And that’s that. Another Edinburgh Fringe over. Goodbye to the 24 hour drinking, the 20 year old comedians who have been lucky and ungracious, the fucking jugglers, the pigging bagpipes, the lack of food, the flyerers who have as much interest in the show they’re promoting as I do, the theatre groups who find no shame in rehearsing in public, Joe Power, the tiny sweaty rooms where the comedian on stage can clearly see you hate him, the lying, the lack of any publicity for Gutted, Alan fucking Cumming singing IN PUBLIC, the doing the same fucking thing every day over and over and over again, the constantly seeing posters of Craig Hill, the people who say “I don’t know why you’re not more successful” and me remembering that I’m not more successful, the Vocalzone, the children who review comedy for a sheet of paper that is handed out in goth pubs, the fear that I’ve fucked up yet another show, the people who ask me for a more successful actor’s autograph, the having to prove that you have the right to drink in the pathetically named Star Bar, the lack of wi-fi, the lack of phone signal, the waking up at 2 in the afternoon with a thick tongue and a shamed mind, the you-should-have-been-there stories of comedians who should know better doing one-off shows up Arthur’s Seat at 4am, Arthur’s Seat, comedians, 4am. It’s all fucking over.
But so is the most enjoyable Edinburgh Fringe I’ve ever had. I just loved it this year and all those horrible things just couldn’t spoil it. For every Edinburgh NO, and there were plenty, there was a massive YES! I doubt anything as incredible as being rescued by Hunter from Gladiators will ever happen to me again. And the joy I had in my heart when Joe Power, the psychic that talks to the dead, asked his audience “Does anyone here know a Dave?” was overwhelming. Every show I did I enjoyed. Even the one stand-up gig where I died was enjoyable because the audience were totally cool about it. The one Gutted where everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong (as opposed to the others where just lots of things went wrong) was good because the people I was with are great. We all went down in flames together and we totally learned from it.
Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire is a great show and I’m very proud of it. I’m grateful to Robin Ince for letting me hang on to his apron strings (although I did provide the apron in the show). The shows were full every day without any posters or flyers or publicity. That may have something to do with Robin’s fame rather than mine. We’ll never really know. I do know that we’ll do more Pointless Anger shows and if we get anything near the fun and appreciative audiences we’ve had so far, it’ll be great. No doubt I’ll do something to fuck it up. In fact, I’m generally so happy these days that that means I’ve fucked it up already. God, I’m a cunt.
Gutted was just so much fun that I actually feel that it can’t be over. It would be cruel to us all not to do that again. So what if there were sound difficulties nearly every night? So what if I kept falling off the moving stage in the early shows? So what if I can’t actually sing or act? It’s a fucking laugh. Isn’t that enough? The “final” Gutted last night was pretty much what I expected. The fucking about was pushed so much that the lead character of Sorrow was pissing herself laughing at her boyfriend choking to death. Yes, you could look at it as self-indulgent twattery but only because that’s what it was. I liked it. I loved the show and Danielle Ward and Martin White should be very happy with what they’ve written. I know lots of people who are because I’ve heard “Mrs. Station, have you seen my biscuits?” being quoted by complete strangers for over a week. I think I’m going to miss hanging out with the cast a lot. I don’t hate any of them. IMAGINE THAT! Thanks very much to Danielle and Martin, I’m really grateful and it was a blast.
Packing up my things today and preparing to leave I had to pause and reflect about how sad I felt that it was all over. Still, at least I don’t have to carry a 7ft squirting vagina back to London. I find great solace in that.
But I’m on the crowded train full of Fringe performers going back to London now and my anger is all starting to return. Cunts sitting in groups either singing or crying and hugging one another, luggage fucking everywhere but the luggage hold I put my case into was empty and there are people asleep in front of the toilet door. I’ve just paid £1.80 for a coke that they thoughtfully boiled for me. Plus, I didn’t have a reservation so I’ve had to spend more money upgrading to first class so that I can get a seat as standard class is full. WHY DID YOU FUCKING SELL ME A TICKET IF THERE ARE NO SEATS?
And now Muki has spilled coffee all over her lap so I must go and help her. It won’t be easy. I am laughing quite hard.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Monday, 30 August 2010
Gutted, It's Over.
And that’s that. Another Edinburgh Fringe over. Goodbye to the 24 hour drinking, the 20 year old comedians who have been lucky and ungracious, the fucking jugglers, the pigging bagpipes, the lack of food, the flyerers who have as much interest in the show they’re promoting as I do, the theatre groups who find no shame in rehearsing in public, Joe Power, the tiny sweaty rooms where the comedian on stage can clearly see you hate him, the lying, the lack of any publicity for Gutted, Alan fucking Cumming singing IN PUBLIC, the doing the same fucking thing every day over and over and over again, the constantly seeing posters of Craig Hill, the people who say “I don’t know why you’re not more successful” and me remembering that I’m not more successful, the Vocalzone, the children who review comedy for a sheet of paper that is handed out in goth pubs, the fear that I’ve fucked up yet another show, the people who ask me for a more successful actor’s autograph, the having to prove that you have the right to drink in the pathetically named Star Bar, the lack of wi-fi, the lack of phone signal, the waking up at 2 in the afternoon with a thick tongue and a shamed mind, the you-should-have-been-there stories of comedians who should know better doing one-off shows up Arthur’s Seat at 4am, Arthur’s Seat, comedians, 4am. It’s all fucking over.
