Tuesday, 30 June 2009
A very british noise/upper class noise/topical (not any more)
So, watching Andy Murray's Wimbledon match which earned him his place in the quarter finals I was struck by a quintessentially British moment when a Wimbledon line judge, got hit in the tit by a tennis ball being served by Andy Murray and travelling at 127 mph.
Now I don't have tits - (I heard that) but I wouldn't want any part of my body hit at 127mph by anything, especially not an area that's tender or delicate in any way.
So, my question to you, is what word, beginning with 'F" did this line judge shout at the top of her lungs after being hit.
Was is that word that rhymes with truck?
I think swearing can be socially acceptable in some situations, especially getting tit hit by a tennis ball travelling 40 mph over the speed limit.
Or was it a mum-style swear word like 'Fudge' which other mums, and everyone else comes to think of it knows the real meaning of, but it allows you to say it without actually saying it. It's something they Teach you in Mum Club 101, if you're quite cross, like you stub your toe for example say "Sh-ugar!"
But if you're really cross then opt for a 'Fudge'
I don;t think I've ever heard a Mum say Cuuuu-star Creams but maybe they don;t teach this one. Maybe that's too crude a bit of mum code.
Anyway, so the word i heard this lady utter, this line judge was quite simply 'Fault!'.
That's it.
She just carried on doing her job. She in no way referenced the tit hit and just carried on line judging without any reference whatsoever to the event that had just taken place.
Stiff Upper Lip? Stiff Upper Tit more like it.
I think if I wads Andy Murray I would have spent the rest of the game trying to serve directly at her juts top see if any more direct hits would garner some sort of other reaction. But I suppose that's why I'm not a professional tennis player.
That and the fact that I'm not a professional tennis player.
I also noticed that some of Andy Murray's biggest fans sound like archetypal drunken Scots. I say his biggest fans, they might as well be his biggest enemies.
As having someone, just as the judge has quieted evryone down and you're about to serve shout 'Cimoon Andy" miust be about the most off putting things that can happen to you.
Also, and.
Are there any other professional sports when it's OK for yoiur mum to come and watch?
You don't see it alot in football do you?
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Automated Checkouts
Do you ever look around at the world and thing that the future actually happened while you weren't looking.
When I go to my local Supermarket - let's call it Sainsbury's for that is its name - I'm not broadcasting on BBC radio or on any BBC medium come to think of it, I can endorse whatever brand I want - I was in Tesco's - I was in Sainsbury's - I was in Costcutter.
I was hoping that last bit would feel more liberating than it actually did.
Anyways, so I was in Sainsbury's and I had my bachelor style basket, which you'll see lots of single men carrying around Sainsbury's which is a basket with a tower of stuff teetering at the top, where there's normally something potentially explosive, like eggs at the top, and I was looking for a checkout.
All pretty normal supermarket fair so far, I'm at the checkout area of the till, with shopping looking to pay for it and leave.
Stick around, this story is only going to get more exciting. Or at any rate, and this is a cast iron guarantee, it's not going to get more boring. Or if it does I'll kill myself on stage.
Just as a side point to any women in the audience who may have spent some time wondering why said men - like me - haven't just employed a modicum of forward planning and got a trolley, and I can give you a very simple answer to this question.
When a man walks into Supermarket he thinks to himself. I don't need anything. There' s load of stuff in the cupboards, I'm not really sure what any of it is, but I'll just get a few bits and bobs for tea tonight, I'll be fine.
And then a man walks around a supermarket and the Supermarket presents to him all manner of things he might need and may well have run out of, but because he has literally no idea what he has at home he just buys everything.
For a man, a supermarket is a giant aide-memoire of food and groceries. For a woman, or a man who inhgerited the very rare 'planning ahead' gene, couple of men nodding alomng in the audience there. I see you're pretty pleased not to be tarred with the same brush as all these other men and frankly, looking around, I can see why you'd feel that way.
The only slight downside though of having the very rare planniong ahead gene is that it is almost always coupled with the tiny cock gene.
Oh well. It's not lenght, it's girth, that's what the ladies say.
Unfortunately though this is the tiny cock girth gene.
Oh well.
So, the fact that most men lack this gene is this is why men end up with tiny baskets laden with goods. And women walk around with trolleys with everything sort of pre-ordered before its packed even, and mark my words, nothing soft at the bottom getting squashed.
Whereas there's a minimum of one squashed lettuce at the bottom of every male bachelor's tower of goods in a basket. Guaranteed.
So, I'm looking for the checkout. Trying to steady the centre of balance on my tower of stuff so that whatever fragile object at the top - it's either a tiny jar of mustard which I buy every single time I got to the supermarket and then get home and put it in a cupboard with all the other tiny jars of mustard yet miraculously every time I go to the supermarket, just somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind is a voice that just will not be quited.
"Have you got any mustard Matt?
Might be worth picking up some Mustard,
Have you got any mustard?"
Even if I do manage to quiet the voice by saying
"I'm sure I've got Mustard now leave me alone" the voice waits a while and then comes back "are you 100% sure you've got mustard".
So I buy mustard.
I don't even eat mustard.
And I hardly ever use it in cooking. it's just the idea of not having it in the kitchen I seem to have set up as some kind of adult anxiety when someone comes around to the flat and says "have you got any mustard" and I, shame faced, say no.
But this is even what I want to talk about. The more alert of you will remember at the start I was talking about the future having already arrived while no one was looking and this is what's happened in Sainsbury's.
Because now, you can check your own stuff out, the need for a checkout person has gone. You have the opportunity, and who knows why you'd want to take it, to become your own checkout person.
I'm sure you've all seen this, but you go over to these checkout units. Put your bags down and then ring through the bar codes and put them in another bag.
Now, I can put my hand on my heart and say, and I've wondered about all manner of useless stuff in my time on the planet so far, but I have never, ever, wondered what it would be like to be a checkout person.
It's just not something I've wondered about.
Maybe because when you buy things and see the checkout person all the information's already there. You can see what's happening. You know what a bar code is. There's no magic at work here, no slight of hand.
It is what it is.
And now, I can exclusively reveal, having tried my hand, quite literally at checking stuff out, it is, if anything, a tiny bit more boring than I thought it would be.
But it being a self-service thing and all it manages to combine boredom with incredible frustration. After you've beeped one of the items, if you then put it in the wrong place a rather officious voice shuts the whole thing down and says
'Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from the bagging area'.
And then you get incredibly frustrated. I wonder if they test those voices in military situations to come up with the most annoying tone they can possibly find.
I think it's the combination of being a bit posh, and sort of soothing but in a situation where a soothing voice only annoys you especially if you keep making the same mistake and it's repeated over and over and over again.
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area."
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area."
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area.".
It would be much more humane if in the first place it was a real voice, by which I mean someone normal, maybe a Geordie voice would be good. I think Geordie voices are underused.
(Geordie accent) "Your shopping's not where it should be. Move it"
And then if you keep making the same mistake
"Look, I know I know I sound like I'm repeating myself but move your shopping, will you.
Y'daft knacka.".
I think the Geordie recorded voice option needs a bit of work there.
Once you've messed up leaving the shopping in the bagging area , the next part is then having to call over an assistant for a bit of help so you can continue shopping. Basically, she comes over and shows you how to "move the item from the bagging area" ,or more pertinently she shows you what and where the bloody bagging area is and you can move on.
This old dear was doing self-service checkout next to me and was suffering the same fate as me. "move your item from he bagging area" and she was really losing her rag. She got the Sainsbury's woman to come over five or six times to explain to her what the bagging area is and let's face it, who really cares".
And then the woman went away again and this old dear's ringing though some Sherry and the machine says to her
"You must be over eighteen to buy this item. Please call assistant"
Over eighteen? She was over eighty. And she was staring at that machine like she was ready to tear it apart from the ground up.
And fair play to her, if she'd have started I think I probably would have joined in.
When I go to my local Supermarket - let's call it Sainsbury's for that is its name - I'm not broadcasting on BBC radio or on any BBC medium come to think of it, I can endorse whatever brand I want - I was in Tesco's - I was in Sainsbury's - I was in Costcutter.
I was hoping that last bit would feel more liberating than it actually did.
Anyways, so I was in Sainsbury's and I had my bachelor style basket, which you'll see lots of single men carrying around Sainsbury's which is a basket with a tower of stuff teetering at the top, where there's normally something potentially explosive, like eggs at the top, and I was looking for a checkout.
