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.

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?