But so is the most enjoyable Edinburgh Fringe I’ve ever had. I just loved it this year and all those horrible things just couldn’t spoil it. For every Edinburgh NO, and there were plenty, there was a massive YES! I doubt anything as incredible as being rescued by Hunter from Gladiators will ever happen to me again. And the joy I had in my heart when Joe Power, the psychic that talks to the dead, asked his audience “Does anyone here know a Dave?” was overwhelming. Every show I did I enjoyed. Even the one stand-up gig where I died was enjoyable because the audience were totally cool about it. The one Gutted where everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong (as opposed to the others where just lots of things went wrong) was good because the people I was with are great. We all went down in flames together and we totally learned from it.
Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire is a great show and I’m very proud of it. I’m grateful to Robin Ince for letting me hang on to his apron strings (although I did provide the apron in the show). The shows were full every day without any posters or flyers or publicity. That may have something to do with Robin’s fame rather than mine. We’ll never really know. I do know that we’ll do more Pointless Anger shows and if we get anything near the fun and appreciative audiences we’ve had so far, it’ll be great. No doubt I’ll do something to fuck it up. In fact, I’m generally so happy these days that that means I’ve fucked it up already. God, I’m a cunt.
Gutted was just so much fun that I actually feel that it can’t be over. It would be cruel to us all not to do that again. So what if there were sound difficulties nearly every night? So what if I kept falling off the moving stage in the early shows? So what if I can’t actually sing or act? It’s a fucking laugh. Isn’t that enough? The “final” Gutted last night was pretty much what I expected. The fucking about was pushed so much that the lead character of Sorrow was pissing herself laughing at her boyfriend choking to death. Yes, you could look at it as self-indulgent twattery but only because that’s what it was. I liked it. I loved the show and Danielle Ward and Martin White should be very happy with what they’ve written. I know lots of people who are because I’ve heard “Mrs. Station, have you seen my biscuits?” being quoted by complete strangers for over a week. I think I’m going to miss hanging out with the cast a lot. I don’t hate any of them. IMAGINE THAT! Thanks very much to Danielle and Martin, I’m really grateful and it was a blast.
Packing up my things today and preparing to leave I had to pause and reflect about how sad I felt that it was all over. Still, at least I don’t have to carry a 7ft squirting vagina back to London. I find great solace in that.
But I’m on the crowded train full of Fringe performers going back to London now and my anger is all starting to return. Cunts sitting in groups either singing or crying and hugging one another, luggage fucking everywhere but the luggage hold I put my case into was empty and there are people asleep in front of the toilet door. I’ve just paid £1.80 for a coke that they thoughtfully boiled for me. Plus, I didn’t have a reservation so I’ve had to spend more money upgrading to first class so that I can get a seat as standard class is full. WHY DID YOU FUCKING SELL ME A TICKET IF THERE ARE NO SEATS?
And now Muki has spilled coffee all over her lap so I must go and help her. It won’t be easy. I am laughing quite hard.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
But so is the most enjoyable Edinburgh Fringe I’ve ever had. I just loved it this year and all those horrible things just couldn’t spoil it. For every Edinburgh NO, and there were plenty, there was a massive YES! I doubt anything as incredible as being rescued by Hunter from Gladiators will ever happen to me again. And the joy I had in my heart when Joe Power, the psychic that talks to the dead, asked his audience “Does anyone here know a Dave?” was overwhelming. Every show I did I enjoyed. Even the one stand-up gig where I died was enjoyable because the audience were totally cool about it. The one Gutted where everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong (as opposed to the others where just lots of things went wrong) was good because the people I was with are great. We all went down in flames together and we totally learned from it.
Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire is a great show and I’m very proud of it. I’m grateful to Robin Ince for letting me hang on to his apron strings (although I did provide the apron in the show). The shows were full every day without any posters or flyers or publicity. That may have something to do with Robin’s fame rather than mine. We’ll never really know. I do know that we’ll do more Pointless Anger shows and if we get anything near the fun and appreciative audiences we’ve had so far, it’ll be great. No doubt I’ll do something to fuck it up. In fact, I’m generally so happy these days that that means I’ve fucked it up already. God, I’m a cunt.