All pretty normal supermarket fair so far, I'm at the checkout area of the till, with shopping looking to pay for it and leave.
Stick around, this story is only going to get more exciting. Or at any rate, and this is a cast iron guarantee, it's not going to get more boring. Or if it does I'll kill myself on stage.
Just as a side point to any women in the audience who may have spent some time wondering why said men - like me - haven't just employed a modicum of forward planning and got a trolley, and I can give you a very simple answer to this question.
When a man walks into Supermarket he thinks to himself. I don't need anything. There' s load of stuff in the cupboards, I'm not really sure what any of it is, but I'll just get a few bits and bobs for tea tonight, I'll be fine.
And then a man walks around a supermarket and the Supermarket presents to him all manner of things he might need and may well have run out of, but because he has literally no idea what he has at home he just buys everything.
For a man, a supermarket is a giant aide-memoire of food and groceries. For a woman, or a man who inhgerited the very rare 'planning ahead' gene, couple of men nodding alomng in the audience there. I see you're pretty pleased not to be tarred with the same brush as all these other men and frankly, looking around, I can see why you'd feel that way.
The only slight downside though of having the very rare planniong ahead gene is that it is almost always coupled with the tiny cock gene.
Oh well. It's not lenght, it's girth, that's what the ladies say.
Unfortunately though this is the tiny cock girth gene.
Oh well.
So, the fact that most men lack this gene is this is why men end up with tiny baskets laden with goods. And women walk around with trolleys with everything sort of pre-ordered before its packed even, and mark my words, nothing soft at the bottom getting squashed.
Whereas there's a minimum of one squashed lettuce at the bottom of every male bachelor's tower of goods in a basket. Guaranteed.
So, I'm looking for the checkout. Trying to steady the centre of balance on my tower of stuff so that whatever fragile object at the top - it's either a tiny jar of mustard which I buy every single time I got to the supermarket and then get home and put it in a cupboard with all the other tiny jars of mustard yet miraculously every time I go to the supermarket, just somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind is a voice that just will not be quited.
"Have you got any mustard Matt?
Might be worth picking up some Mustard,
Have you got any mustard?"
Even if I do manage to quiet the voice by saying
"I'm sure I've got Mustard now leave me alone" the voice waits a while and then comes back "are you 100% sure you've got mustard".
So I buy mustard.
I don't even eat mustard.
And I hardly ever use it in cooking. it's just the idea of not having it in the kitchen I seem to have set up as some kind of adult anxiety when someone comes around to the flat and says "have you got any mustard" and I, shame faced, say no.
But this is even what I want to talk about. The more alert of you will remember at the start I was talking about the future having already arrived while no one was looking and this is what's happened in Sainsbury's.
Because now, you can check your own stuff out, the need for a checkout person has gone. You have the opportunity, and who knows why you'd want to take it, to become your own checkout person.
I'm sure you've all seen this, but you go over to these checkout units. Put your bags down and then ring through the bar codes and put them in another bag.
Now, I can put my hand on my heart and say, and I've wondered about all manner of useless stuff in my time on the planet so far, but I have never, ever, wondered what it would be like to be a checkout person.
It's just not something I've wondered about.
Maybe because when you buy things and see the checkout person all the information's already there. You can see what's happening. You know what a bar code is. There's no magic at work here, no slight of hand.
It is what it is.
And now, I can exclusively reveal, having tried my hand, quite literally at checking stuff out, it is, if anything, a tiny bit more boring than I thought it would be.
But it being a self-service thing and all it manages to combine boredom with incredible frustration. After you've beeped one of the items, if you then put it in the wrong place a rather officious voice shuts the whole thing down and says
'Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from the bagging area'.
And then you get incredibly frustrated. I wonder if they test those voices in military situations to come up with the most annoying tone they can possibly find.
I think it's the combination of being a bit posh, and sort of soothing but in a situation where a soothing voice only annoys you especially if you keep making the same mistake and it's repeated over and over and over again.
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area."
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area."
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area.".
It would be much more humane if in the first place it was a real voice, by which I mean someone normal, maybe a Geordie voice would be good. I think Geordie voices are underused.
(Geordie accent) "Your shopping's not where it should be. Move it"
And then if you keep making the same mistake
"Look, I know I know I sound like I'm repeating myself but move your shopping, will you.
Y'daft knacka.".
I think the Geordie recorded voice option needs a bit of work there.
Once you've messed up leaving the shopping in the bagging area , the next part is then having to call over an assistant for a bit of help so you can continue shopping. Basically, she comes over and shows you how to "move the item from the bagging area" ,or more pertinently she shows you what and where the bloody bagging area is and you can move on.
This old dear was doing self-service checkout next to me and was suffering the same fate as me. "move your item from he bagging area" and she was really losing her rag. She got the Sainsbury's woman to come over five or six times to explain to her what the bagging area is and let's face it, who really cares".
And then the woman went away again and this old dear's ringing though some Sherry and the machine says to her
"You must be over eighteen to buy this item. Please call assistant"
Over eighteen? She was over eighty. And she was staring at that machine like she was ready to tear it apart from the ground up.
And fair play to her, if she'd have started I think I probably would have joined in.
Not Sex
Have any guys here ever had something called 'not sex'?
You'll know if you haven't had it, because basically almost identical to actual sex,
so you get all the fumbling and the groaning and the sweating and the 'was that it?-ing' and you get all the anticipation of it before it happens.
But you don't actually get any sex.
So really I suppose that list needs revising for 'not sex',
because when you have 'not sex' the only bit you actually get is the actual anticipation.
If you went into a situation knowing you were going to get 'not sex then you wouldn't even get 'actual anticipation', so you'd kind of get 'actual nothing'.
But that's the thing about 'not sex'.
It's a surprise.
And that's all part of it's lack of charm.
I think maybe the worst thing about 'not sex', is then being left with 'actual anticipation'
'Not sex' is invariably found following a really expensive meal. Strange really how something that's not cheap could be followed by something that's not sex.
And believe, those two negatives make you not smile.
Sometimes the not smile is accompanied by an actual scowl.
You'll know if you haven't had it, because basically almost identical to actual sex,
so you get all the fumbling and the groaning and the sweating and the 'was that it?-ing' and you get all the anticipation of it before it happens.
But you don't actually get any sex.
So really I suppose that list needs revising for 'not sex',
because when you have 'not sex' the only bit you actually get is the actual anticipation.
If you went into a situation knowing you were going to get 'not sex then you wouldn't even get 'actual anticipation', so you'd kind of get 'actual nothing'.
But that's the thing about 'not sex'.
It's a surprise.
And that's all part of it's lack of charm.
I think maybe the worst thing about 'not sex', is then being left with 'actual anticipation'
'Not sex' is invariably found following a really expensive meal. Strange really how something that's not cheap could be followed by something that's not sex.
And believe, those two negatives make you not smile.
Sometimes the not smile is accompanied by an actual scowl.
Monday, 22 June 2009
Liquid Karl. Coming Soon. Adverts for tellys on telly.
One doesn't have to rack one's brains too hard for the advertising campaign for Liquid Karl.
(deep movie star voice)
Liquid Karl.
Coming Soon.
Simple, bold, and a bit creepy. Like its namesake.
Also, what is it with advertising televisions on television.
Am I the only person who finds this just a teeny weeny bit weird. Of course I'm not, it's just not something that makes any sense.
I mean, I wouldn't say I'm the sharpest tool in the planet. That was a deliberate mistake. I wouldn't say that I'm incredibly clever but I think there's something just a teeny weeny bit strange when you see an advert for a new television, on your exisiting TV.
I mean, I just don't get it.
(S-L-O-W delivery)
You're already watching television.
How can they possibly show you on the television you're already watching a better television. It just doesn't make any sense.
While you watch some slow motion action of someone serving a tennis ball on a court at night
time with neon lines and a voiceover kindly informs you,
Deep voice-overy voice
"when you're watching television in uber definition it's important you don't miss any details. You want every single detail to be pin sharp so you don't miss a single moment of action".
But I am watching television right now.
My wife already thinks I'm pretty stupid, and to be honest with you, I always want a new TV regardless of whether I'm in any way unhappy with m,y present set - that's just part of what it is to be a man - if you don't want a new TV most of the time you're probably not really a man.
Other men can tell. And so can women.
So, my wife thinks I'm pretty stupid already but if I call her into the lounge right now
"darling, darling, come quick, there's an advert for that new TV I was telling you about on TV, then she's going to know for sure. She's going to know I'm stupid. And the longer I can keep her guessing, the better.
