Who the fuck has a tarantula for a pet? That's horrible. It's like having a severed head as a pet. It freaks people out and makes you look creepy. Yesterday, I was in the pet shop buying food for my dog (a fine choice for a pet) when a massive, slurring, chav she-blob rolled in front of me with 8 take-away boxes full of crickets for her mad animal to murder and swallow in front of her children. I know she had children because she had the names of some of them amongst her thousands of tattoos (honestly, she was an incredible read), some of which showed how deep she was because they was written in foreign. What joy can be gained from owning a pet that would gladly kill you if it got the chance? She's (probably) not a Bond villain. She can't need this scary, hairy, leg-monster in her house. How misbehaved do your kids have to be that you'd get one of Mother Nature's own hit-men in to threaten them? I've been on my own for three days.
Last night, due to my growing madness because I've been on my own for three days, I decided to go to Old Rope. Old Rope is a comedy club where comedians go to try out new material and Phil Nichol goes to drink and scream. It's a very good night with barely a cunt on stage. I didn't perform there because I'm a coward and wasn't asked but the bill consisted of Matt Kirschen, Robin Ince, Benny Boot (who did all his own heckling, very impressive), Nick Doody....er....and some other people. Matt is such a superb comedian, the brand new material he performed last night sounded so well-honed already. The fucking cunt. And Robin Ince is without a doubt one of the very, very best comedians around, which is exactly why I left before he came on. I don't need my nose rubbed in Robin's goods. I wish I could do a spot there but it just seems so scary, standing in front of comedians and Phil Nichol drinking and screaming and performing brand new material that could easily crash to the floor. It's terrifying. That's what tarantula-woman should really do. Fuck the mad spider, when your kids are fucking around, make them write 5 new minutes of material to do in front of Alastair Barrie. The very thought. I might not sleep tonight.
I'm very glad that we're doing The Clock Hour tomorrow night at The Albany, Great Portland Street. I've missed doing the show a lot and, quite frankly, after this BORING week I'm glad to be doing anything. Dan Mersh has brought two other sketches to this re-mixed version of The Clock Hour plus we'll be delighting in the company of Brian Blessed's Balls also. If you haven't seen BBB then you really should. It's mental.
I think Andre Vincent's right. I've been saying snide comments about comedians then link to clips of them here on my blog. That's horrible. Who the hell am I to say what's bad? I'm nothing special. Andre is bang on the money, that's just me copying Chortle and if you go around copying things then you're a cunt, so I humbly apologise. Andre is, of course, responsible for The Daily Show, or it's UK knock-off at any rate. So, to make up for it, here's something BRILLIANT: