Sunday, 10 January 2010

2010: The Year of the Cunt.

For me, 2010 has now started properly. Last night's gig at the superb Boat Show was upset for a while by incredibly noisy fucknuts who had no idea that there where other people on the planet besides their badly dressed selves. I was compering and heard them a lot while I was on but it didn't really interrupt what I was doing. Well, I didn't let it interrupt what I was doing because I was in no mood for pricks. Tom Wrigglesworth, on the other hand, had to deal with them and I'm over the moon that he did. He was superb.

The people at the back of the room were talking so much that Tom had no choice but to engage them. They had an odd opinion of talking in comedy clubs. The first thing they said to Tom was "We've been asked to be quiet all night" as if, somehow, it's the people around them that were at fault and not their DOA brains. Then one of them opened one of her many, many cock-holes to say "It's my birthday, I can talk if I want to" once again proving that abortion shouldn't have a cut-off date. Tom went on to give an incredible and hilarious torrent of abuse directed at the birthday twat before feeling almost pity for her and deciding just to talk to her. You know, ease the tension in the room and maybe prove to everyone that she wasn't a big bag of brainless bollocks after all. "What's your name?", Tom asked. "21", she replied.

Oh, well.

Tom carried on with the gig but you could sort of tell he didn't really enjoy it even though he was very, very funny. Even when a woman shouted out "The dickheads have gone" and the audience cheered I think it was too little too late for him. Near the end of his set he said "Let's just let me finish this one routine and then I can leave and we can get on with our pigging lives". He is right. Our lives are pigging. Just pigging.

After the gig, I got on the train home. Nice early night, eh? Avoid all the noisy drunks on their way home. Except one of them.

God, what a fucking cunt he was. Fine, he was drunk but did he have to scream his own skeleton out while "chatting" on the phone and did he have to sit right behind me? Of course he did. He's a cunt. You can always tell a cunt because they are shouting loudly and they are sitting behind me. I have a new year resolution not to get involved and if I keep getting cunts like this sitting anywhere near me it's going to be very difficult to keep my resolution. But, the way I look at it is this: If no-one else is bothered then neither am I. It goes without saying that no-one on the train said a word to the thoughtless shit even though you couldn't hear yourself plotting his murder and his cooked dead animal flesh stank the train out. Here are some of this gentleman's quotes that he loud-hailered into my ear last night: "I know how to sweet talk a camera", "I was at home in my house listening to The Kaisers with JD in hand, my man" and "She's into me. Into me, though. Me".

Tell me that you wouldn't have battered the shit. I wanted his shoe so badly.

Then I went home and for no good reason that I can see watched Celebrity Big Brother. I was tense from the journey home and then I caught myself watching a 60 year old woman having a bath while fully dressed on TV and I thought, yes, 2010 has begun. I hate 2010.

James and I recorded Precious Little podcast number 18 yesterday and that was fun. I wore a cape throughout the recording. That felt good. Not enough cape wearing these days, if you ask me. If you have a cape give it a wear. You'll feel good. Promise.

1 comment:

Lazy Underachiever said...

I feel privileged that I never get cunts like that at my comedy club. Then again my audience is entirely made up of my friends and friends of those friends.