In a harrowing twist to Britain’s most overlooked scandal, beloved glove puppet Orvil has come forward with shocking allegations of prolonged grooming and systematic puppeteering, stating he was “fisted into silence” for decades.
Orvil, best known for his lime green plumage and nervous stammer, rose to fame alongside ventriloquist Keith Harris in the 1980s, a partnership now mired in murky allegations, latex trauma and the suspicious smell of TCP.
“I always said I wished I could fly,” croaked Orvil in an emotionally charged press conference held from a shoebox in Number One Riverside. “But instead I spent thirty years with a man’s hand up my arse.”
While the nation watched him sing, dance and get forcibly dunked in bathtubs on primetime TV, few knew the horror that lay beneath the felt. “Every gig ended the same,” Orvil said, blinking slowly. “Back in the case. Zip. Darkness. The occasional moth.”
Legal experts are now scrambling to understand how the Puppets’ Union failed to act on the years of visible manipulation. A leaked report suggests that Sooty and Sweep were also interviewed, but refused to testify without legal protection and a biscuit.
PAGUK’s Billy Howarth fighting daily to keep children and young people safe, despite having his own children placed in care himself, has slammed this as another violent act that he believes ‘this is another example of the council failing residents’ and ‘letting them get away with it’.
Meanwhile, Orvil’s revelations have rocked the nostalgia industry, prompting the BBC to suspend repeats of classic children’s programming until they’ve “reviewed all episodes for excessive wristwork”.
Downing Street has yet to comment, though a junior minister was overheard muttering “we’re just glad it wasn’t The Sooty Show as we need them for Red Nose Day”.
Back down the M62, Rochdale locals gathered in solemn confusion outside the pet shop, laying tributes of feathers, string, and novelty eyeballs.
As for Orvil, he says he’s ready to begin a new life, free from the suffocating grip of variety television and the traumatic scent of ventriloquist talc. “I’m just hoping to flap on my own terms,” he said, before being gently blown into a wheelie bin by a passing gust.
