well-appointed Toronto Western Hospital. The room service, however, was attentive and tender (hi, Mike!), and the movie selection surprisingly varied, so I don’t regret my decision at all.
If you ever see a bunch of naked weirdos frolicking in a park, run the other way – unless you’re in downtown Calgary! There you’ll find 10 very large, very nude individuals of indeterminate gender, enjoying the Alberta sun upon their ebony skin.
Known as The Brotherhood of Mankind, the 6.5-metre-tall naturists were created by Spanish artist Mario Armengol, as part of the British Pavilion for the Montreal Expo in 1967. They originally stood far apart, with each towering over a display of Britain’s ‘gifts to the world’ – government systems, language, Jimmy Savile, that sort of thing.
When the Expo closed, the Brothers were snapped up by a shady businessman whose name has been lost to the ravages of time. He then offloaded them to the City of Calgary for tax purposes, which sounds like people trafficking to me, but you be the judge.
Upon their arrival in Cowtown, officials didn’t quite know what to do with the gaggle of gonad-grabbing guys. So they just sort of popped them in a ramshackle circular arrangement at the corner of 1st Street and 6th Avenue S.E (ooh! I felt so North American typing that) and forgot about it.
The secret sect of sensual siblings, now together at last, soon took on a life of their own.
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
The members of the Brotherhood – and their members! – sent pulsewaves of outrage oscillating over the good people of Calgary, and it wasn’t just because of the colour of their skin. Their lack of clothing and lithe, sultry, almost irresistible physiques questioned the morals of a city still struggling to find its identity.
“They’re naked,” Sarah Iley, the City of Calgary’s Manager of Culture, deftly pointed out. “This was apparently a source of much anguish when it was originally installed. And people were shocked and appalled and thought it was disgraceful.”
There were riots in the streets. There were protests. But the supporters of the Brotherhood stood just as tall as their bronzed heroes and refused to give in to bigotry. Calgary was dragged, kicking and screaming, into a halcyon era of love and acceptance.
“And now we even think that they relate to each other,” Calgary art curator Katherine Ylitalo explained. “We think one is a female and has some sort of relationship with another. It was nothing the artist ever thought of. We’ve constructed this whole narrative.”
These days Calgarians are fiercely proud of the bare-bottomed Brothers – much as Vancouverians are of their own collection of oversized nudists. As further proof of their progressive nature, there’s even a rudie-nudie Big Head just up the road. Well, it’s not wearing a hat, so is pretty much naked.
In keeping with the spirit of the piece, your friend, the inimitable Bigs Bardot, stripped off and pranced around with the Brothers on a crisp Alberta morning. Although I enjoyed myself immensely, I received some negative feedback from the local homeless population, so have chosen to pop up a more family-friendly selection of photos.
Listen up, pardner. If you’re planning to pinch a caravan from Airdrie, north of Calgary, think again. Western Wayne, a 30-foot cowboy with a huge hat and a mean disposition, guards the Western RV caravan shop… and this Big shoots first and asks questions later!
Wearing a tough-guy snarl reminiscent of a young Sam Elliott, Wayne’s towered over Alberta’s desolate prairies for decades. He’s impossible to miss, fun to take photos with, and just so dadgum full of character.
Despite his bad boy swagger, this Canadian casanova is a much-loved member of the community. With clothes made of cotton and a moustache made of machismo, this son of the soil is here to chew tobacco and break hearts… and he’s all out of tobacco!
Wayne’s also the biggest fan of the Calgary Flames hockey team around – literally! Lately he’s been sporting their crimson sporting blouse, with opposition fans risking a shot from an oversized Colt 45 if they stop by. Thankfully, the only thing Wayne fired at this lifelong Kansas City Scouts fan was a gruff smile.
Although he never seems to age and has been lovingly maintained by his owners, Wayne can be a forgetful chap. He left his Hat n’ Boots in Seattle after a particularly raucous evening with the Fremont Troll. We’ve all been there! Don’t worry, because this desperado has plenty of padres to look out for him.
