Sunday 10 July 2011
Saturday 9 July 2011
Ooooooo! Tales from the crypt! Oooooooo!
The old castle stood on the edge of the mountain, overlooking a deep ravine. I arrived at the door in darkness, where I was greeted by the manservant, Piles.
'Welcome, sir,' he said. 'I'll show you to your quarters.'
'How many quarters are there?' I asked.
'Two,' replied the old man.
'Then that's a half. You're showing me to my half.'
'Very good sir,' he said as he picked up my bag and led the way along the corridor.
There was something unusual about his manner. It may have been the slow, laboured way he walked, or it may have been the way that he tried to diguise his baldness by strapping a side of beef to his head, but something wasn't quite right.
'Your half, sir,' he said as he opened the door.
It was a grand half, I had to give it to him; a grand, ornate fireplace loomed over the opposite wall, with a stuffed owl, its wings spread stared down from above as if to say, 'Look at these wings I've got here.'
'Dinner will be served in the great hall in an hour, my master will wait for you there,' said Piles. 'In the meantime, I shall leave you to relax, sir.'
'Thank you, Piles,' I said, taking about a pound note and stuffing it in his g-string.
As the old man servant shuffled back down the corridor, I took out my correspondence and looked at it again. I still wasn't sure about this.
A month previously I had received a telegram from a Count Pigboot, a wealthy aristocrat living in isolation in a castle deep within the Transylvanian mountains. He had heard of my reputation as an accountant for the rich and powerful of London and was requesting my services. Normally, I wouldn't undertake such a journey for a client, but the Count was offering such a bountiful wage that I couldn't afford not to.
I bid my darling Isabella goodbye and began the journey into Transylvania, the last leg of which was completed in a horse-drawn carriage. When I went to pay the driver at the end of the trip, I noticed that he had hooks for hands and rawl plugs for ears, and I knew from then that this was a dark and disturbing place.
After composing a letter to Isabella I went to the grand hall, where Count Pigboot was already sitting at the head of a large, oak table. He was a most frightful creature; with white hair that sprouted wildly from his temples and long bony hands that sprouted wildly from his sleeves.
'Ah, Mr Rathbone, welcome,' he said with a dastardly smile. 'I trust Piles made you feel comfortable.'
'Quite the opposite,' I said. 'I usually have to sit on a doughnut for weeks.' Always start with a joke.
I sat at the table and looked at Pigboot. He fixed me with a steely glare, his mouth still fixed into a rigid grin.
'Now Mr Rathbone, down to business,' he said. 'I want you to be the lifeblood of my organisation.'
'OK,' I said.
'Because previous employees didn't have enough bite,' he continued.
'OK,' I said.
'In fact, you might say they... sucked,' he said, grinning at me through his sharp teeth.
'Are you a vampire?' I asked.
'Yes,' he replied.
'I don't think I'll bother then,' I said.
'Really?' he replied. 'Why not?'
'Well, you seem like a nice man, but I'd be too busy worrying about whether you were going to bite me or not and you really wouldn't get my best work for that reason,' I explained.
'Fair enough,' he said sounding disappointed. 'Will you stay tonight, before you head back?'
'I'd better not,' I said. 'I'll just go to the Travelodge down the road.' And with that, I left and checked in at said Travelodge. The room was adequate but the staff could have been a bit more friendly. I was also quite disappointed with the breakfast selection, and felt it wasn't worth what I paid. Overall, I'd give it a 3/5.
'Welcome, sir,' he said. 'I'll show you to your quarters.'
'How many quarters are there?' I asked.
'Two,' replied the old man.
'Then that's a half. You're showing me to my half.'
'Very good sir,' he said as he picked up my bag and led the way along the corridor.
There was something unusual about his manner. It may have been the slow, laboured way he walked, or it may have been the way that he tried to diguise his baldness by strapping a side of beef to his head, but something wasn't quite right.
'Your half, sir,' he said as he opened the door.
