MySpace still works! I know that pretty much everyone has forgotten that there used to be a time before Facebook when your Nan and her Nan used to hook up with paedophiles the old fashioned way, through Her Majesty's MySpace. They used to get up at 6 in the morning to cycle 5 miles to the nearest Internetium and spend thruppeny half and nine on a big bag of MySpaces with enough left over for a quick Bebo, and there were none of that poking neither. But times have changed. Now it's all new fangled status update this and you've been tagged that. It's good to see that some of us are still old fashioned enough to just get in touch without the add-on that you're making them become a slightly higher ranking zombie. One such person is the lovely Simon Dowd. Simon and I started doing stand up pretty much at the same time 85 years ago and this weekend he got in touch, the first I've heard from him THIS CENTURY. I'm very happy about it too because he was always a big favourite of mine, both as an act and a person. He stopped performing for personal reasons and not because he was shit and moved to America which is shit. Well, it's shit for us because Simon is brilliant. When he MySpaced me I was over the moon. I just felt that he was one of those great people that you know for a while and they just dissappear from your life altogether. Like Mum. (HA HA, that was BRILLIANT. Must remember to use that). Then yesterday, while STILL cleaning my fucking hovel I came across a Screaming Blue Murder Comedy Clubs leaflet from 1999 listing pretty much every gig that Simon and I did for them that year. For Simon, and all nostalgists out there, Dowd compered John Gordillo, Phil Nichol and Susan Murray at The Dog & Fox on Friday 2nd April. Imagine that! That would never happen these days. Susan would be on in the middle for a start.
I really have to make more of an effort to keep my house clean. The garden is trying to attack next doors garden and everytime I open the back door to let Jerk out for a wee I live in fear that she might never come back. Also, anytime I open my back door I'm greeted by the sight of a broken microwave and some shit garden furniture that I put out there months ago and the stupid, lazy, evil, Gypsy-loving council still keep "forgetting" to come and pick it up for recycling. Someone told me that my garden looks white trash with all that crap in it which is deeply offensive. It's racist. And racism was invented by us whites. What's wrong, people with skin colour different to white? Can't think of your own thing? The world has gone horribly wrong when us white people can't even have something like racism to call our own anymore. They'll take our inability to dance away next. Anyway, I'm having a breakdown.
I forgot to say how enjoyable the weekend was at The Comedy Cafe. I loved it. Friday was great and I was fucking appalling on the saturday night. Just about got away with it but that's the best you can say. On the other hand, Julian Dean was excellent. He's my favourite act at the moment. When I came off stage that night the other acts commiserated with me by telling me that the audience were a bunch of ignorant pricks, but it wasn't true. I was a bunch of ignorant pricks. I knew I'd done a crap job and couldn't blame the ugly, ugly audience at all. Then Julian Dean went on and had a great gig, thus proving me right. And him a cunt.
The next day I went for a sunday roast with some friends. I fancied a big roast and as it was sunday I thought a sunday roast would be the perfect meal for me. Then I remembered; I'm a vegetarian. I know they don't have a paedophile's menu at any restaurant probably but if they did I'm pretty sure they'd offer more choice to a man who wants to stick his angry, angry cock into a child than they do to a vegetarian at most places. We went to Masons which is both near me and does vegetarian sunday roasts but, as I'm me, they decided that day to not only scrap the vegetarian roast but to laugh uproariously at the suggestion that there ever was one in the first place. Everyone I was with had a roast. All I was offered was Tagliatelle, a food that I think is boring, un-roast like and a word I refuse to spell properly. Why are we shat on by the world? We don't eat flesh, SO YOU'RE WEIRD. We don't kill animals, THEN YOU GET YOUR MEAL SERVED LAST. We tend to not get colonic cancer, AND THAT'S WHY WE'RE GIVING YOU FUCKING BORING PASTA, YOU SMUG MIGHT-LIVE-A-BIT-LONGER CUNT. Actually, to be fair, a lot of us are cunts. Well, fuck them. I love not eating meat. In fact, I'm sitting down to not eat a big steak in veal fetus sauce right now. By the way, The Smiths have ANOTHER new compilation out right now but for once it's really good. You should buy it no matter what Smiths fans say. "Repackage! Repackage!" Yeah, yeah, yeah, so you've said....