He looks like a lone ranger, but Wayne’s assembled an intimidating posse in Airdrie. A few burly bears, a massive motorbike, and a super scary Shrek statue all live at the RV shop. Not surprisingly, Wayne also has a big cock… oi, stop giggling! I’m talking about the sizeable rooster standing off to his right. That’s one of the biggest peckers I’ve seen in months!
No Wayne, no gain!
Long before he became a proud Canuck, this king-sized Cowboy roamed the plains of the United States. He first appeared in Idaho during the 1950s, protecting the Spokane Interstate Fair from cattle rustlers and injuns.
“He was on the fairgrounds down in Spokane for about 30 years,” Brandon ‘Keith’ Urban, operations manager and part owner of Western RV, told a dumbfounded reporter. “Naturally, a 30-foot-tall cowboy, I’m sure he was the star of the show – he was a big part of the fair down in Idaho.”
With peace returned to the town, Wayne turned his attention to Idaho’s burgeoning fashion industry, taking up residence in front of a westernwear store in trendy Coeur d’Alene. His freshly-pressed shirts and super-cute slacks lured trendy cowpokes in their droves for two decades.
Then the world changed. The kids were more interested in baggy jeans and revealing mesh singlets than hard-wearing, all-weather ponchos, and the boutique closed. Wayne’s gruff fashion advice was no longer needed.
“The store was liquidating all of their assets and a friend of our family was down in Idaho and spotted the cowboy for sale,” Urban explained. “They suggested it’d be a great iconic figure to be perched out front of Western RV.
“This was around the time when we were building the dealership in Airdrie and wanted to stand out, so we purchased Western Wayne in 2000 and he has stood out front of the dealership ever since then.”
Sales, understandably, quadrupled overnight. It’s a common phenomena, with similar results at car yards holding Lefty the Pink Buffalo, the Big Oyster and the Mini Harbour Bridge. If only Big Things had such an effect on the popularity of my Bumble profile.
Wayne’s World
These days Wayne is as much an icon of Alberta as mullet haircuts and Bret ‘The Hitman’ Hart.
“As any city grows, the landmarks that have been fixtures in that city kind of grow with it,” Mr Urban exhaled. “You can look at any city – the Calgary Tower has been an iconic landmark in Calgary for many years – and although Airdrie has the water tower, it doesn’t have any other types of towers or iconic symbols.
“I’d argue that the cowboy, he’s right up there. He’d be in the top five.”
Wayne’s certainly earning his keep. I popped into Western RV for a quick photo op and a cup of their famous coffee, and drove out of there with a brand new 2022 CrossRoads RV Hampton trailerwith a full kitchen, fireplace, home cinema and rose cold finishings.
Sure, some might argue that a 41-foot-long wagon capable of sleeping eight robust travellers is a bit much for a single gent who largely shuns human interaction, but Western Wayne is a helluva salesman – yeeeeehaw!
A note from the inimitable Bigs Bardot: You might be wondering why Land of the Bigs correspondent, and legendary cowpoke, Biggie the Kid wasn’t there to meet Western Wayne. Unfortunately Biggie has been banned for life from entering Canada after a well-intentioned encounter with Shania Twain went awry. It’s probably for the best – Airdrie ain’t big enough for two of ’em!
Canada’s Big Things just get curiouser and curiouser! Wonderland is a real head-turner, standing necks to the remarkable Bow building in downtown Calgary. It was unveiled in 2012 by Spanish sculptor Jaume Plensa – an artist who openly admits to having a big head.
The cheeky bent-wire masterpiece is an incr-head-able 12 metres tall, with two openings for ear-ger visitors to walk through. Wonderland seems to morph and transform as one ventures through it, inspiring reflection upon our own bodies. Who nose what you’ll see when you venture inside?
Commissioned by natural gas companies Encana and Cenovus, Wonderland is certainly not a load of hot air. Admission is free, so you won’t have to buy a ticket off a scalper.
The inspiration for this whimsi-skull sculpture was, supposedly, a beautiful Spanish girl who Jaume met during one magical summer in the slums of Madrid. Apparently she professed her love for him, but Jaume was able to see right through her.