It was a grand half, I had to give it to him; a grand, ornate fireplace loomed over the opposite wall, with a stuffed owl, its wings spread stared down from above as if to say, 'Look at these wings I've got here.'
'Dinner will be served in the great hall in an hour, my master will wait for you there,' said Piles. 'In the meantime, I shall leave you to relax, sir.'
'Thank you, Piles,' I said, taking about a pound note and stuffing it in his g-string.
As the old man servant shuffled back down the corridor, I took out my correspondence and looked at it again. I still wasn't sure about this.
A month previously I had received a telegram from a Count Pigboot, a wealthy aristocrat living in isolation in a castle deep within the Transylvanian mountains. He had heard of my reputation as an accountant for the rich and powerful of London and was requesting my services. Normally, I wouldn't undertake such a journey for a client, but the Count was offering such a bountiful wage that I couldn't afford not to.
I bid my darling Isabella goodbye and began the journey into Transylvania, the last leg of which was completed in a horse-drawn carriage. When I went to pay the driver at the end of the trip, I noticed that he had hooks for hands and rawl plugs for ears, and I knew from then that this was a dark and disturbing place.
After composing a letter to Isabella I went to the grand hall, where Count Pigboot was already sitting at the head of a large, oak table. He was a most frightful creature; with white hair that sprouted wildly from his temples and long bony hands that sprouted wildly from his sleeves.
'Ah, Mr Rathbone, welcome,' he said with a dastardly smile. 'I trust Piles made you feel comfortable.'
'Quite the opposite,' I said. 'I usually have to sit on a doughnut for weeks.' Always start with a joke.
I sat at the table and looked at Pigboot. He fixed me with a steely glare, his mouth still fixed into a rigid grin.
'Now Mr Rathbone, down to business,' he said. 'I want you to be the lifeblood of my organisation.'
'OK,' I said.
'Because previous employees didn't have enough bite,' he continued.
'OK,' I said.
'In fact, you might say they... sucked,' he said, grinning at me through his sharp teeth.
'Are you a vampire?' I asked.
'Yes,' he replied.
'I don't think I'll bother then,' I said.
'Really?' he replied. 'Why not?'
'Well, you seem like a nice man, but I'd be too busy worrying about whether you were going to bite me or not and you really wouldn't get my best work for that reason,' I explained.
'Fair enough,' he said sounding disappointed. 'Will you stay tonight, before you head back?'
'I'd better not,' I said. 'I'll just go to the Travelodge down the road.' And with that, I left and checked in at said Travelodge. The room was adequate but the staff could have been a bit more friendly. I was also quite disappointed with the breakfast selection, and felt it wasn't worth what I paid. Overall, I'd give it a 3/5.
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Dinomania!
I bet if dinosaurs hadn't been made extinct, people would be much more cavalier about having their heads chewed off.
Cist!
I bet if your last name was Cist, you wouldn't name your kid Ray. But then, come on, whose last name is Cist? I'm sorry I ever brought it up.
Sunday 19 June 2011
My new stand-up routine
As I am getting nowhere fast with this one-liner malarkey, I have decided to change my act to make it more attractive to audiences, industry people and the Head of Comedy at Channel 5 (is there one? Someone look into that for me)
Hey guys! Now, I know what you're thinking; he is the bastard lovechild of Julia Somerville who used to read the news, and backbench Tory MP Christopher Pincher. (Pause for laughter and applause)
You know, I'm having some problems in my relationship recently. What it is, is that my partner doesn't want to be with me anymore because of my debilitating coke habit! (Pause for more laughter)
So she threw me out of the house, and I was walking down the road, when a man went past me on a bike, whilst wearing a karate outfit! What could that mean? Do you think he was maybe cycling to karate club, or something a bit more wacky?