---
Thursday, 18 June 2009
Liquid Karl
Most of my waking hours are spent trying to sift the pieces of information in my head into one of two categories.
Is it real?
Or did I dream it?
Some things I tell you tonight that I will present as reality are in fact not true and have no basis is fact whatsoever. But if I tell you they are true, I don't want you to come away from here tonight thinking I was doing that to hoodwink, deceive or bamboozle you.
If I tell you they are true, it's because I sincerely believe they are.
So now seems like the perfect time to share such a piece of information with you, information about an aftershave, no less, named after a prominent fashion designer that goes by the name of Karl Lagerfeld.
You've probably all heard of him. Little fellow. White hair. Often surrounded by tall models and small dogs.
So Karl's looking around for further ways to profit form the Karl Lagerfeld brand. And he doesn't need to look far because everyone else in fashion has already done this, he alights on the idea of bringing out an aftershave, a fragrance, a smell that represents the essence of Largefield. Karl Lagerfield. With unt 'K' not 'unt' 'C'. Carl with a 'C' is revoltingly common and sans style.
Karl with a K is completely different.
So, in my mind's eye, I like to imagine the Lagerfeld marketing department 'brainstorming' - technical word ladies and gentleman, technical word, it means talking shite but everyone being OK with that, so I imagine them 'brainstorming' a name.
(do I show bottle designs and poly boards here or no?)
And given that this is a high fashion brand, maybe you'd think something minimal yet bold and authoritative, somesing that embodies the spirit of the tiny man himself.
What about Lagerfeld? The power of that name is in it's simplicity.
Or what about KL? Again, bold, masculine, simple.
What about Liquid Karl?
Liquid Karl!
(spit out a drink at this point).
I'm going to say it again.
Liquid Karl!
When I first found out about this, literally my eyebrows could not go high enough. I had to hire a personal eyebrow trainer and go to an eyebrow gym to develop the muscles in my forehead so I could then go back a month later to the person who told me and go
Liquid Karl!
I know a fragrance should represent the essence of it's creator, but surely it shouldn't be the essence of it's creator.
I mean, it really is just wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. It's lord of the wrong. Wrong, wrong wherever ye may be for I am the lord of the wrong said he. I make Liquid Karl in my perfume factory, I am the lord of the wrong said he.
I mean how do you even begin to talk about something like this?
You might think I'm doing this job to come on and make you laugh, but ladies and gentlemen, you could not be further from the truth. For me this is therapy, I find out about something like Liquid Karl and I just desperately need to talk to someone about it. My hope is that if I talk to several thousand people at once about it then one day, liquid Karl will no longer haunt my dreams.
The fragrance was unisex, and let's face it one and all, girls, boys, transsexuals, hermaphrodites, whoever you are and however your body's plumbing works, who wouldn't want to dab bit of Liquid Karl just behind your earlobe, or for men, who want to feel the sharp sting of Liquid Karl on your face just after a close shave.
The bottle, and I need to read this out verbatim - that means word for word the PR description of the bottle
"An elongated glass and metal bottle revealing an amber-hued juice.
On the label, a black-and-white photo of the designer, looking relaxed in profile."
People like Karl Lagerfeld make my job so easy. I'm not having to sit down with a blank sheet of paper and agonise over writing jokes or making funny stuff. I just have to turn up here and tell you about Karl Lagerfeld's new perfume range.
I mean, an elongated bottle containing an amber hued juice.
Amber hued?
Karl, I don't know what you're eating my friend but you need to see the doctor,
or at very least a nutritionist.
I think the inside of your cock. that's Kock with a 'K', has gone rusty my friend.
You need to get that looked at.
Pronto.
A rusty cock's no good to anyone.
Especially not to someone who's about to mass produce a liquid called Karl.
And as for "the black and white photo of the designer, looking relaxed in profile". He's clearly just knocked one out. He's got the self satisfied look of a man that's not only just chucked his custard, that's custard with a 'K' around, but the self-satisifed look of a man who's now going to go on and sell it. His own man muck.
I'm presuming though, that photograph was taken after production of the first bottle. I'd like a few more photos further into the production process, with Karl looking a little bit strung out and feral. As he tries to produce enough Liquid Karl to replenish the stock of Liverpool's 13 Superdrugs.
I reckon twenty bottles into production it must have gone through Karl's mind, why didn't we call it Lagerfeld or KL, damn it, I have been so careless, careless with a K, in this whole naming process.
That's all for me.
Thanks for letting me share with the group.
I know you're probably thinking I made the whole Liquid Karl thing up so I brought a bottle with me.
Just to show I've been doing a little homework in separating dreams from reality before I spoke to you tonight.
Anyone want a squirt.
You madam, would you care for a squirt?
Just be careful not to get it in your eye.
(wink)
It really stings.
She knows what I'm talking about.
Is it real?
Or did I dream it?
Some things I tell you tonight that I will present as reality are in fact not true and have no basis is fact whatsoever. But if I tell you they are true, I don't want you to come away from here tonight thinking I was doing that to hoodwink, deceive or bamboozle you.
If I tell you they are true, it's because I sincerely believe they are.
So now seems like the perfect time to share such a piece of information with you, information about an aftershave, no less, named after a prominent fashion designer that goes by the name of Karl Lagerfeld.
You've probably all heard of him. Little fellow. White hair. Often surrounded by tall models and small dogs.
So Karl's looking around for further ways to profit form the Karl Lagerfeld brand. And he doesn't need to look far because everyone else in fashion has already done this, he alights on the idea of bringing out an aftershave, a fragrance, a smell that represents the essence of Largefield. Karl Lagerfield. With unt 'K' not 'unt' 'C'. Carl with a 'C' is revoltingly common and sans style.
Karl with a K is completely different.
So, in my mind's eye, I like to imagine the Lagerfeld marketing department 'brainstorming' - technical word ladies and gentleman, technical word, it means talking shite but everyone being OK with that, so I imagine them 'brainstorming' a name.
(do I show bottle designs and poly boards here or no?)
And given that this is a high fashion brand, maybe you'd think something minimal yet bold and authoritative, somesing that embodies the spirit of the tiny man himself.
What about Lagerfeld? The power of that name is in it's simplicity.
Or what about KL? Again, bold, masculine, simple.
What about Liquid Karl?
Liquid Karl!
(spit out a drink at this point).
I'm going to say it again.
Liquid Karl!
When I first found out about this, literally my eyebrows could not go high enough. I had to hire a personal eyebrow trainer and go to an eyebrow gym to develop the muscles in my forehead so I could then go back a month later to the person who told me and go
Liquid Karl!
I know a fragrance should represent the essence of it's creator, but surely it shouldn't be the essence of it's creator.
I mean, it really is just wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. It's lord of the wrong. Wrong, wrong wherever ye may be for I am the lord of the wrong said he. I make Liquid Karl in my perfume factory, I am the lord of the wrong said he.
I mean how do you even begin to talk about something like this?
You might think I'm doing this job to come on and make you laugh, but ladies and gentlemen, you could not be further from the truth. For me this is therapy, I find out about something like Liquid Karl and I just desperately need to talk to someone about it. My hope is that if I talk to several thousand people at once about it then one day, liquid Karl will no longer haunt my dreams.
The fragrance was unisex, and let's face it one and all, girls, boys, transsexuals, hermaphrodites, whoever you are and however your body's plumbing works, who wouldn't want to dab bit of Liquid Karl just behind your earlobe, or for men, who want to feel the sharp sting of Liquid Karl on your face just after a close shave.
The bottle, and I need to read this out verbatim - that means word for word the PR description of the bottle
"An elongated glass and metal bottle revealing an amber-hued juice.
On the label, a black-and-white photo of the designer, looking relaxed in profile."
People like Karl Lagerfeld make my job so easy. I'm not having to sit down with a blank sheet of paper and agonise over writing jokes or making funny stuff. I just have to turn up here and tell you about Karl Lagerfeld's new perfume range.
I mean, an elongated bottle containing an amber hued juice.
Amber hued?
Karl, I don't know what you're eating my friend but you need to see the doctor,
or at very least a nutritionist.
I think the inside of your cock. that's Kock with a 'K', has gone rusty my friend.
You need to get that looked at.
Pronto.
A rusty cock's no good to anyone.
Especially not to someone who's about to mass produce a liquid called Karl.