There’s noggin else like Wonderland, so don’t miss this bonce-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the giant head.
What a Jackass!
Wonderland made headlines around the world in 2014, when controversial Jackass star Steve-O clambered to the top and had to be rescued with a crane-ium.
“Why would they put this awesome jungle gym right in downtown Calgary if they didn’t want me to climb to the top?” Steve quipped afterwards. The childish prank proved to be a real headache for Calgarians, however.
“We want art that people can enjoy and get close to and that’s the wonderful thing about Wonderland,” an enraged Councillor Druh Farrell spat afterwards. “You can go inside it and see a completely different perspective and the last thing we want to do is to block people off.”
Steve-O’s been a casual acquaintance of mine since meeting at a bedazzling class a few years ago, so I picked up the phone to give him a piece of my mind.
“Let’s face the facts, Steve-O, that was a brainless act,” I blared. “You know it was the tongue thing to do and few things could ec-lips your stupidity. Pull your head in, mate.”
The Hollywood tough guy was quiet for the longest time as he processed my harsh, yet fair, criticism. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully.
“You’re right, Bigs,” a bashful Steve-O mumbled. “Not only were my actions an insult to the hard work and dedication of Jaume Plensa, but also an affront to Big Thing fanatics across the globe. I should have taken the opportunity to contemplate the architecture of my own physical being and the role of gender in the modern art and commercial realms during this transitional phase of western society.”
I just nodded. It warms my heart to see miscreants evolving into valuable and self-aware members of the community.
“Are we still on for rollerblading next weekend?” the thrillseeker asked timidly.
“Yes, Steve-O,” I replied. “But climb any more Big Things and you can forget about getting ice cream afterwards.”
A word of warning
As I was strutting my stuff for the cameras, a burly security guard bailed me up and demanded to know whether I was going to profit from the happy snaps I was taking. Apparently doing so is illegal, punishable by death.
“Only a real bad egg would try to profit from a Big Thing,” I snapped at her. “Land of the Bigs is a non-profit organisation dedicated to chronicling and preserving the world’s beautiful roadside attractions. Shame on you for thinking I’d try to make even a single cent from Wonderland.”
Hopefully she doesn’t subscribe to my OnlyFans account!
The time is ripe to visit Abbotsford, the Raspberry Capital of Canada! There you’ll find a quintet of ravishing, robust, rubenesque Raspberries red-dy to roll into your heart.
The Giant Raspberries were created by local artist Manjit Sandhu and sprouted out of the verdant British Columbian soil in late 2011. They decorate a roundabout a few minutes west of town where, not surprisingly, there’s been a surge in major car accidents in recent years.
These blushing beauties are certainly stem-pressive atop their 65-foot vine, and are sure to make you rasp in delight. I felt berry small indeed when standing next to them! The Giant Raspberries were built for just $52,000 which, with the rising cost of living, will soon be less than an actual bunch of raspberries.
The Giant Raspberries are the shining centrepiece of Abbotsford’s annual BerryFest. The highlight of the Candian social calendar, this agricultural extravaganza celebrates raspberries, blueberries and strawberries in equal measure. Food trucks, cider carts, a car show and a super scary zipline are just some of the attractions on offer during the three-day bonanza.
There’s even a raspberry-themed bake-off, with the winner being widely lauded as a national hero and paraded through the streets of Vancouver. What a rasp-ectacle!
She wore a Giant Raspberries beret The kind you find in an Abbotsford store Giant Raspberries beret And if it was warm she wouldn’t wear much more Giant Raspberries beret I think I love her
I was fortunate to be a guest of honour at the most recent iteration of BerryFest, along with English actor Matt Berry, Aussie rap supergroup Raspberry Cordial, hard rockers Blueberry Oyster Cult and baseball star Darryl Strawberry.
The crescendo came when we were wheeled out in front of thousands to compete in the famous raspberry pie-eating contest. The ornate trophy, inspired by the Giant Raspberries themselves, was matched only in grandeur by the piles of pies we sat behind.