"Hey, Bruce Lee!" I yelled at him, but he had already cycled at quite a pace and was out of earshot. See, the thing you should know about me is, I am actually a racist. (Pause for 'Oh my God, I can't believe what I'm hearing' laughter)
Yeah, I am actually a member of the Ku Klux Klan. (Carry on quickly so no wiseguys can point put that we don't have a KKK in this country) And I kind of embarrassed myself! I put my red undies in the wash with my robe! I know, I know! It was so embarrassing! I forgot to separate the whites!
It is at this point that I pause to allow for the MASSIVE laughs this punchline would create in the audience, who are by now so into my performance that they would all marry me. But then, I toy with their affections and play with their expectations of what stand-up comedy should be as I begin to deconstruct the art form.
So yeah, I'm standing here on stage, telling jokes. In my trousers. Telling those jokes in my trousers. Standing on this stage; wearing these trousers telling these jokes. Wearing my joke trousers. That's what I call them, because I wear them whilst telling jokes. And standing on stage. My stage joke trousers. That's what I call them because I wear them whilst standing on stage and telling jokes. In a comedy club. My stage joke comedy club trousers. That's what I call them because I wear them whilst standing on stage, telling jokes in a comedy club.
Now, I can tell that you're all looking at my trousers. Because after all, they are my stage joke comedy club trousers. And some of you are checking that my flies are done up. Which they are. I would never be so careless with my stage joke comedy club trousers. And you're probably thinking it would be funny if for some reason, my genitals were to be exposed. You're probably thinking that in your little brains. Your little brains that bob around in your skulls. In some kind of fluid. That's where you're thinking that.
And I think the fact that you're thinking that, in your tiny little brains that bob around in your skulls, in some kind of fluid, is the reason why most modern comedy is rubbish.
Thank you and good night!
I leave the stage to a standing ovation. Some audience members are openly weeping after all their narrow preconceptions of stand-up comedy were brutally torn asunder by the power of my intellect. I stand at the back of the room, basking in the love of the crowd, when a man comes up to me, gives me his card and tells me to call him. I look down at the card, and it says 'Head of Comedy at Channel 5' on it. This is initially very exciting, but then I turn it over and written on that side it says 'Cleaner at Channel 5', which isn't quite as glamorous. But then, it does come in handy when he springs into action, mopping up all the tears the crowd have shed due to my brilliance. And my trousers. My stage joke comedy club making everyone cry trousers.
Hey guys! Now, I know what you're thinking; he is the bastard lovechild of Julia Somerville who used to read the news, and backbench Tory MP Christopher Pincher. (Pause for laughter and applause)
You know, I'm having some problems in my relationship recently. What it is, is that my partner doesn't want to be with me anymore because of my debilitating coke habit! (Pause for more laughter)
So she threw me out of the house, and I was walking down the road, when a man went past me on a bike, whilst wearing a karate outfit! What could that mean? Do you think he was maybe cycling to karate club, or something a bit more wacky?
"Hey, Bruce Lee!" I yelled at him, but he had already cycled at quite a pace and was out of earshot. See, the thing you should know about me is, I am actually a racist. (Pause for 'Oh my God, I can't believe what I'm hearing' laughter)
Yeah, I am actually a member of the Ku Klux Klan. (Carry on quickly so no wiseguys can point put that we don't have a KKK in this country) And I kind of embarrassed myself! I put my red undies in the wash with my robe! I know, I know! It was so embarrassing! I forgot to separate the whites!
It is at this point that I pause to allow for the MASSIVE laughs this punchline would create in the audience, who are by now so into my performance that they would all marry me. But then, I toy with their affections and play with their expectations of what stand-up comedy should be as I begin to deconstruct the art form.
So yeah, I'm standing here on stage, telling jokes. In my trousers. Telling those jokes in my trousers. Standing on this stage; wearing these trousers telling these jokes. Wearing my joke trousers. That's what I call them, because I wear them whilst telling jokes. And standing on stage. My stage joke trousers. That's what I call them because I wear them whilst standing on stage and telling jokes. In a comedy club. My stage joke comedy club trousers. That's what I call them because I wear them whilst standing on stage, telling jokes in a comedy club.