And as for "the black and white photo of the designer, looking relaxed in profile". He's clearly just knocked one out. He's got the self satisfied look of a man that's not only just chucked his custard, that's custard with a 'K' around, but the self-satisifed look of a man who's now going to go on and sell it. His own man muck.
I'm presuming though, that photograph was taken after production of the first bottle. I'd like a few more photos further into the production process, with Karl looking a little bit strung out and feral. As he tries to produce enough Liquid Karl to replenish the stock of Liverpool's 13 Superdrugs.
I reckon twenty bottles into production it must have gone through Karl's mind, why didn't we call it Lagerfeld or KL, damn it, I have been so careless, careless with a K, in this whole naming process.
That's all for me.
Thanks for letting me share with the group.
I know you're probably thinking I made the whole Liquid Karl thing up so I brought a bottle with me.
Just to show I've been doing a little homework in separating dreams from reality before I spoke to you tonight.
Anyone want a squirt.
You madam, would you care for a squirt?
Just be careful not to get it in your eye.
(wink)
It really stings.
She knows what I'm talking about.
Possible side effects. Moon face
So, steroids are something you can be prescribed when you get very ill, right?
And one of the side effects for a woman, of taking Steroids is that you might start growing a beard. Which for a woman, unless you're talking about very niche circles, is not cool.
But one of the other side effects is that you can develop something called 'Moon Face'.
(draw this out like Blackadder Bob) Mooooooooon Face.
Now I'm just guessing here, but my guess is that that's one side effect doctor's don't get too many questions about.
"So this Moon face thing, what's that then? Talk me through it, doc."
Well, you see this thing here where my eyes and my nose and my lips are.
Can you see that.
That's what we, in the medical profession call a 'face'.
You've got one too, it's not just doctors that have got faces we all have too, maybe when you get home you could look at something called a 'mirror' and you'll see your own 'face'.
And then, well, you know how at the moment it's 'daytime'. Because the sun is in the sky and everything. Well you know there's something that's called 'night time'. Which is when the sun goes down and you see something white and round in the sky, well, that's the moon.
So moon face is basically when you look like a freak.
Or to put it another way when your 'face' (do action) looks like the 'moon' (point to sky).
Anyway, it's not so bad. If you get up in the middle of the night for a pee you never never have to look for the light switch. Influencing the tides can be fun, if that's your thing.
And if you like moths you're in for a major treat.
And besides. Moon Face is the worst possible side effect with this particular brand of steroids. If you went with a cheaper on label brand the side effects include Pinocchio Nose, Cauliflower Knee and Orangutan bottom.
And we've completely stopped recommending the one that sometimes gives you Ken Dodd hair.
You know what, whenever I tell a group of people about 'moon face', I start out on the story, and I think to myself, maybe this is it, maybe tonight's the night, I mean it's a statistical probability that at some point, I'm going to be talking about Moon Face and I'll peer into the crowd and there'll be this guy, with a big glowing white head, sat with his arms crossed just gently shaking his lunar head.
And just going "Fuck off mate, that's not funny".
Fucking moon-ist
And one of the side effects for a woman, of taking Steroids is that you might start growing a beard. Which for a woman, unless you're talking about very niche circles, is not cool.
But one of the other side effects is that you can develop something called 'Moon Face'.
(draw this out like Blackadder Bob) Mooooooooon Face.
Now I'm just guessing here, but my guess is that that's one side effect doctor's don't get too many questions about.
"So this Moon face thing, what's that then? Talk me through it, doc."
Well, you see this thing here where my eyes and my nose and my lips are.
Can you see that.
That's what we, in the medical profession call a 'face'.
You've got one too, it's not just doctors that have got faces we all have too, maybe when you get home you could look at something called a 'mirror' and you'll see your own 'face'.
And then, well, you know how at the moment it's 'daytime'. Because the sun is in the sky and everything. Well you know there's something that's called 'night time'. Which is when the sun goes down and you see something white and round in the sky, well, that's the moon.
So moon face is basically when you look like a freak.
Or to put it another way when your 'face' (do action) looks like the 'moon' (point to sky).
Anyway, it's not so bad. If you get up in the middle of the night for a pee you never never have to look for the light switch. Influencing the tides can be fun, if that's your thing.
And if you like moths you're in for a major treat.
And besides. Moon Face is the worst possible side effect with this particular brand of steroids. If you went with a cheaper on label brand the side effects include Pinocchio Nose, Cauliflower Knee and Orangutan bottom.
And we've completely stopped recommending the one that sometimes gives you Ken Dodd hair.
You know what, whenever I tell a group of people about 'moon face', I start out on the story, and I think to myself, maybe this is it, maybe tonight's the night, I mean it's a statistical probability that at some point, I'm going to be talking about Moon Face and I'll peer into the crowd and there'll be this guy, with a big glowing white head, sat with his arms crossed just gently shaking his lunar head.
And just going "Fuck off mate, that's not funny".
Fucking moon-ist
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Will run for applause.
So, running.
I've started getting into a bit of running recently, and it's got to the stage where I've done a couple of 'events', I'm trying really really hard not to call them races, because, from my experience of talking to people about running, especially people you haven't met is that when you tell them you've started getting into running, their immediate reaction "this guy's a wanker (action?) yeah it's one thing doing running, that's annoying in the first place but the going around and telling you go running, wanker, and now he's talking about races. Races. What a twat"
So, against that backdrop it's going to be difficult getting you to laugh if you don;t like me.
But if I can you to laugh even though you don't like me, that's going to make me feel great. There's nothing sweeter than getting someone to laugh who doesn't want to.
Like you sir. I'll get you. You can fold your arms and look like you don't want to be here, but we'll get a chuckle out of you, even if it means coming down there and tickling you.
I'm not going to do that.
Right, so, running.
The thing about running is, running's dirty secret, is that everyone hates running. Ah, there might be a bit of a run, like 20 metres here or there where you think I love this, my body's a machine, I'm using all of the muscles god gave me and I feel at one with my natural environment, thus is great. I love running.
But for the most part, it's just mental torment.
It's just your body telling your mind to tell you "I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this, can we stop doing this, I want to stop now, are we nearly there yet, why don't we stop now and get that bus the rest of the way home, I don;t want to do this"
That kind of thing. A bit like a petulant child.
And this is why people get addicted to running. Sure you feel good generally and have more energy yadda yadda yadda but the reason why people get addicted to it is the mental side. It's the battle of wills between your mind and your body that you get addicted to.
But the thing about races, and this is the thing no one told me, is that when you turn up for a race, there's lots of other runners, I knew that bit, but also there's crowds, people who turn up just to encourage you and support you.
Put simple, people who turn up and just clap and occasionally shout little phrases of encouragement in a very English way, like.
"go on, you're doing really good"
or "well done, that's well done"
or "that's a good effort"
I mean the whole clapping people who go running thing is just another world completely. If you do a half marathon that's going to take around 2 hours or something, but as a runner, of course you really hurt yourself and go through some incredibly dark times, but surely your pain is nothing compared to the pain of a man who stands next to a lay by in rural Hertfordshire clapping, clapping for 2 hours, and saying
"good effort, that's a good effort"
"good effort, that's a good effort"
"good effort, that's a good effort"
This guy's the real hero. He';s the guy running the real half marathon.
He's running his own personal half marathon of encouragement. Imagine how hard that must be
I mean, who's clapping him?
Where does he pick up his medal?
Maybe it's like an English thing, you know because English people find it quite heard to be openly encouraging of other people, we're not vocal, we're not like Americans, maybe that's his way of getting out a year's worth pf encouragement he's had welling up inside him but felt uncomfortable expressing it in everyday life.
I do have a confession to make though. During one part of the run I found a bloke leaning against his car by a lay by and I was going through a dark moment in the run, I was sin a lot of pain and as I passed the bloke, I shouted to him "go on then, give us a clap". He was obviously just on some sort of clap break, which is fair enough but I shocked him out of it and he started clapping, to order pretty much and shouting a few words of encouragement like "go on there, good effort"
I feel a but ashamed of doing that. But ask me if I'd act any differently should the situation present itself again. We all know the answer.
Of course, running, or more pertinently attitudes to running and supporting it differ from country to country. A friend of mine ran the marathon recently in Paris. And he's run a few marathons here and there and said it was by far the worst. Whereas in London there seems to be a big clapping culture in Paris they're just not into it.