Peering around at my rivals, I saw fear in their eyes. Matt, who I briefly starred alongside in the popular British comedy Toast of London, has a notoriously fickle appetite and a poor history in competitive eating competitions. His robust sense of humour couldn’t help him here.
The boys from Raspberry Cordial had been ladelling chutney into each other’s gullets only hours earlier, so they obviously weren’t taking things seriously. This would be one Taste Test that would leave them gagging!
The Cult, meanwhile, had taken to smoking their pies and had wandered off to sit cross-legged on the grass, staring at their fingers.
That left only long, tall Darryl, a gifted sportsman with a sad history of steroid abuse during his career. “Don’t worry, Mr Strawberry,” I smirked, “I’m sure there won’t be a drug test after this.”
I was in his head and Darryl didn’t stand a chance. This man had stared down the meanest bowlers in baseball history, but he was nothing compared to the inimitable Bigs Bardot. The three-time World Series winner was reduced to a blubbering mess and the elegant trophy was mine!
Then she turned up.
She wore a Giant Raspberries beret The kind a Hollywood star probably wore Giant Raspberries beret She might’ve worn it in Monster’s Ball, but I’m not sure Giant Raspberries beret I think I love her
The Academy Award slammed down on the table and my blood ran cold. Halle Berry was more beautiful than words can describe, radiating a healthy glow comparable to that of the Giant Raspberries themselves. Raspberry pie coated her scrumptious lips, but Halle was hungry for more.
“I was hoping there’d be some actual competition this year,” Halle humphed, ignoring yours truly as she squirted whipped cream on the raspberry pies in front of her. “Start the timer, Big Mama’s famished.”
Halle Berry must have hollow legs, because she taught us all how to eat that day. Fifteen pies, then 16, 17, 18. She was smashing the sweet treats like she smashes box office records.
“Bigs,” Halle rasped between gluttonous mouthfuls, “I respect your dedication to Big Things and roadside attractions, but today you’re my bitch.”
Collapsing halfway through my 10th pie, the last thing I saw before losing consciousness was Halle reaching over to my pile so that she could keep going.
When I came to several hours later, BerryFest was over for another year. Halle had headed back to Hollywood with the gleaming pie-eating trophy and the respect of Abbotsford’s vibrant competitive eating community. Wiping raspberry-red drool from my chin, I spied something shining in the late afternoon sun.
Halle mustn’t have had room in her satchel for two trophies, and had dumped the one that meant to least to her amongst a pile of wilting raspberries. I grabbed it as a consolation prize to soothe the turmoil of my failure. The Academy Award wasn’t the trophy I wanted, of course, but it was better than nothing.
A gentle reminder to Halle Berry
Halle, babe, whilst we shared a memorable afternoon together and I find you both beautiful and talented, I would appreciate it if you stopped calling me and liking all my posts on Instagram. Sure, I’m flattered, but your behaviour comes across as a little desperate. You know I’m not that way inclined.
What’s better than a half-naked contemporary Chinese artist with a great sense of humour and abs to die for? How about 14 half-naked contemporary Chinese artists with great senses of humour and abs to die for!
A-maze-ing Laughter was created by bonkers Beijing-based artiste Yue Minjin, a chap so pleased with his own appearance that he created over a dozen clones and dropped them off at Vancouver’s English Bay.
See Yue giggle! See Yue wiggle! Gasp in slack-jawed wonder at the spectacle of Yue throwing gang signs into the crisp British Columbian air! Visitors of all shapes and sizes enjoy frollicking with the Yue-mongous stat-Yues, each of which is three metres tall and weighs over 250kg.
A-maze-ing Laughter is a stunning artwork thats’s both delightfully interactive and surprisingly thought-provoking. The bronzed boys are often dressed in fancy clothes during holidays, and are as much a part of the city’s rich culture as Digital Orca and the World’s Tallest Tin Soldier.
