There's nothing I like better at the moment than Girls. I've gone through a few girls already this week and two days ago Johnny Candon and I were enjoying some Girls on the sofa while patting my dog. Even though I was paying more attention to Girls her tail wagged a lot because she likes a good patting. Girls is a comic book (HA HA! BRILLIANT! You thought I meant me and Johnny had been abducting and raping some women but no, I was talking about a comic. God, you look a right idiot now. You've been totally Legged) by The Luna Brothers about alien women who go around fucking men and killing women. It's a lot less offensive than I just made it sound. I can't recommend it enough. It's way better than the book you're reading right now, trust me. In fact, you wouldn't be reading State of Fear if he hadn't have died anyway so put that shit down and bury your face in Girls. The comic that is, ho ho!
Speaking of laughing at comics that is exactly what I wasn't doing last night. I got home after gigging in time to watch Live at The Apollo on Dave. I used to really like Michael McIntyre. He's a fantastic improviser and why he doesn't want to show that off on telly is beyond me. Instead he does his written material which is basically observation. Not observational comedy, just observation. "When you go to the toilet you have to drop your pants, and you do, don't you? When you breathe you take air into your lungs and then out again and you do, don't you? When you go to bed at night you turn the light off and cry alone in the darkness and I do, don't I?" I'm sure me pointing this out in my blog is a cast-iron guarantee that Michael will go back to his more off-the-cuff style which I like and dump the list-of-things-he's-seen style. He's bound to read this and he's bound to be reasonable enough of a man to accept criticism from a man that mainly compere's other club comics on to a stage stared at by the drunken living dead. And maybe he'll stop putting on a fake Northern Irish accent and asking if he can march up my area every time he sees me. The fat, Ronnie Corbett looking, fame obsessed, cheesey cunt.
The gig at The Comedy Cafe was good though. An unsurprisingly drunk Friday night crowd who surprisingly good fun. I'm looking forward to it again tonight but no Dave when I get back this time. It disturbs my sleep.
Apparently, the utterly brilliant Collings and Herrin podcast is starting to slip lower down the podcast chart of late and I fear it will slip even further soon. Partly because you're a fucking arse who doesn't listen to it but mainly because I'm about to start doing a podcast myself. I can feel Herrin quaking in his pumps right now. It's bound to be a huge success due to my incredible fame and reputation but, alas, one thing stands in the way of my podcasting genius. I don't know how to make a podcast. Loads of comedians do podcasts these days and now that the medium is saturated and starting to lose interest, I think it's a perfect time for me to jump on the spluttering, slow-moving, over-crowded bandwagon. Any help would be greatly appreciated. In the meantime, listen to Collings and Herrin. It's great, you can get it on iTunes, it's completely free and all profits go to Madeleine McCann. Thank you.