So he ran pretty much the entire course with hardly any spectators turned out to support him in any way. I think at one point he even started clapping himself. Out of sheer desperation.
Who knows why this is the case. Is it because French people, but Parisians in particular are too cool to clap. (french accent) "I will show no emotion to these runners, they are nothing to me, pass me my soft paquette of Gauloise cigarettes, I will need one soon, now let's make love"
Or maybe running is just something that holds no cultural value.
"Running means nothing to me. It is not art. It has no caffeine. You cannot smoke while you're are doing it. There are no snails or garlic involved. You cannot get a Michelin star for it. There is no point. Now let's make love"
At one point my friend said that his lowest point in the race was around the twenty mile mark,. which is renowned to be the 'wall' that all marathon runners go through, and he was running through this tunnel, so not a particularly beautiful part of Paris, he's done twenty miles. His body's saying to him "you're a twat, why are you doing all this running, you're a twat, you're a twat, why are you running, you're a twat, look there's the Metro why don't you just stop running and get on that, you don't have to run, you;re a twat, you're a twat"
Anyway, at the end of this tunnel he's coming up a slope which feels like a mountain and way ahead in the distance is his Girlfriend, just her, no other crowds, just clapping, slightly feebly, and saying "Come on Danny, Come on".
I don;t know why it just seemed like a really depressing moment. Almost as if her being there and clapping somehow highlighted the fact that no one else was there. Or maybe it's not depressing, maybe it's just a bit embarrassing. Like if you're playing football and you just slip over that age where you don't really want your mum to watch but she comes anyway.
And then you've got New York which is a whole different ball game - to use an Americanism. So the New York marathon is a very serious affair. And the clapping there, well apparently New Yorkers are some of the best clappers in the world. No doubt this is partly because they're just like that as people, there's no shame or embarrassment around telling people what a great job they've done, but partly too, it must be because of how fat they are. I don't mean that you get a bigger noise when you clap fat hands together, although that probably is a contributory factor to the overall clapping volume, but more that when you've got a 20 stone woman, when she claps a runner, she's clapping because she understands the sheer physical impossibility of it all.
In New York you get clapped if you run for a bus. Even a ten yard dash is going to garner a few whoops and "you can do it buddy "good job" "hang on in there".
A running buddy of mine told me that one good thing you can do if you're running the New York Marathion is to write your name ion your little tabard thingy so that when you're running p[people can personalise the encouragement. So it's Win Win. It's good for you.it's good for them. U`you both get more out of it. Unfortunately though, it can backfire. When you're having your darker moments as a runner, and you're facing your endurance demons, which as I've previously said is only really a small voice saying "you're a twat, you're a twat, stop running, you're a twat, you're a twat, look there's a yellow taxi, get in that, stop running, you're a twat", so the downside of having your name on your vest is simply that when you're having that moment and you're slowing down to look like you're running in slow motion, people start shouting "Come on Matt" "Come on Matt" "You can do this Matt" "Matt this hills is yours, own this hill".
And somewhere in that moment, encouragement can turn into annoyance. Especially when the encouragement is coming from a 20 stone man eating a cheeseburger and slurping down the last of a bucket of smoothie, a man who's found the physical pain of supporting too much and has brought a chair with him to ease the burden. There's something about a fat man on chair eating a burger shouting that just gets to you int he wrong way.
So apparently though in New York running is a serious business. Those Americans can be quite an earnest bunch. So you don't get he whole fancy dress thing going on which inevitably you get at stuff in England. There was a story a few years ago that a guy who turned up to the New York Marathon to run in a chicken suit got taken into a back ally and beaten up.
I mean jesus, where's fancy dress Superman when you need him.
Probably getting beaten up in another alley round another corner. By a fat man who's quite happy to shout "come on Dave" to complete strangers for four hours but draws the line at people wearing non running apparel.
Don;t worry by the way, I know not everyone on the marathon is called Dave. I was just saying Dave because that's the name of my mate.
Thank you very much. Before I go just quickly, even if you didn't really enjoy any of that if you could just clap now it would be great. I've only really turned up for the clapping.
Cheerio.
I've started getting into a bit of running recently, and it's got to the stage where I've done a couple of 'events', I'm trying really really hard not to call them races, because, from my experience of talking to people about running, especially people you haven't met is that when you tell them you've started getting into running, their immediate reaction "this guy's a wanker (action?) yeah it's one thing doing running, that's annoying in the first place but the going around and telling you go running, wanker, and now he's talking about races. Races. What a twat"
So, against that backdrop it's going to be difficult getting you to laugh if you don;t like me.
But if I can you to laugh even though you don't like me, that's going to make me feel great. There's nothing sweeter than getting someone to laugh who doesn't want to.
Like you sir. I'll get you. You can fold your arms and look like you don't want to be here, but we'll get a chuckle out of you, even if it means coming down there and tickling you.
I'm not going to do that.
Right, so, running.
The thing about running is, running's dirty secret, is that everyone hates running. Ah, there might be a bit of a run, like 20 metres here or there where you think I love this, my body's a machine, I'm using all of the muscles god gave me and I feel at one with my natural environment, thus is great. I love running.
But for the most part, it's just mental torment.
It's just your body telling your mind to tell you "I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this, can we stop doing this, I want to stop now, are we nearly there yet, why don't we stop now and get that bus the rest of the way home, I don;t want to do this"
That kind of thing. A bit like a petulant child.
And this is why people get addicted to running. Sure you feel good generally and have more energy yadda yadda yadda but the reason why people get addicted to it is the mental side. It's the battle of wills between your mind and your body that you get addicted to.
But the thing about races, and this is the thing no one told me, is that when you turn up for a race, there's lots of other runners, I knew that bit, but also there's crowds, people who turn up just to encourage you and support you.
Put simple, people who turn up and just clap and occasionally shout little phrases of encouragement in a very English way, like.
"go on, you're doing really good"
or "well done, that's well done"
or "that's a good effort"
I mean the whole clapping people who go running thing is just another world completely. If you do a half marathon that's going to take around 2 hours or something, but as a runner, of course you really hurt yourself and go through some incredibly dark times, but surely your pain is nothing compared to the pain of a man who stands next to a lay by in rural Hertfordshire clapping, clapping for 2 hours, and saying
"good effort, that's a good effort"
"good effort, that's a good effort"
"good effort, that's a good effort"
This guy's the real hero. He';s the guy running the real half marathon.
He's running his own personal half marathon of encouragement. Imagine how hard that must be
I mean, who's clapping him?
Where does he pick up his medal?
Maybe it's like an English thing, you know because English people find it quite heard to be openly encouraging of other people, we're not vocal, we're not like Americans, maybe that's his way of getting out a year's worth pf encouragement he's had welling up inside him but felt uncomfortable expressing it in everyday life.
I do have a confession to make though. During one part of the run I found a bloke leaning against his car by a lay by and I was going through a dark moment in the run, I was sin a lot of pain and as I passed the bloke, I shouted to him "go on then, give us a clap". He was obviously just on some sort of clap break, which is fair enough but I shocked him out of it and he started clapping, to order pretty much and shouting a few words of encouragement like "go on there, good effort"
I feel a but ashamed of doing that. But ask me if I'd act any differently should the situation present itself again. We all know the answer.
Of course, running, or more pertinently attitudes to running and supporting it differ from country to country. A friend of mine ran the marathon recently in Paris. And he's run a few marathons here and there and said it was by far the worst. Whereas in London there seems to be a big clapping culture in Paris they're just not into it.
So he ran pretty much the entire course with hardly any spectators turned out to support him in any way. I think at one point he even started clapping himself. Out of sheer desperation.
Who knows why this is the case. Is it because French people, but Parisians in particular are too cool to clap. (french accent) "I will show no emotion to these runners, they are nothing to me, pass me my soft paquette of Gauloise cigarettes, I will need one soon, now let's make love"
Or maybe running is just something that holds no cultural value.
"Running means nothing to me. It is not art. It has no caffeine. You cannot smoke while you're are doing it. There are no snails or garlic involved. You cannot get a Michelin star for it. There is no point. Now let's make love"
At one point my friend said that his lowest point in the race was around the twenty mile mark,. which is renowned to be the 'wall' that all marathon runners go through, and he was running through this tunnel, so not a particularly beautiful part of Paris, he's done twenty miles. His body's saying to him "you're a twat, why are you doing all this running, you're a twat, you're a twat, why are you running, you're a twat, look there's the Metro why don't you just stop running and get on that, you don't have to run, you;re a twat, you're a twat"
Anyway, at the end of this tunnel he's coming up a slope which feels like a mountain and way ahead in the distance is his Girlfriend, just her, no other crowds, just clapping, slightly feebly, and saying "Come on Danny, Come on".
I don;t know why it just seemed like a really depressing moment. Almost as if her being there and clapping somehow highlighted the fact that no one else was there. Or maybe it's not depressing, maybe it's just a bit embarrassing. Like if you're playing football and you just slip over that age where you don't really want your mum to watch but she comes anyway.
And then you've got New York which is a whole different ball game - to use an Americanism. So the New York marathon is a very serious affair. And the clapping there, well apparently New Yorkers are some of the best clappers in the world. No doubt this is partly because they're just like that as people, there's no shame or embarrassment around telling people what a great job they've done, but partly too, it must be because of how fat they are. I don't mean that you get a bigger noise when you clap fat hands together, although that probably is a contributory factor to the overall clapping volume, but more that when you've got a 20 stone woman, when she claps a runner, she's clapping because she understands the sheer physical impossibility of it all.
In New York you get clapped if you run for a bus. Even a ten yard dash is going to garner a few whoops and "you can do it buddy "good job" "hang on in there".
A running buddy of mine told me that one good thing you can do if you're running the New York Marathion is to write your name ion your little tabard thingy so that when you're running p[people can personalise the encouragement. So it's Win Win. It's good for you.it's good for them. U`you both get more out of it. Unfortunately though, it can backfire. When you're having your darker moments as a runner, and you're facing your endurance demons, which as I've previously said is only really a small voice saying "you're a twat, you're a twat, stop running, you're a twat, you're a twat, look there's a yellow taxi, get in that, stop running, you're a twat", so the downside of having your name on your vest is simply that when you're having that moment and you're slowing down to look like you're running in slow motion, people start shouting "Come on Matt" "Come on Matt" "You can do this Matt" "Matt this hills is yours, own this hill".
And somewhere in that moment, encouragement can turn into annoyance. Especially when the encouragement is coming from a 20 stone man eating a cheeseburger and slurping down the last of a bucket of smoothie, a man who's found the physical pain of supporting too much and has brought a chair with him to ease the burden. There's something about a fat man on chair eating a burger shouting that just gets to you int he wrong way.
So apparently though in New York running is a serious business. Those Americans can be quite an earnest bunch. So you don't get he whole fancy dress thing going on which inevitably you get at stuff in England. There was a story a few years ago that a guy who turned up to the New York Marathon to run in a chicken suit got taken into a back ally and beaten up.
I mean jesus, where's fancy dress Superman when you need him.
Probably getting beaten up in another alley round another corner. By a fat man who's quite happy to shout "come on Dave" to complete strangers for four hours but draws the line at people wearing non running apparel.
Don;t worry by the way, I know not everyone on the marathon is called Dave. I was just saying Dave because that's the name of my mate.
Thank you very much. Before I go just quickly, even if you didn't really enjoy any of that if you could just clap now it would be great. I've only really turned up for the clapping.
Cheerio.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
what's your comic persona
Piracy is not a crime.
It's a lifestyle choice.
A while ago when I told an old friend of mine I was becoming a comic and he asked me, maybe in a way that after he said it I felt like I should have come up with a better answer than I had done, or that I should have had something pre prepared, he asked me, do you have a comic persona?
This worried me.
Do I need a comic persona?
Is this his way of saying you, as you are, aren't really funny enough, so what's your comic persona.
[you could do the whole of this dressed as a pirate]
So, I said, well, you know, I reckon all the really good comedians I've seen they're kind of themselves but, like a heightened version of themselves. Like there must be quite a lot of David Brent's in Ricky Gervais, right?
So he said, so basically you're going to just be yourself, but funny.
And that's how I ended up here this evening.
And I know what you're thinking, and you're right.
Day to day, I don't normally have the parrot.
But for the purposes of comedy, of your entertainment, I felt I needed to push the envelope, or whatever people say in offices.
So, that's the parrot. It's me. But more so. Day-to-day I'm not rocking the parrot accessory. Because ultimately I'm fearful that if I go down the parrot route, and say I'm in the job centre signing on, they're not going to take me seriously.
Basically, I'm a pirate. That's my vibe. Swashbuckling. Walk the plank. That kind of thing. I'm old school though. Not one of these modern pirates sin little speedboats high on Khat toting AK 47's. No I'm more mid 1500's kind of thing. Keira Knightley kind of thing.
So that's me. Probably best not to ask me anything about boats or the history of piracy when we're done here, because literally I don't know a damn thing. I haven't done the research. And I think it's safe to say if you get this far (shows outfit) and you haven't done the research, you're probably not going to.
Some upsides of being a pirate and a comic. I'm unique. You'll see a lot of other so-called observational comics out there, really good ones. Ones that make a point of saying "don't ask me yeah, if I can tell jokes, I don't even know any jokes, I'm an observational comedian. I make people laugh by observing everyday life"
Well, that's fair enough. And they've made me laugh with some of their observations.
But as for me, I'm not an observational comic.
But I am a pirate.
How many people can say that?
Other upsides of being a pirate comedian. Get quite a lot of overseas gigs.
Done quite a lot of stuff in Somalia.
Seem to go over quite well there.
Some other upsides.
Pirate heckling seems to be quite limited in scope. People just tend to either shout out pirate phrases they've heard.
[gap]
Or, just silence , really. Just silence.
Well, thanks for lending me your ears. I've got to shoot now and get this parrot back to the hire shop before 10pm.
Before I go I suppose I could tell you what the sexual term 'pirating' means but top be honest it's just going to make all the women in the room hate me and think I invented it, so I'm not going Io do that.
Although, if you lot demand it of me, we could do it another way that doesn't incriminate me.
I've broken down the term pirating into three section and if members of the audience would care to read one section each then technically no one will have read it and so you won't be to blame.
Up for that?
Shiver me timbers is that the time. I must be going. Arrrggh.
Remember folks, to errr is human, but to arrrggghhh is pirate.
It's a lifestyle choice.
A while ago when I told an old friend of mine I was becoming a comic and he asked me, maybe in a way that after he said it I felt like I should have come up with a better answer than I had done, or that I should have had something pre prepared, he asked me, do you have a comic persona?
This worried me.
Do I need a comic persona?
Is this his way of saying you, as you are, aren't really funny enough, so what's your comic persona.
[you could do the whole of this dressed as a pirate]
So, I said, well, you know, I reckon all the really good comedians I've seen they're kind of themselves but, like a heightened version of themselves. Like there must be quite a lot of David Brent's in Ricky Gervais, right?
So he said, so basically you're going to just be yourself, but funny.
And that's how I ended up here this evening.
And I know what you're thinking, and you're right.
Day to day, I don't normally have the parrot.
But for the purposes of comedy, of your entertainment, I felt I needed to push the envelope, or whatever people say in offices.
So, that's the parrot. It's me. But more so. Day-to-day I'm not rocking the parrot accessory. Because ultimately I'm fearful that if I go down the parrot route, and say I'm in the job centre signing on, they're not going to take me seriously.
Basically, I'm a pirate. That's my vibe. Swashbuckling. Walk the plank. That kind of thing. I'm old school though. Not one of these modern pirates sin little speedboats high on Khat toting AK 47's. No I'm more mid 1500's kind of thing. Keira Knightley kind of thing.
So that's me. Probably best not to ask me anything about boats or the history of piracy when we're done here, because literally I don't know a damn thing. I haven't done the research. And I think it's safe to say if you get this far (shows outfit) and you haven't done the research, you're probably not going to.
Some upsides of being a pirate and a comic. I'm unique. You'll see a lot of other so-called observational comics out there, really good ones. Ones that make a point of saying "don't ask me yeah, if I can tell jokes, I don't even know any jokes, I'm an observational comedian. I make people laugh by observing everyday life"
Well, that's fair enough. And they've made me laugh with some of their observations.
But as for me, I'm not an observational comic.
But I am a pirate.
How many people can say that?
Other upsides of being a pirate comedian. Get quite a lot of overseas gigs.
Done quite a lot of stuff in Somalia.
Seem to go over quite well there.
Some other upsides.
Pirate heckling seems to be quite limited in scope. People just tend to either shout out pirate phrases they've heard.
[gap]
Or, just silence , really. Just silence.
Well, thanks for lending me your ears. I've got to shoot now and get this parrot back to the hire shop before 10pm.