Yue’s built a career on, well, himself. His most famous piece is a collection of photos of his cheery head with different hats on. Another painting depicts three naked Yues wrestling. There’s also a masterpiece that features Noah’s Ark, but with all the animals replaced by chuckling Yues. That’s versatility!
But things aren’t always as jolly as they seem. “A smile doesn’t necessarily mean happiness,” Yue once told a gathering of beret-wearing art critics. “It could be something else.”
Despite Yue’s ominous message, I wasted no time defrocking for a series of playful photos with the statues. The last time I had this much fun with a large group of half-naked Asian men was during my infamous ‘lost weekend’ in Pattaya in the mid-90s.
Laughter is the best med-Yue-cin
If you think Yue looks like a happy chappie, that’s because he was laughing all the way to the bank with this work of art. A-maze-ing Laughter was intended as a temporary display when it was installed in 2009, but proved so popular that the city of Vanc-Yue-ver decided they really, really wanted to keep it.
Yue, who runs against Chinese stereotypes by being obsessed with money, asked for a cool $5 million – or $357,142.86 for each Mega-Me. Vancouver was a city divided – those intelligent and progressive enough to see that 14 statues of a grinning Asian gentleman were exactly what Canadians needed to spur them on to a new era of prosperity and greatness, and idiots who thought the money could be better spent on hospitals and schools and stuff like that.
Tragically, the Boomers won and the city asked Yue to come and pick up his statues. Having just moved into a 25-square-foot studio apartment in the trendy Sanlitun neighbourhood of Beijing, and with his enviable collection of fedoras taking up much of his limited storage space, Yue was forced the people of Vancouver an offer they couldn’t refuse; $1.5 million for the lot.
The deal was made and, finally, the people of Vancouver were able to call this extraordinary example of modern cynical realism their own. Alright, so the Canucks will still have to live with a few less teachers, nurses and firemen, but I think you’ll agree it’s worth it.
Anyone who’s been the lucky recipient of a toothy grin from a Chinaman knows it’s impossible not to smile back – so it’s no wonder Vancouver is such a happy little place to visit!
There’s a killer on the loose at the Vancouver waterfront, but nobody’s blubbering about it!
Looking like he’s jumped out of a 1980s video game and into your heart, Digital Orca was created by the dashing Douglas Coupland and made a splash when fin-stalled in 2009. Flanked by the pristine waters of Vancouver Harbour and framed by the majestic North Shore Mountains, there are few more captivatingly unique Big Things.
This extra-orca-nary example of urban art strikes a delicate balance between surrealism and hyperrealism. He’s at once an echo from pre-colonial times, and glimpse into an uncertain future. Shunning the sensual curves normally associated with waterborne mammals, this blocky brute proves it’s hip to be square.
The art world has long been fascinated by whales, with the wood-and steel Nala in Hervey Bay and the quirky Moby Big in Port Stephens. I think the three of them should get together and start a podcast!
Best of all, admission is free, Willy!
Electronic Light Orca-stra
Digital Orca is a playful chap who seems to be having a whale of a time, but Coupland – author of emotionally-taxing novels Shampoo Planet and All Families Are Psychotic – sees more in this whale.
“The Digital Orca sculpture breaks down a three-dimensional Orca whale into cubic pixels – making a familiar symbol of the West Coast become something unexpected and new,” Dougie ranted. “This use of natural imagery modified by technology bridges the past to the future.
“It speaks to the people and activities that created Vancouver’s thriving harbour culture, while addressing the massive changes reshaping the BC economy. The sculpture’s metal construction and lighting components evoke the daily moods of the harbour and the diversity of those who work there.”
I’m not sure things are as black and white as that, Dougie!
An orca-ward situation with Baxter the Wonderdog
Digital Orca has become a favourite spot for social media influencers to take digital photos, none more so than Baxter the Wonderdog.
This handsome havapoo has gained a legion of admirers by mimicking Digital Orca’s playful posture. He’s considered royalty in Canada, enjoying a celebrity status comparable to my own in Australia.
Upon discovering the world’s foremost expert on Big Things was in their midst, the Vancouver Tourism Board organised a promotional photography session with myself, Baxter and Digital Orca. What seemed like a dream come true soon became a nightmare, however. Baxter’s exuberant prancing and luscious fur captured the imagination of the gathered crowd, who were soon whipped into a frenzy.
My own rhythmic thrusts were largely ignored, as the crowd trampled over me to get closer to Baxter. Everything was ‘Baxter this’ and ‘Baxter that’ and ‘You won’t believe what Baxter just did!’ My advertised lecture on the cultural significance of Digital Orca and his influence over the concept of the digital nomad’ was forgotten. The key to the city I’d been promised tossed into a bin.
Even the sumptuous Japanese-and-Mexican fusion feast that had been laid out for lunch was dumped in a cheap plastic bowl and fed to Baxter who, I suspect, failed to recognise the cultural significance of of what he was eating. I left in tears as Digital Orca and Baxter the Wonderdog posed before the world’s media.
Sadly, this wasn’t the first time I’ve been upstaged by a dog, nor, I fear, shall it be the last.
This is not a drill! Please drop everything and make your way to the PetSmart store in north-eastern Vancouver. I repeat this is not a drill! What you’ll find when you reach the designated assembly point is a drill, however – The Big Drill Bit!
Don’t ask me why a pet shop has a gargantuan gimlet out the front. The Canadians are a quirky bunch who shirk cultural norms, so I guess it makes sense to them. There’s probably a hardware shop somewhere with a big dog out the front. That’s just how they roll.
Putting a new twist on urban art, the Big Drill is the centrepiece of a shopping complex designed to reinvigorate a run-down corner of the city – much as the Tin Soldier has done in New Westminster. The designers had wanted to feature the complete power drill, but couldn’t find an extension cord long enough.
The Big Drill Bit lives amongst some overgrown hedges by a busy road, and it’s not uncommon to see revheads tooling around in front of it. An afternoon with this silver fox is a drill-a-minute experience, and certainly not boring!
Screw, Me and Dupree
Draping myself around the Big Drill Bit’s voluptuous curves for an erotic selfie, I noticed a slender figure with a mop of shaggy blonde hair heading my way. At first I thought it was my old chum Ellen DeGeneres, whose Emmy Award-winning daytime chat show I’d been a recurring guest of for several years.
Once I saw the crooked nose and effeminate mannerisms, however, I realised it wasn’t Ellen DeGeneres at all.
“Hey, guy, you know what this reminds me of? The comedy classic Drillbit Taylor,” the character ranted. “Highly underrated movie with a standout performance by… gosh darn it, what was his name? Handsome man, exceptional actor.”
“Owen Wilson?”
“Owen Wilson, that’s right! Geez, how could I forget Owen Wilson? He’s been in a range of blockbusters such as Zoolander and Wedding Crashers, as well as the critically-acclaimed arthouse films Midnight in Paris and The Royal Tenenbaums. That just goes to show that, not only is Owen a bankable star, but he also possesses the emotional range and comic timing to rank him amongst the greatest actors of his generation.”
I rolled my eyes, realising that my relaxing afternoon with The Big Drill Bit had come to a premature end. “You’re Owen Wilson, aren’t you?”
“Yes sir, I am.”
“And you hang out by the Big Drill Bit so that you can remind people that you were in the forgettable 2008 film Drillbit Taylor?”
“Correctamundo, and that ‘forgettable film’ earned $49.7 million at the box office.”
“Against a production budget of $40 million, Owen, meaning it was both a commercial and critical failure. Twenty-seven percentage fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Twenty-six, but Rotten Tomatoes is notoriously inaccurate for movies predating its ascent into the cultural zeitgeist.”
“I have a feeling it’s quite accurate in this instance, Owen.”
Drillbit Failure
Owen Wilson’s obsession with Drillbit Taylor didn’t make for riveting conversation, so I packed up my camera gear as a gentle prompt for him to leave. He may be a charming actor, but Owen Wilson obviously struggles to read social cues, as he just kept on blabbering.
“So, I was thinking I could play you, the inimitable Bigs Bardot, in the film adaptation of Land of the Bigs.”