Now, I can tell that you're all looking at my trousers. Because after all, they are my stage joke comedy club trousers. And some of you are checking that my flies are done up. Which they are. I would never be so careless with my stage joke comedy club trousers. And you're probably thinking it would be funny if for some reason, my genitals were to be exposed. You're probably thinking that in your little brains. Your little brains that bob around in your skulls. In some kind of fluid. That's where you're thinking that.
And I think the fact that you're thinking that, in your tiny little brains that bob around in your skulls, in some kind of fluid, is the reason why most modern comedy is rubbish.
Thank you and good night!
I leave the stage to a standing ovation. Some audience members are openly weeping after all their narrow preconceptions of stand-up comedy were brutally torn asunder by the power of my intellect. I stand at the back of the room, basking in the love of the crowd, when a man comes up to me, gives me his card and tells me to call him. I look down at the card, and it says 'Head of Comedy at Channel 5' on it. This is initially very exciting, but then I turn it over and written on that side it says 'Cleaner at Channel 5', which isn't quite as glamorous. But then, it does come in handy when he springs into action, mopping up all the tears the crowd have shed due to my brilliance. And my trousers. My stage joke comedy club making everyone cry trousers.
Sunday 12 June 2011
Accordion
The accordion was my thing. I carried it everywhere I went, and people would often ask me questions about it, like 'Why are you carrying that around, this is a funeral?' And, 'If you're going to carry it with you all the time, how about learning to play something other than the Hokey Cokey?'
But I didn't listen because the accordion was what made me an individual. 'Here comes Accordion Pete,' people would say as they saw me coming. My name isn't Pete but I didn't want to correct them.
One night I was walking down a dark side street with my accordion when a person of ill repute lurched out from the shadows.
'Hands up,' he said, pointing a gun at me.
'Can't,' I replied. 'I'm carrying this accordion.'
With that he shot me and ran away. I braced myself for the searing pain which never came, and I looked down and saw that the bullet had lodged in my accordion, rendering the bellows inoperable. The accordion had saved my life. But what kind of life is it, with no accordion?
But I didn't listen because the accordion was what made me an individual. 'Here comes Accordion Pete,' people would say as they saw me coming. My name isn't Pete but I didn't want to correct them.
One night I was walking down a dark side street with my accordion when a person of ill repute lurched out from the shadows.
'Hands up,' he said, pointing a gun at me.
'Can't,' I replied. 'I'm carrying this accordion.'
With that he shot me and ran away. I braced myself for the searing pain which never came, and I looked down and saw that the bullet had lodged in my accordion, rendering the bellows inoperable. The accordion had saved my life. But what kind of life is it, with no accordion?
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Monday 25 April 2011
Deleted Scenes
Given the appalling infrequency of which I update this site, you'll be surprised to learn that I actually write a blog every single day.
'Every single day?' I hear you cry. 'But where are these blogs, where have you hidden them?'
Well, I can answer that question; you see, I am such a perfectionist and my standards are so stringent, that only the very best blogs are ever seen by the public. But now, in the spirit of Easter time sharing and joy, I will publish excerpts from past unseen blogs for the very first time. Enjoy...
I find it very difficult to pickle an onion without thinking about how much easier it would be to just buy a jar of pre-pickled onions from the supermarket. But this is an obstacle I will have to overcome if I am ever to realise my dream of owning my own onion pickling factory.
- from the blog 'Onions' 19/2/2009
Discotheques are all very well and good, but they'll never replace the experience of a full brass section parping in one's face.
- from the blog 'Bad fart jokes' 2/7/2009
If Shakespeare were alive today, there are many questions I would like to ask him, such as 'How did you live to be so old?'
- from the blog 'Shakespeare in Gloves' 29/11/2009
Why can't I get on the telly? Is it because I don't have big hair, skinny jeans and a tendency to talk about 'random' things that happened to me? Or is it because the bigwigs can't deal with the way I constantly speak in patois?