Before I go I suppose I could tell you what the sexual term 'pirating' means but top be honest it's just going to make all the women in the room hate me and think I invented it, so I'm not going Io do that.
Although, if you lot demand it of me, we could do it another way that doesn't incriminate me.
I've broken down the term pirating into three section and if members of the audience would care to read one section each then technically no one will have read it and so you won't be to blame.
Up for that?
Shiver me timbers is that the time. I must be going. Arrrggh.
Remember folks, to errr is human, but to arrrggghhh is pirate.
Friday, 12 June 2009
What do you mean technology didn't converge on the Kettle?
Funny isn't it.
These days mobile phones aren't just phones any more, they're maps and they're address books, and they're mp3 players.
There are some thing that when I say them make me feel like I'm someones mum. MP3 players is definitely one of those things. MP3's. Who actually talks about MP3's apart from losers. I'm nit saying I don't listen to them. Whoaah there. I'm not a Luddite. I've got an ipod. I just don't refer to them. I think if you say the words MP3 player you don't really know what it means, you've just heard it somewhere and are trying it out. Yeah, it's got an mp3 player - and in the back of your mind you're just thinking "please don't ask me what an mp3 player is, please don't ask me what an mp3 player is, please don't ask m".
Or maybe it's one of those questions that you can go into the carphone warehouse and when they ask you what you're looking for you can smash it out of the park straight off.
"I like the look of this Sony, but does it have an mp3 player?" you might say, just to establish in the mind of the salesman you're not some dufus that he can offload his most rubbish phone onto because you won't know the difference. Even though you don't.
I digress.
So, where did we start. Phones these days do a lot of stuff, they're not just phones any more. They're multimedia hubs, with mp3 players (knowing wink).
Same with computers, computers have become TV's and radios and pornography superhighways all sorts of stuff I've got no idea about.
And the weird thing is that about 5 years ago, people we re saying this was all going to happen, that technology was going to converge on one of these items and that that was going to become the dominant item in the home, and the choices were TV, Phone or Kettle.
Now, I went Kettle.
Maybe that testifies to my tea 'problem' (do finger gestures). Or maybe, I'm ahead of the curve, and at some point when the computer and the mobile phone are tired battling it out to see who's going to be the daddy, who's going to be the appliance's appliance, maybe at that point, the Kettle, from nowhere might sneak in and win it.
Look, all I'm saying is that if you're in the market for a new Kettle, and I have been for about a year, hang on in there a touch longer, because you know what, and like I say, it's just a hunch, the world of Kettles is about to get very interesting.
You heard it here first.
Get down to Ladbrokes. £20 on Kettles being the big thing by 2012. They'll laugh at you now, and they might be laughing so hard it'll take a while to get that bet written down. But we'll see who's laughing.
Just in case I've presented too compelling an argument for Kettles there, and I've done it in the past, I'm not serious about £20 on Kettles at Ladbrokes.
Well, you know I am, but I feel I have to say that in case you judge me.
----
These days mobile phones aren't just phones any more, they're maps and they're address books, and they're mp3 players.
There are some thing that when I say them make me feel like I'm someones mum. MP3 players is definitely one of those things. MP3's. Who actually talks about MP3's apart from losers. I'm nit saying I don't listen to them. Whoaah there. I'm not a Luddite. I've got an ipod. I just don't refer to them. I think if you say the words MP3 player you don't really know what it means, you've just heard it somewhere and are trying it out. Yeah, it's got an mp3 player - and in the back of your mind you're just thinking "please don't ask me what an mp3 player is, please don't ask me what an mp3 player is, please don't ask m".
Or maybe it's one of those questions that you can go into the carphone warehouse and when they ask you what you're looking for you can smash it out of the park straight off.
"I like the look of this Sony, but does it have an mp3 player?" you might say, just to establish in the mind of the salesman you're not some dufus that he can offload his most rubbish phone onto because you won't know the difference. Even though you don't.
I digress.
So, where did we start. Phones these days do a lot of stuff, they're not just phones any more. They're multimedia hubs, with mp3 players (knowing wink).
Same with computers, computers have become TV's and radios and pornography superhighways all sorts of stuff I've got no idea about.
And the weird thing is that about 5 years ago, people we re saying this was all going to happen, that technology was going to converge on one of these items and that that was going to become the dominant item in the home, and the choices were TV, Phone or Kettle.
Now, I went Kettle.
Maybe that testifies to my tea 'problem' (do finger gestures). Or maybe, I'm ahead of the curve, and at some point when the computer and the mobile phone are tired battling it out to see who's going to be the daddy, who's going to be the appliance's appliance, maybe at that point, the Kettle, from nowhere might sneak in and win it.
Look, all I'm saying is that if you're in the market for a new Kettle, and I have been for about a year, hang on in there a touch longer, because you know what, and like I say, it's just a hunch, the world of Kettles is about to get very interesting.
You heard it here first.
Get down to Ladbrokes. £20 on Kettles being the big thing by 2012. They'll laugh at you now, and they might be laughing so hard it'll take a while to get that bet written down. But we'll see who's laughing.
Just in case I've presented too compelling an argument for Kettles there, and I've done it in the past, I'm not serious about £20 on Kettles at Ladbrokes.
Well, you know I am, but I feel I have to say that in case you judge me.
----
Friday, 5 June 2009
Left luggage will be taken and may be destroyed
May be destroyed?
May be destroyed?
What kind of bizarre power trip are the people who work in left luggage in airports on?
Are they all sitting around in some windowless room waiting for the next piece of left luggage to turn up.
"Well lookee, lookee, lookee here. What have we got ourselves? A black samsonite mid-size suitcase if I'm not very much mistaken. Mid 90's. Argos I would hazard"
"Maybe John Lewis"
"John Lewis could be John Lewis. Most likely they bought it there but price matched it at Argos if they had their wits about them"
"Argos prices, John Lewis service"
"Argos prices, John Lewis service"
"Never knowingly undersold"
At this point it might be worth mentioning that that was supposed to be two people. A conversation between two airport security staff in a windowless office in, say Luton. But, I do understand that due to my limited accent skills, having to actually explain that that was two people does detract slightly from he humour of the situation.
I do understand that.
I do.
I just can't do accents.
I can one accent.
(dropped) And then drop it to represent another person.
But basically it's the same person.
(dropped) Just in a lower register
Not very impressive really is it
(dropped) No.
----
I digress. Left luggage will be taken and may be destroyed.
How do they decide?
Toss a coin.
Play cards. Play that hand game with the suitcase that you play at school to see who flinches first. Clearly the last one was a silly suggestion so let's take that off the table.
I just like the idea of these guys sitting around menacing an inanimate object.
Here come the accents again.
It's possibly worth mentioning at this point that should you have no first hand experience of actually meeting the people who work in Left Luggage at airports is they all; speak slightly like shit gangsters.
And this is in no way a coincidence that that's one of the few accents I can do.
"So, (cracks knuckles) What we going to do with old Samsonite here?"
"Dunno. We could do nothing with him"
"Yeah we could do nothing with him. Or we could rip his stupid little fucking wheels off and then stamp on his front pocket then take it to a little room in the back and blow the bastard from here to Timbuktu. To be honest with you that's how I'm inclined to play it if that fucker gives me one more fucking funny look"
"Yeah."
"Yeah"
"Not such a big man now are you Sam-son-ite"
"Yeah"
And so on. And so forth.
May be destroyed?
What kind of bizarre power trip are the people who work in left luggage in airports on?
Are they all sitting around in some windowless room waiting for the next piece of left luggage to turn up.
"Well lookee, lookee, lookee here. What have we got ourselves? A black samsonite mid-size suitcase if I'm not very much mistaken. Mid 90's. Argos I would hazard"
"Maybe John Lewis"
"John Lewis could be John Lewis. Most likely they bought it there but price matched it at Argos if they had their wits about them"
"Argos prices, John Lewis service"
"Argos prices, John Lewis service"
"Never knowingly undersold"
At this point it might be worth mentioning that that was supposed to be two people. A conversation between two airport security staff in a windowless office in, say Luton. But, I do understand that due to my limited accent skills, having to actually explain that that was two people does detract slightly from he humour of the situation.
I do understand that.
I do.
I just can't do accents.
I can one accent.
(dropped) And then drop it to represent another person.
But basically it's the same person.
(dropped) Just in a lower register
Not very impressive really is it
(dropped) No.