“Owen, please, you’re embarrassing yourself,” I sighed “You know that Channing Tatum has already been cast.”
Owen Wilson’s shoulders slumped, and he buried his face within the Big Drill Bit’s killer curves so that I wouldn’t see the tears in his aquamarine eyes.
“Maybe I could play the role of Owen Wilson in the part where you visit the Big Drillbit.”
“Again, Owen, you know that role has already been filled by your more talented sibling.”
“Rebel Wilson?”
“Yes, Rebel Wilson.”
Oh, Mr Wilson!
The sight of Owen Wilson weeping openly by the side of a highway on a wet Canadian afternoon will haunt me until my final days. He was just a handsome, multi-millionaire playboy trying to make it through this harsh world, and my heart went out to him.
Cradling Owen in my brawny arms, I brushed his blond mop out of his eyes and planted a reassuring kiss on his forehead.
“You know, Owen,” I said against my better judgement, “we haven’t cast anyone to play the Big Potato yet.”
“Bigs, Owen Wilson gasped, rising to his feet and thrusting lewdly towards the traffic, “this will be the best $20 million you ever spent.
“Have your people talk to my people, baby. Now Bigs, I’d love to stand here all day talking about my illustrious career, but I have to go to the DVD launch of my latest heartwarming romantic comedy.”
“Marry Me?”
“Well, we’ve just met, but gosh darn, let’s do it!”
And that, dear reader, is the story of my brief-yet-tumultuous marriage to Hollywood bad boy Owen Wilson.
Whilst the days of horned warriors raping and pillaging their way through the suburbs of Vancouver are largely behind us, one nordic bad boy still strikes terror into the hearts of those who oppose him.
Thankfully The Viking, who guards the entrance to the prestigious Burnaby North Secondary School, saves his rage for any child foolish enough to compete against the local football team. It’s not uncommon for a 14-year-old tough guy to be ‘suddenly’ struck down by a mysterious illness after an encounter with the intimidating mascot, his remaining teammates too rattled to even put their sporting leotards on the right way.
The Viking is more bark than bite, however, as it’s difficult to go on a murderous rampage without arms, legs or a torso. What he does have is quite wonderful, though – sixteen glorious feet of heavy metal, historically-inaccurate (and health code-violating) horns and attitude by the snekkja-load. He even boasts a hyper-realistic beard crafted from individual strands of steel wire!
Does he make you horny, baby?
The age of the Viking began in 1987, when shop teacher John Clarke started tossing around ideas to inspire his lethargic metalworking students, who were more interested in playing with their Game Boys than learning important life skills.
Burnaby’s football team was an absolute disgrace at the time, so John – a self-confessed Big Thing tragic – decided to get his boys to weld an enormous helmet to inspire the squad to greatness.
The students took to the task with such gusto that John told them to start building the rest of the Viking. More than 80 busy little boys and girls worked on the enormous norseman but, heartbreakingly, the allure of Super Mario and friends proved irresistible, and the project unravelled. The Viking lay half-finished and full of rage behind a pile of old textbooks until John sequestered him to his workshop to finish the job.
There, beneath the quivering light of the silvery moon, John and a motley crew of former students and general well-wishers worked diligently on the epic task. Finally, in 1994, he was unleashed upon the unsuspecting community. Much like the bloodthirsty, depraved warriors he was modelled after, this Viking was a divisive character – but was ready to maraud his way into the hearts of millions.
Sadly, he’s not to everyone’s viking…
The bigoted hatespeech plundered in just moments after the Viking was erected. In a disgraceful display of white fragility not seen since the Battle of Assandun in 1016, a vile raid was declared on the very culture of north-eastern Vancouver. Burnaby was a suburb divided.
“I opened the door this morning, and there it was, this big, black thing that reminded me of the devil,” a local creepazoid named Louie blathered to the school in a rambling and, at times, borderline racist phone call. “I’m appalled by that ugly monument and concerned that it will impact the value of the trailer I live in.”