Gutted was just so much fun that I actually feel that it can’t be over. It would be cruel to us all not to do that again. So what if there were sound difficulties nearly every night? So what if I kept falling off the moving stage in the early shows? So what if I can’t actually sing or act? It’s a fucking laugh. Isn’t that enough? The “final” Gutted last night was pretty much what I expected. The fucking about was pushed so much that the lead character of Sorrow was pissing herself laughing at her boyfriend choking to death. Yes, you could look at it as self-indulgent twattery but only because that’s what it was. I liked it. I loved the show and Danielle Ward and Martin White should be very happy with what they’ve written. I know lots of people who are because I’ve heard “Mrs. Station, have you seen my biscuits?” being quoted by complete strangers for over a week. I think I’m going to miss hanging out with the cast a lot. I don’t hate any of them. IMAGINE THAT! Thanks very much to Danielle and Martin, I’m really grateful and it was a blast.
Packing up my things today and preparing to leave I had to pause and reflect about how sad I felt that it was all over. Still, at least I don’t have to carry a 7ft squirting vagina back to London. I find great solace in that.
But I’m on the crowded train full of Fringe performers going back to London now and my anger is all starting to return. Cunts sitting in groups either singing or crying and hugging one another, luggage fucking everywhere but the luggage hold I put my case into was empty and there are people asleep in front of the toilet door. I’ve just paid £1.80 for a coke that they thoughtfully boiled for me. Plus, I didn’t have a reservation so I’ve had to spend more money upgrading to first class so that I can get a seat as standard class is full. WHY DID YOU FUCKING SELL ME A TICKET IF THERE ARE NO SEATS?
And now Muki has spilled coffee all over her lap so I must go and help her. It won’t be easy. I am laughing quite hard.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Do You Have Bonnie Tyler's Phone Number?
This is amazing! I mean, it's just so utterly incredible that it should only ever happen in a comic book.
Last night, Colin and Kat Hoult, Muki and I were drinking in a bar that is charmingly called Fingers. It was incredibly hot, crowded and loud but it was the nearest place that we could get booze that late so we suffered through. Soon we were joined by a horrible drunk arsehole.
The horrible drunk arsehole introduced himself to us by putting his arms around Kat and saying "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" To be honest, I didn't like him. I assumed he must have been a friend of Kat's though because complete strangers don't do that sort of thing. Ever. No matter what. But when Colin asked him to leave her alone I realised he was what he is. A horrible drunk arsehole. He gave Colin a dirty look then smiled and winked at me as if to say "What's his problem? I'm only trying to feel up his wife". Then he did another no-no. He put his arm around me. I don't like that at all. It's too aggressive a thing to do. He may have thought he was being friendly in his stupid drunk arsehole head but he was being far from it. I told him to fuck off. He went away.
I thought that would be the last we would see of him. He stumbled over to talk to what I assumed was his friend. You know, a friend that you talk really aggressively to while pointing right at their face. Colin and I were happily talking about the beauty of Carnival of Monsters and as far as we were concerned the horrible drunk arsehole was history. Occasionally, I looked over and saw him still being aggressive to his friend but I didn't care. Carnival of Monsters is a lot more important than any drunk horrible arsehole. Then his friend suddenly tired of being pointed at in the face and punched arsehole in the mouth. Arsehole retaliated by headbutting his friend. Weirdly, although he headbutted him twice and we saw him make full contact, it just looked like it didn't hurt. It was like arsehole's head was really lovely and soft. It was still horrible to watch and, as she was very near the fight, Colin and I manfully stood in front of Kat to protect her. Sadly, although Colin and I are very brave we are also very beautiful and we didn't want to get punched by either of these drunks. We were at the very edge of trouble. Our beautiful faces could get damaged and we would never be able to not get work on BBC3 ever again. Who will save us from this brutality?
Hunter from Gladiators, that's who! As unbelievable as it sounds the real, actual Hunter from Gladiators appeared from nowhere and rescued Colin and I by throwing one of the drunks out and threatening the others. He asked us all if we were OK but all I could think of was how much I loved this almighty god in front of me. Am I alright, Hunter? Of course I'm alright. I have you.
He then bought us a round of Jagerbombs.
Go on then. You tell me a better fucking story than that.
When on Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hastag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Last night, Colin and Kat Hoult, Muki and I were drinking in a bar that is charmingly called Fingers. It was incredibly hot, crowded and loud but it was the nearest place that we could get booze that late so we suffered through. Soon we were joined by a horrible drunk arsehole.
The horrible drunk arsehole introduced himself to us by putting his arms around Kat and saying "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" To be honest, I didn't like him. I assumed he must have been a friend of Kat's though because complete strangers don't do that sort of thing. Ever. No matter what. But when Colin asked him to leave her alone I realised he was what he is. A horrible drunk arsehole. He gave Colin a dirty look then smiled and winked at me as if to say "What's his problem? I'm only trying to feel up his wife". Then he did another no-no. He put his arm around me. I don't like that at all. It's too aggressive a thing to do. He may have thought he was being friendly in his stupid drunk arsehole head but he was being far from it. I told him to fuck off. He went away.