----
I digress. Left luggage will be taken and may be destroyed.
How do they decide?
Toss a coin.
Play cards. Play that hand game with the suitcase that you play at school to see who flinches first. Clearly the last one was a silly suggestion so let's take that off the table.
I just like the idea of these guys sitting around menacing an inanimate object.
Here come the accents again.
It's possibly worth mentioning at this point that should you have no first hand experience of actually meeting the people who work in Left Luggage at airports is they all; speak slightly like shit gangsters.
And this is in no way a coincidence that that's one of the few accents I can do.
"So, (cracks knuckles) What we going to do with old Samsonite here?"
"Dunno. We could do nothing with him"
"Yeah we could do nothing with him. Or we could rip his stupid little fucking wheels off and then stamp on his front pocket then take it to a little room in the back and blow the bastard from here to Timbuktu. To be honest with you that's how I'm inclined to play it if that fucker gives me one more fucking funny look"
"Yeah."
"Yeah"
"Not such a big man now are you Sam-son-ite"
"Yeah"
And so on. And so forth.
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
Submarine Walls/Your Luggage will be Taken away and may be destroyed/Does anyone here work in an office?/Men going to the toilet
I've been getting interested in walls, recently.
No, not ice creams.
Not sausages.
But walls. Boundaries that separate one thing from another.
It seems to be a uniquely human thing, building walls. Don't worry, there's probably a couple of builders in here tonight going "He better not start slagging of Walls, I'm having enough trouble in this downturn without him laying the boot in about walls". Don't worry, I'm not slagging off Walls.
I get the whole "Wall concept". I do, I really do.
But I won't lie to you. There's one thing about walls I don't get. And that's underwater walls.
Apparently there's an underwater wall in between Jordan and Saudi Arabia which delineates the border and you can dive along it.
Sounds good doesn't it?
And then you stop and think for a micro second.
An underwater wall?
Who thought that was a good idea?
I mean, without wanting to make you judge me negatively at any point, I have smoked a joint before. And I have inhaled. I have been stoned. And I've done some pretty stupid things, eaten more Pringles than I thought was humanly possible - they should definitely have a 'NOT FOR SALE FOR STONERS' health warning on those things.
Maybe they could give newsagents a simple Stoner test like when someone comes into a late night garage to buy a packet of Pringles and three double deckers - the only people in the audience who will find that remotely funny are people who have smoked cannabis before so if you're sitting next to someone and they're laughing, then judge them.
Don't judge me.
So someone comes in asking for a pack of Pringles and three double deckers just say "We're doing a promotion at the moment involving double or nothing on Pringles, where if someone wants to go double or nothing on this pack of Pringles we'll just flip a coin and if you call it right you win another pack of Pringles".
Now if you ran this test on a normal person they'd just say no. They don't want to take risks with food purchases. They've got a pack of Pringles and 3 Double Deckers, they're good, at least you hope they are. But to someone stoned, well, that's a different story.
They're going to go for that food and gambling option right there.
And then you know, you've got them. No sale.
So, as I was saying. I have been stoned, I've admitted it. If I ever become famous that's something the Sunday papers cannot expose me for, but in all the times I've got high, I have never, ever, ever in my life, thought it was a good idea to build an underwater wall.
I mean, it's fraught with problems.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
The "I'm just making a fish pie for some friends who've had twins but I'm not gay" story
So there I am.
In Sainsbury's at the fish counter
(another way of starting this could be to say
"Imagine for a second,
It's a Saturday afternoon
You're in Sainsbury's by the fish counter", then, imagine for a second, la la laaaa)
Buying some fish for a Fish Pie. It's a Saturday, there's nothing at all odd about this situation. There's someone in front of you, someone behind you. The person who's in front seems to be ordering a wide array of fish and so when it comes your turn to order, you're feeling ever so slightly self conscious.
So you order, you know you need 750g of fish for this pie but rather than just buy 750g of cod, because a) that's a bit boring, and because b) once in a while it's good to stop and marvel at the amazing phenomenon that is a supermarket, that there are so many things you can order and actually have, you decide to go for 400g of Salmon, 300g of Cod and 100g of Tiger Prawns.
Why not eh?
Fuck it. I'm sure when they were freely swimming off the coast of Costa Rica or wherever it is that Tiger Prawns naturally reside that's where, if they could think, if they did actually have consciousness, that's where they'd be most happy ending up.
In a fish counter sitting on ice in a pit stop on their journey from actually being alive to their final resting place. A Jamie Oliver fish pie.
Those lucky, luck prawns.
So, anyhoo.
I digress.
The woman behind me hears my ordering - nosy bitch - only joking - well it was a bit nosy - but I am only joking - and says "are you making a fish pie."
And never one to skimp on detail when an explanation could be offered I explained that my very close friends have just had twins and I was making a fish pie and taking it around to them.
And then she gave me this look.
Does anyone here recognise this look [do the raised eyebrows look].
Well, if you ever see this look, from a woman, it's basically a non verbal way of saying "You're gay".
---
So now I find myself in a spot where I feel a bit awkward.
Every part of me wants to turn around to the woman and shout 'I"M NOT GAY" in block capitals.
But somehow, that just seems wildly inappropriate.
It's just not cool. So what if she thinks I'm gay. It doesn't matter, it's fine if you;re gay. Of course it is. It;s just I'm not gay.
Its factually inaccurate.
And it's just something about the thought of her going home and while she's doing the washing up after a simple yet delicious and nutritious dinner of poached salmon and boiled potatoes saying (she laughs) "Oh, Brian, I forgot to tell you, I met the loveliest gay man in Sainsbury's today. He was such a sweetie. He was making a fish pie for his friends who've had twins.
What a lovely man".
You know what, he was so nice I think he might have even been one of those gay guys that doesn't, you know, do it.
What like us is what her husband Brian is thinking at this point but wisely staying schtum.
[I'M NOT GAY T-SHIRT reveal]
In Sainsbury's at the fish counter
(another way of starting this could be to say
"Imagine for a second,
It's a Saturday afternoon
You're in Sainsbury's by the fish counter", then, imagine for a second, la la laaaa)
Buying some fish for a Fish Pie. It's a Saturday, there's nothing at all odd about this situation. There's someone in front of you, someone behind you. The person who's in front seems to be ordering a wide array of fish and so when it comes your turn to order, you're feeling ever so slightly self conscious.
So you order, you know you need 750g of fish for this pie but rather than just buy 750g of cod, because a) that's a bit boring, and because b) once in a while it's good to stop and marvel at the amazing phenomenon that is a supermarket, that there are so many things you can order and actually have, you decide to go for 400g of Salmon, 300g of Cod and 100g of Tiger Prawns.
Why not eh?
Fuck it. I'm sure when they were freely swimming off the coast of Costa Rica or wherever it is that Tiger Prawns naturally reside that's where, if they could think, if they did actually have consciousness, that's where they'd be most happy ending up.
In a fish counter sitting on ice in a pit stop on their journey from actually being alive to their final resting place. A Jamie Oliver fish pie.
Those lucky, luck prawns.
So, anyhoo.
I digress.
The woman behind me hears my ordering - nosy bitch - only joking - well it was a bit nosy - but I am only joking - and says "are you making a fish pie."
And never one to skimp on detail when an explanation could be offered I explained that my very close friends have just had twins and I was making a fish pie and taking it around to them.
And then she gave me this look.
Does anyone here recognise this look [do the raised eyebrows look].
Well, if you ever see this look, from a woman, it's basically a non verbal way of saying "You're gay".
---
So now I find myself in a spot where I feel a bit awkward.
Every part of me wants to turn around to the woman and shout 'I"M NOT GAY" in block capitals.
But somehow, that just seems wildly inappropriate.
It's just not cool. So what if she thinks I'm gay. It doesn't matter, it's fine if you;re gay. Of course it is. It;s just I'm not gay.
Its factually inaccurate.
And it's just something about the thought of her going home and while she's doing the washing up after a simple yet delicious and nutritious dinner of poached salmon and boiled potatoes saying (she laughs) "Oh, Brian, I forgot to tell you, I met the loveliest gay man in Sainsbury's today. He was such a sweetie. He was making a fish pie for his friends who've had twins.
What a lovely man".
You know what, he was so nice I think he might have even been one of those gay guys that doesn't, you know, do it.
What like us is what her husband Brian is thinking at this point but wisely staying schtum.
[I'M NOT GAY T-SHIRT reveal]
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