Wednesday, 15 April 2009

Auf Wiedersehen, Pets.

According to, seeing a dead duck and a dead cat in a dream means "Sorry, there are no matches for your request" but what does it mean when you see a dead duck and a dead cat in a canal? Surely this is an omen? I've got a gig that I'm very nervous about tonight and I can only assume that seeing these two animals face down and floating in a canal means that I'm actually going to drown on stage. That'll be a first for me and, more horribly, a last.

They weren't that far from each other in the canal. Cats and ducks don't really get on, if my cartoons are right, so I can only assume that it must have been a fight to the death. The duck stood no chance against the sharp claws and teeth of the vicious ginger bastard but, after the slaying was over, the canal, surely a ducks second best friend after the humble pond, stood up for it's deceased web-footed pal and destroyed the cat with it's cunning water. Or, and I think this is the most likely option, the cat and the duck had fallen in love but they know all too well that society would not let them have their happiness. It was an unlikely romance but it blossomed. Sure, one liked sleeping by the radiator and the other liked stale bread but look at Peter Andre and Katie Price. She's obsessed with body image and fame and he is mental flavoured soup yet, somehow, they managed to look past that and fall head over bank account in love. But would people give Mallard and Whiskers the same amount of respect just because they were different? NO! (and not just in Edinburgh) Can you imagine having to constantly explain to your friends why you're fucking a duck? Can you? Will you? Are you? Are you imagining it right now? Well, that's what is must have been like for Whiskers every day. And have you ever tried to explain your cat-fucking fetish to another duck? It's hard, believe me. And pointless. I'll never get those wasted hours back.

I feel sorry for the duck and the cat I saw face down dead in a canal yesterday but at least now they're free. I hope there is an animal Heaven where they're finally accepted and allowed to be themselves (even though all cats are protestants and all protestants go to hell). It did make me think that two unrelated animals dead right in front of me is Jesus' way of saying tonight's gig is going to be tough.

I'm doing an impro show. Impro show's are extremely hard. I'm shitting myself. If you like the thought of paying to watch me shit myself on stage then this has to be the show for you. I'm on with Brendan Dempsey, Tara Flynn and Rufus Hound, all of whom will be covering up my mistakes and any odours I leave in the room. You can find out about it here:

I sat through a full half hour of Red Fucking Dwarf last night. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting much but I did think it was going to be slightly better than the under-written episode of Rent-A-Ghost that Dave supplied us with. Luckily, I came to my senses and didn't watch the other two episodes. I watched Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle instead and it was his best one so far. The bursting of the oh-so precious Bill Hicks bubble is a joy to behold. Excellent.

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