I thought that would be the last we would see of him. He stumbled over to talk to what I assumed was his friend. You know, a friend that you talk really aggressively to while pointing right at their face. Colin and I were happily talking about the beauty of Carnival of Monsters and as far as we were concerned the horrible drunk arsehole was history. Occasionally, I looked over and saw him still being aggressive to his friend but I didn't care. Carnival of Monsters is a lot more important than any drunk horrible arsehole. Then his friend suddenly tired of being pointed at in the face and punched arsehole in the mouth. Arsehole retaliated by headbutting his friend. Weirdly, although he headbutted him twice and we saw him make full contact, it just looked like it didn't hurt. It was like arsehole's head was really lovely and soft. It was still horrible to watch and, as she was very near the fight, Colin and I manfully stood in front of Kat to protect her. Sadly, although Colin and I are very brave we are also very beautiful and we didn't want to get punched by either of these drunks. We were at the very edge of trouble. Our beautiful faces could get damaged and we would never be able to not get work on BBC3 ever again. Who will save us from this brutality?
Hunter from Gladiators, that's who! As unbelievable as it sounds the real, actual Hunter from Gladiators appeared from nowhere and rescued Colin and I by throwing one of the drunks out and threatening the others. He asked us all if we were OK but all I could think of was how much I loved this almighty god in front of me. Am I alright, Hunter? Of course I'm alright. I have you.
He then bought us a round of Jagerbombs.
Go on then. You tell me a better fucking story than that.
When on Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hastag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Dead Nice.
My last blog was rushed and I left an important point out. When I left the Joe Power show, after being asked to leave by the man who speaks to the dead, Danielle Ward left with me. Partly because he is a liar, mainly because he's so incredibly dull. Either way, she left with me. Like a real friend. Unlike the other shits I went with. Who would have thought that the cast of a musical could be so cowardly? Not only did Danielle leave but she told Joe that "this is bullshit". Although I don't agree with swearing, I agree with the sentiment. What a hopeless man Joe Power is.
But he's not alone. I too am neatly placed in the hopeless category. Since my last blog, sceptic organisations have emailed or Twittered to ask me to talk at their shows or write something for their website. Erm...I got thrown out of a show. That's basically the whole story. Really not too sure that I can stretch it any further. I'm against what Joe does. I think he's an embarrassing liar doing a completely legal con on very vulnerable people but to me that's so obvious that it's not that worth going on about too much (even though I really fucking have been). That said, when are the various sceptic organisations of Britain going to ask me to do a talk again? Maybe it's trick? Maybe they don't believe that I asked that 15 year old for his shoe on New Year's Eve? Maybe I'm being set up by these bastards? That's what they did to Joe. There he was innocently stealing money from people who felt a loss so deeply they are prepared to believe anything and they did this to him: http://www.merseysideskeptics.org.uk/category/psychics/joe-power/
Think I should accept these kind invitations? Let me know. Very nice to have Richard Wiseman tweet about it too. I should get thrown out of more shows. No, seriously. I really should.
So on my day off from Gutted I got drunk and went home early. In bed by 1.30 is incredible by Edinburgh standards. Of course, I didn't go to sleep until nearer 5 because I had to watch a LOT of Joe Power of YouTube. Yeah, who's having the last laugh now? No. It's still me. If you haven't seen the Joe Power documentary made by Derren Brown then I urge you to watch it right now. A lot of fun.
But what did I do on my day off? It's Edinburgh at festival time so did I see a show? A play? A magician? A stand-up hour that completely ignores the subject it claims to be about? Nope. I went to see a young person's pop music band from the hit parade. Jim Bob and I went to see Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip.
No. I haven't heard of them either but, boy, they were great. Plus it was fantastic to see a rapper big up and give a shout out massive style-ee to Gutted. Well, what he actually said was "There's this musical, riiiiiiight, whiff Danielle Ward and Martin White and Jim Bob and it's called something beginning with G". To be fair, it's more publicity than the Assembly Rooms have given us so I'll take it.
More shows to plug: Tony Law at The Stand at 12.30 plus Dan Antopolski at The Pleasance Dome at 8. Both very inventive and funny shows. Tony constantly improvises himself in and out of holes for an hour while Dan just sets up his stand-up-doesn't-have-to-be-obvious-and-shit stall brilliantly. Plus he actually gives a shit about the audience. Very, very impressive.