In an unlikely twist, it was Burnaby’s burgeoning Asian community who came to the rescue. A family only known as The Wongs rallied the community. Impassioned pleas to customers at their positively-reviewed Chinese restaurant and regular disruptions of local traffic followed.
“Does he not recognise and understand the degree of hard work, commitment and pride that these students poured into the statue?” The Wongs pleaded. “The Viking is a magnificent piece of art and this Louie character should be ashamed of himself. Don’t bother coming in for our two-for-one chow mein special, available between 4pm and 6pm Mondays through Thursdays.”
I guess that goes to prove that two Wongs do indeed make a right!
Raiders on the storm…
This terrifying titan isn’t out of the woods yet, though. He almost sailed off to Valhalla when the school was replaced in 2022, and there have been calls from the blue hair set to replace him with something less masculine.
May I suggest a fifty-foot fire-breathing robot made out of old trucks and military helicopters, that blasts Guns ‘n’ Roses 24/7 and shoots beer and fishing tackle out of a doodle made from VHS cassettes of old Hulk Hogan wrestling matches – because that would STILL be less macho than a gigantic metal Viking!
Ah, Canadians, they’re so nice, eh! Just look at the charming grin and snappy tunic on the World’s Tallest Tin Soldier, who is about as far from an unbridled killing machine as you can get.
Couldn’t you just pinch those chubby cheeks!
Standing chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in and 9.75 metres tall, this tin-credible specimen wears size 60 E27 boots and weighs an astonishing 4,540 kilograms. No wonder he’s wearing such old-fashioned clothing – the Canadian Army can’t find a uniform to fit him!
The supersized serviceman is based on a replica of a Sergeant Major of the Royal Engineers Columbia Detachment. He was diligently designed and expertly manufactured by the Sheet Metal Workers International Association and the BC Sheet Metal Association. They even placed a time capsule deep within his tender heart.
The World’s Tallest Tin Soldier first showed up for duty outside the Royal Westminster Regiment on November 29, 2000. He was redeployed to his current location beside the bustling River Market on February 14, 2002.
Oh, what a Valentines Day that must have been for the grizzled fishermen and cargo handlers of the quay! Who wouldn’t like to come home from a long, sweaty day at sea and collapse into the loving arms of a gorgeous toy boy?
Guiness Worlds Records wasted no time bestowing upon him the much-coveted title of World’s Tallest Tin Man. It is, to this day, considered the greatest achievement in Canadian history.
I love a man in uniform!
Drenched with rain, splattered with mud and swatting off the perils of frostbite, I felt like a brigadier in the Battle of Horseshoe Bay as I marched towards the World’s Tallest Tin Soldier.
Oh, yes the young men who were brutally slaughtered during that depraved encounter had it rough. But, had they lived very, very long lives, they could not have expected, nor would they have wished to see, as much of the mad and macabre as I saw that day in New Westminster that day. Because the weather was pretty bad and I barely had a chance to pop out of the cafe between sips of my peach and cinnamon oolong tea to take some photos.
It’s a sacrifice that I’m willing to make in order to serve you, dear lover of Big Things. Lest you forget.
It was worth getting wet, however, because the Tin Soldier is wonderful! He’s perfectly positioned for a happy snap, very well maintained, and absolutely massive. Honestly, if I had to decide between a world without war and a world without the Big Tin Soldier, I’d make up my mind in a heartbeat.
Everything, sadly, is bigger in Texas
The World’s Tallest Tin Soldier may be a peaceful chap, but it seems like he has a fight on his hands. You see, there’s another Tin Soldier in Waco, Texas with a valid claim to being the world’s most statuesque metallic warrior. He’s a tin-spirational 24.384 from boots to bonnet, or around two-and-a-half times the size of this crimson cutie.
As a refurbished incinerator – known, appropriately enough, as the Tincinerator – that legionnaire’s not quite as handsome. But wars are rarely decided by which army is the most adorable, and so I have to go over the heads of the team at Guinness World Records and declare him the tallest on the planet.
The Canadians won’t like it, of course, but this is something I’m willing to fight and die for.