- from the blog 'The rantings of a struggling, bitter comedian' 3/2/2010
I think what sets me out from the crowd is my keen attention to detial.
- from the blog 'My CV' 5/9/2010
The man told me the only show I'd ever be on was Crimewatch. Which turned out to be true, because after he said that I killed him.
- from the blog 'The rantings of a struggling, bitter comedian part two' 2/12/2010
'Every single day?' I hear you cry. 'But where are these blogs, where have you hidden them?'
Well, I can answer that question; you see, I am such a perfectionist and my standards are so stringent, that only the very best blogs are ever seen by the public. But now, in the spirit of Easter time sharing and joy, I will publish excerpts from past unseen blogs for the very first time. Enjoy...
I find it very difficult to pickle an onion without thinking about how much easier it would be to just buy a jar of pre-pickled onions from the supermarket. But this is an obstacle I will have to overcome if I am ever to realise my dream of owning my own onion pickling factory.
- from the blog 'Onions' 19/2/2009
Discotheques are all very well and good, but they'll never replace the experience of a full brass section parping in one's face.
- from the blog 'Bad fart jokes' 2/7/2009
If Shakespeare were alive today, there are many questions I would like to ask him, such as 'How did you live to be so old?'
- from the blog 'Shakespeare in Gloves' 29/11/2009
Why can't I get on the telly? Is it because I don't have big hair, skinny jeans and a tendency to talk about 'random' things that happened to me? Or is it because the bigwigs can't deal with the way I constantly speak in patois?
- from the blog 'The rantings of a struggling, bitter comedian' 3/2/2010
I think what sets me out from the crowd is my keen attention to detial.
- from the blog 'My CV' 5/9/2010
The man told me the only show I'd ever be on was Crimewatch. Which turned out to be true, because after he said that I killed him.
- from the blog 'The rantings of a struggling, bitter comedian part two' 2/12/2010
Wednesday 20 April 2011
Facebook!
Facebook! Shit! It’s the future! Shit!
It has come to my attention recently that I have been ‘de-friended’ by five people on that Facebook. Five people! Now, to someone with 2000 ‘friends’ on there, that doesn’t make much of a dent, but when you have as few as me, you begin to notice, and begin to question what it is that’s causing people to ‘de-friend’ you.
Is it because I comment on everyone’s status updates with ‘lol’, regardless of whether what they were saying was funny?
Is it because I overuse the affectionate nickname ‘Fats’ when commenting on their photos?
Is it because I insist on telling everyone what I’m doing all the time, including toilet visits?
Well, if they don’t like it, they can go to hell. No, I don’t mean that, I miss them. Especially that one. That one whose status updates were 40% complaining about traffic and 60% thinly veiled homoerotic fantasies about John Barrowman. Take me back! Please!
It has come to my attention recently that I have been ‘de-friended’ by five people on that Facebook. Five people! Now, to someone with 2000 ‘friends’ on there, that doesn’t make much of a dent, but when you have as few as me, you begin to notice, and begin to question what it is that’s causing people to ‘de-friend’ you.
Is it because I comment on everyone’s status updates with ‘lol’, regardless of whether what they were saying was funny?
Is it because I overuse the affectionate nickname ‘Fats’ when commenting on their photos?
Is it because I insist on telling everyone what I’m doing all the time, including toilet visits?
Well, if they don’t like it, they can go to hell. No, I don’t mean that, I miss them. Especially that one. That one whose status updates were 40% complaining about traffic and 60% thinly veiled homoerotic fantasies about John Barrowman. Take me back! Please!
Wednesday 13 April 2011
Me no hablo
I find the British abroad embarrassing. I am personally ashamed that we cannot speak any other languages and expect everyone else to learn ours.
For example, when I was in Spain, this man came up to me and said, 'Hola. Estoy buscando para comprar algunos medicamentos en el área. ¿Sabe usted dónde podría ser capaz de conseguir algo de lo que mi amigo y yo podemos alcanzar un estado químicamente mejorado alucinógenas de la conciencia? Su ayuda en este tema sería muy apreciada ya que todos estamos muy interesados en comprar algunos medicamentos. Tengo sido informóque este es un buen lugar para adquirirlos, pero no estoy seguro del lugar específico a seguir. Además, puede que necesite un cajero automático como tengo algo de dinero en mi poder, pero quizás no lo suficiente para comprar la cantidad de medicamentos que se necesitan. Me han dicho que voy a comprar, ya que es el cumpleaños de mi amigo y será un regalo especial para él. Gracias por su ayuda en este asunto.'
And I had no idea what he was talking about.
For example, when I was in Spain, this man came up to me and said, 'Hola. Estoy buscando para comprar algunos medicamentos en el área. ¿Sabe usted dónde podría ser capaz de conseguir algo de lo que mi amigo y yo podemos alcanzar un estado químicamente mejorado alucinógenas de la conciencia? Su ayuda en este tema sería muy apreciada ya que todos estamos muy interesados en comprar algunos medicamentos. Tengo sido informóque este es un buen lugar para adquirirlos, pero no estoy seguro del lugar específico a seguir. Además, puede que necesite un cajero automático como tengo algo de dinero en mi poder, pero quizás no lo suficiente para comprar la cantidad de medicamentos que se necesitan. Me han dicho que voy a comprar, ya que es el cumpleaños de mi amigo y será un regalo especial para él. Gracias por su ayuda en este asunto.'
And I had no idea what he was talking about.
Tuesday 5 April 2011
Monday 28 March 2011
I bet...
I bet the worst thing about being a dragon is people always asking you for a light. It's like, what am I, your own personal lighter? Use a match. Or better still, give up smoking. God, I'm getting angry just thinking about it.
Thursday 24 March 2011
Things I saw...
I saw a clown get run over. It really made me ponder the absurdity of life. I called an ambulance afterwards, but it was too late. Time sure does fly when you're a-ponderin'.
I saw a spectacular spring time sunset. If you ask me, there's nothing more beautiful than that. But you didn't ask me so forget I even said anything.
I saw a man trying to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together. Man, no wonder he's the cheapest arsonist at the agency.
I saw two guys piling stuff on a donkey, it reminded me of that old board game, the Game of Life. That donkey has lost at the Game of Life.
I saw a dude fall down on the pavement and lie there motionless. 'He must be drunk,' I thought. Later on I walked past again and some ambulance guys were shocking him but he still wasn't moving. I was wrong. He wasn't drunk, he was wasted.
I saw a spectacular spring time sunset. If you ask me, there's nothing more beautiful than that. But you didn't ask me so forget I even said anything.
I saw a man trying to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together. Man, no wonder he's the cheapest arsonist at the agency.
I saw two guys piling stuff on a donkey, it reminded me of that old board game, the Game of Life. That donkey has lost at the Game of Life.
I saw a dude fall down on the pavement and lie there motionless. 'He must be drunk,' I thought. Later on I walked past again and some ambulance guys were shocking him but he still wasn't moving. I was wrong. He wasn't drunk, he was wasted.
Tuesday 22 March 2011
My (rejected) Chortle Correspondents piece
I sent an article into Chortle Correspondents but it has yet to be published, so I've decided to publish it exclusively here. See if you can figure out why it was rejected...
Some things I don't like about comedy by Ben 'Pimpmaster 3000' Davids
What I like most about comedy is the laffs. The laffs are what have kept me going during my years as a stand up alternative comic.
But some people like to laff at things that I’m not so keen on.
Paedos
Racism
I hate racism in all its forms, but there’s some that take it too far. I did a corker about a Chinese bloke sat in the front row and all of a sudden everyone was calling me a racist! I was like, ‘All you Chinese talk weird!’ And he was saying, ‘I’m not even Chinese, I’m German!’ Political correctness gone mad.
Whimsy
I don’t like whimsical comedy very much at all. I saw one bloke going on about fairies and donkey headed people for hours once! I was like, ‘Talk about something we can all relate to, like doing summat on a bus that u wouldn’t normally do on a bus!’ Then they asked me to leave the high school production of a Midsummer Night’s Dream! A JOKE! ALWAYS WORKING!
Sitcoms
Not as funny as they used to be. Too much canned laughter. How do they fit all of it in a can anyway? I reckon you could fit all of the laughter from today’s sitcoms into a proper small can, and then put it at the back of your cupboard until about five years later when you give it to your local primary school for their Harvest festival, and they send it to Africa, and they open it there and some laughter comes out, and they think, ‘Cheeky bastards.’
Some things I don't like about comedy by Ben 'Pimpmaster 3000' Davids
What I like most about comedy is the laffs. The laffs are what have kept me going during my years as a stand up alternative comic.
But some people like to laff at things that I’m not so keen on.
Paedos
They are well shit, but some people think they’re funny. How would you like it if Roman Polanski interfered with you in a sexual way? Not very much I fancy.
Roman Polanski
Racism
I hate racism in all its forms, but there’s some that take it too far. I did a corker about a Chinese bloke sat in the front row and all of a sudden everyone was calling me a racist! I was like, ‘All you Chinese talk weird!’ And he was saying, ‘I’m not even Chinese, I’m German!’ Political correctness gone mad.
A Chinese man
Whimsy
I don’t like whimsical comedy very much at all. I saw one bloke going on about fairies and donkey headed people for hours once! I was like, ‘Talk about something we can all relate to, like doing summat on a bus that u wouldn’t normally do on a bus!’ Then they asked me to leave the high school production of a Midsummer Night’s Dream! A JOKE! ALWAYS WORKING!
Shit
The Fringe
What is the Fringe, eh? What is it? According to Wikipedia , it’s the world’s largest arts festival and runs for four weeks every August. Well, I suppose that answers that.
Sitcoms
Not as funny as they used to be. Too much canned laughter. How do they fit all of it in a can anyway? I reckon you could fit all of the laughter from today’s sitcoms into a proper small can, and then put it at the back of your cupboard until about five years later when you give it to your local primary school for their Harvest festival, and they send it to Africa, and they open it there and some laughter comes out, and they think, ‘Cheeky bastards.’
A small can of laughter
Conclusion
I like some kinds of comedy and don’t like others. If you disagree with me, please write a reply piece. But if you do, so help me God, I will stab you in the ear while you sleep.
Wednesday 5 January 2011
I can't pronounce you man and wife
WOMAN: You should have seen his face; he was high rate.
MAN: You mean irate.
WOMAN: That's what I said; high rate.
MAN: No, it's irate.
WOMAN: High rate.
MAN: Irate.
WOMAN: High rate.
MAN: Irate.
WOMAN: Whatever. Harsehole.
MAN: You mean irate.
WOMAN: That's what I said; high rate.
MAN: No, it's irate.
WOMAN: High rate.
MAN: Irate.
WOMAN: High rate.
MAN: Irate.
WOMAN: Whatever. Harsehole.
Sunday 2 January 2011
NEW BLOG!
Aaaargh! Anyway, the reason I haven't updated this blog for a while is because I've been busy with things. You know, Christmas, New Year, Hannukah, Kwanzaa. Things like that.
Of course, all these festivities mean that I have to be out a lot, which isn't very fair on my dog, so when I leave, I always put a nice radio station on for him. Unless he's been a bad boy. Then I put Chris Moyles on. Even the dog's intelligence was insulted.
ZING! He's back!
Of course, all these festivities mean that I have to be out a lot, which isn't very fair on my dog, so when I leave, I always put a nice radio station on for him. Unless he's been a bad boy. Then I put Chris Moyles on. Even the dog's intelligence was insulted.
ZING! He's back!
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