Fuck. I meant to write about the Edinburgh Award. I'll do that next time. I am tired and a bit hungover. Help me.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
But he's not alone. I too am neatly placed in the hopeless category. Since my last blog, sceptic organisations have emailed or Twittered to ask me to talk at their shows or write something for their website. Erm...I got thrown out of a show. That's basically the whole story. Really not too sure that I can stretch it any further. I'm against what Joe does. I think he's an embarrassing liar doing a completely legal con on very vulnerable people but to me that's so obvious that it's not that worth going on about too much (even though I really fucking have been). That said, when are the various sceptic organisations of Britain going to ask me to do a talk again? Maybe it's trick? Maybe they don't believe that I asked that 15 year old for his shoe on New Year's Eve? Maybe I'm being set up by these bastards? That's what they did to Joe. There he was innocently stealing money from people who felt a loss so deeply they are prepared to believe anything and they did this to him: http://www.merseysideskeptics.org.uk/category/psychics/joe-power/
Think I should accept these kind invitations? Let me know. Very nice to have Richard Wiseman tweet about it too. I should get thrown out of more shows. No, seriously. I really should.
So on my day off from Gutted I got drunk and went home early. In bed by 1.30 is incredible by Edinburgh standards. Of course, I didn't go to sleep until nearer 5 because I had to watch a LOT of Joe Power of YouTube. Yeah, who's having the last laugh now? No. It's still me. If you haven't seen the Joe Power documentary made by Derren Brown then I urge you to watch it right now. A lot of fun.
But what did I do on my day off? It's Edinburgh at festival time so did I see a show? A play? A magician? A stand-up hour that completely ignores the subject it claims to be about? Nope. I went to see a young person's pop music band from the hit parade. Jim Bob and I went to see Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip.
No. I haven't heard of them either but, boy, they were great. Plus it was fantastic to see a rapper big up and give a shout out massive style-ee to Gutted. Well, what he actually said was "There's this musical, riiiiiiight, whiff Danielle Ward and Martin White and Jim Bob and it's called something beginning with G". To be fair, it's more publicity than the Assembly Rooms have given us so I'll take it.
More shows to plug: Tony Law at The Stand at 12.30 plus Dan Antopolski at The Pleasance Dome at 8. Both very inventive and funny shows. Tony constantly improvises himself in and out of holes for an hour while Dan just sets up his stand-up-doesn't-have-to-be-obvious-and-shit stall brilliantly. Plus he actually gives a shit about the audience. Very, very impressive.
Fuck. I meant to write about the Edinburgh Award. I'll do that next time. I am tired and a bit hungover. Help me.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Power Cut.
Yesterday, I was thrown out of a show. Is there anything more embarrassing or belittling to a performer than to be asked to leave a show they're watching? Joe Power can talk to the dead but, as it turns out, finds it very difficult to chat to the living.
If you don't know who Joe Power is then you have done very well indeed. Keep up the good work. Stop reading this now and go and watch Doctor Who. You deserve it. Joe Power is a thug who tells lies to not very bright and very vulnerable people. He claims that he can contact your deceased loved ones and can pass on what they say to you. I don't really need to go into detail about how totally fucking ridiculous that is. Even when people say "I had a feeling you'd like this jam" they are completely wrong. You might think you had a feeling that I would like this jam and coincidentally you're right. That's how much of a sceptic I am. People claiming to talk to the dead are hardly likely to impress me.
And why would it? As David Reed pointed out, talking to the dead is easy. Anyone can do it. It's when they talk back that it's impressive.
But that has never ever happened ever to anyone ever. So, yes, I went to see Joe Power to laugh at the stupid fucking idiot but when I saw the lack of audience he was attracting I felt sorry for him. Despite him being a very well paid liar and him doing time for GBH, I felt sorry for him. I mean, he truly musn't have a friend in the world because surely a real friend would stop you doing the Edinburgh Fringe if you do what he does. This isn't the place for that sort of thing. That feeling of actually caring for Joe Power didn't last too long.
His walk-in music was just a long, long, LONG recording of a heartbeat. You know, the very thing that your deceased loved ones don't have. Nice touch, Joe. Then the lights go down and a voiceover man tell us that we are about to go on a journey to the spiritworld, a journey to the unknown, a journey to the world of the dead. We didn't go anywhere. We were just bored. Joe walked on to the stage wearing a glittery t-shirt and silver shoes and that's all the showmanship we got. Instead of wowing us with his connections to our very souls he bored the arse off of everyone with his fucking tedious, racist life story. Joe was originally sceptical about the supernatural. He didn't believe in any of it until he met a psychic called Chang who told Joe "Harrow! You rikey fly lice! OK, Joe, ten dollah!". Something as racist as that anyway. He stopped himself from dragging his eyelids to slits with his fingers and sticking his teeth out but the racist "Chinky" voice was there in all it's glory. It was about then that my own psychic powers correctly predicted that Joe Power is a terrible prick.
After 15 long minutes Joe finally got down to showing us his gift. He explained that while talking to us he will be looking at his big tarot cards that are never wrong. If he says something and you say he's wrong then you are a liar. Very clever stuff. But he was correct pretty much immediately. It sounds hard to believe but someone in the room DID know someone called Dave. What are the chances of that? Joe is AMAZING! Turns out that Dave isn't dead but in fact alive. That's OK because it's not Dave that has contacted Joe. It's someone with a message for Dave. Erm...right. OK. Joe looked into the spiritworld again and unbelievably just somehow knew that this woman in her late 60's had dead parents. It was incredible. How could he know this? He's a fucking GOD. He asked the lovely old dear "Are your parents dead?" She said yes. "Your mother and your father are dead. Am I right?". Again she said yes. "Your parents are dead?" The woman didn't say anything the third time because she had already answered twice. That's when Joe tactfully said "Hello. Answer me. I am alive". Well, good for you, Joe. This woman's parents are dead but you're alive. What great comfort that must be to her, you thieving fucking cunt.
It was this woman's father who had a message for Dave. Typical dad's. Even when contactable from beyond the grave, they never really want to talk to you. The message was this: "Tell Dave to be careful with vehicles". I burst out laughing.
How could I not laugh? A man has spoken from beyond the grave and all he fucking has to say is basically "look after yourself". The stupid dead cunt. That's it? No "there really is a God" or "there is eternal happiness when you die"? He just popped into a different spiritual plane to say "be lucky". The rude get.
Joe clearly said that there would be people in the audience who have only come for a bit of a giggle but that's OK. But as he is a liar it turns out that he told a lie. It really isn't OK to laugh at him. That was when he got a bit cross, pointed at Chris George who was sitting beside me and said "Right. You laughed at that. Let's talk to you".
Brilliant! I got away with it. I laughed at something very funny but someone else got the blame. All I had to do now is sit back and quietly watch Chris get thwarted by the wrath of Joe Power.
Damn. I felt guilty. After asking Chris 17 times if it was him who had laughed I reluctantly confessed. Looking back. I'm glad I did.
"There's something wrong with one of your testicles", said Joe.
HE'S RIGHT! Joe was absolutely right. I have a weird circle on my right testicle. How could Joe know that? He has the gift. Anyone who has ever seen me naked is too embarrassed or mentally scarred to talk about it so it only makes sense that a ghost must have seen me in the bath and told Joe about my "different" ball.
"I don't want to see your testicles. I'm not gay".
AAAAHHHHH! Joe got me! He fucking got me. He said that there was something wrong with one of my testicles and he was right and I thought a ghost had seen me in the bath and told him about my "different" ball but actually he just said it as a joke. HA HA! Brilliant one, Joe. Man, is my face red. I thought you had contacted the dead to discuss my health but actually you were just pointing out to everyone that I'm a flithy fucking disgusting queer. HIGH-larious!
Joe quickly put his correct prediction to one side and threw out another one. "You've been in two relationships? Yeah?" I assumed he meant two long term relationships and he was right. I went out with someone for four years and now I'm married. That's two. Joe was right. Great, we're back. "You got binbagged by one of them, didn't you?" Such a charming phrase. And wrong. My first long term relationship was ended by me in a style that would make a great opera. Joe pointed out to me and everyone that I was lying. I wasn't. "The cards have told me". I pointed out to Joe that, although his cards are always right, this one time they are mistaken. "I was there", I told him. Again I was told I was wrong. It was starting to get embarrassing. "Are you in entertainment? A performer or comedian?" asked Joe. During August? In Edinburgh? What are the chances? He was right. Brilliant. Joe's back again again. "In two years time, there's going to be something to do with you and television". I looked really happy and said "Hooray! I'm going to make it!" It got a bit of a laugh and the mood lifted. Well, everyone's mood except Joe's. He thought I was taking the piss out of him when all I was doing was recognising it was all a bit embarrassing and trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't say you'd be any good" said Joe and I got embarrassed. He obviously things I'm out to get him when all I simply wanted to do was laugh at the stupid prick. I tried a bit of self-deprecating humour. "Maybe in two years I'll buy a TV?", I said. He hated that. Time for me to shut up. Then he asked if I or anyone that I know is planning a trip abroad soon? I mean as broad as that question is I just couldn't think of anyone I know planning any travelling except the Journey back to London at the end of the month. This lead him to ask this: "I'm thinking something abroad or in theatre or here". I couldn't really respond to that because I didn't know what it meant. It's just a collection of things. He then asked me to leave. I apologised and left embarrassed and shamed.
Being thrown out of Joe Power's show. What could be worse? Being thrown in to Tom Binns' show perhaps?
In a way, it's a shame because I missed Joe correctly telling Helen George about her life simply by using his supernatural powers to read the texts on her phone and then asking James Hingley, who I was sitting with, if he knew any comedians. But, I had to leave anyway because I was going to see Stewart Lee. It was a great show but I still wanted him to ask me to leave. I have a taste for it now.
Don't go to see Joe Power. The biggest crime is that it is tediously dull and he is a genuinely horrible, nasty human being. Don't worry. I got in free so none of my money went to the evil prick. Afterwards I was told that I was the only person he asked to leave during this run which made me proud and disappointed at the same time.
I have more to say about Joe but I'll save that for tomorrow. Bye for now.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
If you don't know who Joe Power is then you have done very well indeed. Keep up the good work. Stop reading this now and go and watch Doctor Who. You deserve it. Joe Power is a thug who tells lies to not very bright and very vulnerable people. He claims that he can contact your deceased loved ones and can pass on what they say to you. I don't really need to go into detail about how totally fucking ridiculous that is. Even when people say "I had a feeling you'd like this jam" they are completely wrong. You might think you had a feeling that I would like this jam and coincidentally you're right. That's how much of a sceptic I am. People claiming to talk to the dead are hardly likely to impress me.
And why would it? As David Reed pointed out, talking to the dead is easy. Anyone can do it. It's when they talk back that it's impressive.
But that has never ever happened ever to anyone ever. So, yes, I went to see Joe Power to laugh at the stupid fucking idiot but when I saw the lack of audience he was attracting I felt sorry for him. Despite him being a very well paid liar and him doing time for GBH, I felt sorry for him. I mean, he truly musn't have a friend in the world because surely a real friend would stop you doing the Edinburgh Fringe if you do what he does. This isn't the place for that sort of thing. That feeling of actually caring for Joe Power didn't last too long.
His walk-in music was just a long, long, LONG recording of a heartbeat. You know, the very thing that your deceased loved ones don't have. Nice touch, Joe. Then the lights go down and a voiceover man tell us that we are about to go on a journey to the spiritworld, a journey to the unknown, a journey to the world of the dead. We didn't go anywhere. We were just bored. Joe walked on to the stage wearing a glittery t-shirt and silver shoes and that's all the showmanship we got. Instead of wowing us with his connections to our very souls he bored the arse off of everyone with his fucking tedious, racist life story. Joe was originally sceptical about the supernatural. He didn't believe in any of it until he met a psychic called Chang who told Joe "Harrow! You rikey fly lice! OK, Joe, ten dollah!". Something as racist as that anyway. He stopped himself from dragging his eyelids to slits with his fingers and sticking his teeth out but the racist "Chinky" voice was there in all it's glory. It was about then that my own psychic powers correctly predicted that Joe Power is a terrible prick.
After 15 long minutes Joe finally got down to showing us his gift. He explained that while talking to us he will be looking at his big tarot cards that are never wrong. If he says something and you say he's wrong then you are a liar. Very clever stuff. But he was correct pretty much immediately. It sounds hard to believe but someone in the room DID know someone called Dave. What are the chances of that? Joe is AMAZING! Turns out that Dave isn't dead but in fact alive. That's OK because it's not Dave that has contacted Joe. It's someone with a message for Dave. Erm...right. OK. Joe looked into the spiritworld again and unbelievably just somehow knew that this woman in her late 60's had dead parents. It was incredible. How could he know this? He's a fucking GOD. He asked the lovely old dear "Are your parents dead?" She said yes. "Your mother and your father are dead. Am I right?". Again she said yes. "Your parents are dead?" The woman didn't say anything the third time because she had already answered twice. That's when Joe tactfully said "Hello. Answer me. I am alive". Well, good for you, Joe. This woman's parents are dead but you're alive. What great comfort that must be to her, you thieving fucking cunt.
It was this woman's father who had a message for Dave. Typical dad's. Even when contactable from beyond the grave, they never really want to talk to you. The message was this: "Tell Dave to be careful with vehicles". I burst out laughing.
How could I not laugh? A man has spoken from beyond the grave and all he fucking has to say is basically "look after yourself". The stupid dead cunt. That's it? No "there really is a God" or "there is eternal happiness when you die"? He just popped into a different spiritual plane to say "be lucky". The rude get.
Joe clearly said that there would be people in the audience who have only come for a bit of a giggle but that's OK. But as he is a liar it turns out that he told a lie. It really isn't OK to laugh at him. That was when he got a bit cross, pointed at Chris George who was sitting beside me and said "Right. You laughed at that. Let's talk to you".
Brilliant! I got away with it. I laughed at something very funny but someone else got the blame. All I had to do now is sit back and quietly watch Chris get thwarted by the wrath of Joe Power.
Damn. I felt guilty. After asking Chris 17 times if it was him who had laughed I reluctantly confessed. Looking back. I'm glad I did.
"There's something wrong with one of your testicles", said Joe.
HE'S RIGHT! Joe was absolutely right. I have a weird circle on my right testicle. How could Joe know that? He has the gift. Anyone who has ever seen me naked is too embarrassed or mentally scarred to talk about it so it only makes sense that a ghost must have seen me in the bath and told Joe about my "different" ball.
"I don't want to see your testicles. I'm not gay".
AAAAHHHHH! Joe got me! He fucking got me. He said that there was something wrong with one of my testicles and he was right and I thought a ghost had seen me in the bath and told him about my "different" ball but actually he just said it as a joke. HA HA! Brilliant one, Joe. Man, is my face red. I thought you had contacted the dead to discuss my health but actually you were just pointing out to everyone that I'm a flithy fucking disgusting queer. HIGH-larious!
Joe quickly put his correct prediction to one side and threw out another one. "You've been in two relationships? Yeah?" I assumed he meant two long term relationships and he was right. I went out with someone for four years and now I'm married. That's two. Joe was right. Great, we're back. "You got binbagged by one of them, didn't you?" Such a charming phrase. And wrong. My first long term relationship was ended by me in a style that would make a great opera. Joe pointed out to me and everyone that I was lying. I wasn't. "The cards have told me". I pointed out to Joe that, although his cards are always right, this one time they are mistaken. "I was there", I told him. Again I was told I was wrong. It was starting to get embarrassing. "Are you in entertainment? A performer or comedian?" asked Joe. During August? In Edinburgh? What are the chances? He was right. Brilliant. Joe's back again again. "In two years time, there's going to be something to do with you and television". I looked really happy and said "Hooray! I'm going to make it!" It got a bit of a laugh and the mood lifted. Well, everyone's mood except Joe's. He thought I was taking the piss out of him when all I was doing was recognising it was all a bit embarrassing and trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't say you'd be any good" said Joe and I got embarrassed. He obviously things I'm out to get him when all I simply wanted to do was laugh at the stupid prick. I tried a bit of self-deprecating humour. "Maybe in two years I'll buy a TV?", I said. He hated that. Time for me to shut up. Then he asked if I or anyone that I know is planning a trip abroad soon? I mean as broad as that question is I just couldn't think of anyone I know planning any travelling except the Journey back to London at the end of the month. This lead him to ask this: "I'm thinking something abroad or in theatre or here". I couldn't really respond to that because I didn't know what it meant. It's just a collection of things. He then asked me to leave. I apologised and left embarrassed and shamed.
Being thrown out of Joe Power's show. What could be worse? Being thrown in to Tom Binns' show perhaps?
In a way, it's a shame because I missed Joe correctly telling Helen George about her life simply by using his supernatural powers to read the texts on her phone and then asking James Hingley, who I was sitting with, if he knew any comedians. But, I had to leave anyway because I was going to see Stewart Lee. It was a great show but I still wanted him to ask me to leave. I have a taste for it now.
Don't go to see Joe Power. The biggest crime is that it is tediously dull and he is a genuinely horrible, nasty human being. Don't worry. I got in free so none of my money went to the evil prick. Afterwards I was told that I was the only person he asked to leave during this run which made me proud and disappointed at the same time.
I have more to say about Joe but I'll save that for tomorrow. Bye for now.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Sunday, 22 August 2010
I'm Bringing Whimsy Back.
In the absence of nothing annoying me I have allowed my mind to wander.
The show is going well but I really miss Pointless Anger with Robin and, of course, I can still clearly see that absolutely everyone up here is a total arsehole. Especially one of them. So I’ve decided to sort out next year’s Edinburgh Fringe and I think I’ve come up with a really good idea for a one-off show. Margaret Cabourn-Smith, Dan Tetsell and Ben Walker have also become excited by the prospect and developed my idea. It’s going to be great. I really want someone of Phil McIntyre’s stature to be promoting it (if you know him, can you pass this blog on to him, yeah? Cheers) and I see it in a good 350 seater room such as Pleasance One. Anyway, the show is called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off and will start at 7pm until two seconds after 7pm. The safety announcement before the show will be 15 times longer than the show itself but it will be one of those shows that you’ll be bragging about if you were actually there. I’ve already done some previews (ask Alan from Karaoke Circus) and the merchandise stall will be amazing. Who wouldn’t want a Michael Legge Told Me To Fuck Off T-shirt? And don’t forget to buy the soundtrack. Why not have Michael Legge tell you to fuck off in your own home? But this might be all a bit too mainstream for you and that’s why my good friends have developed the idea further. I’m thinking of another gig, tiny venue, just for the cool people. You know, like you. It’s called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off – Late. God, it will be hip. Imagine me telling you to fuck off while one of The Pajama Men are at the back of the room. Awesome. Then there’s Michael Legge Tells Your Kids To Fuck Off. That's at 11am. Again a great merchandise opportunity. Wouldn’t you want your baby to be seen in a babygrow that says Uncle Michael Told Me To Fuck Off? I’m telling you. This HAS to happen. And nowhere else on Earth is stupid enough to let it happen but Edinburgh. It’s money in the bank.
I’ve written three blogs over the last three days and deleted them all because they’re either too nice or too pointless. I’ve been fighting other people’s battles in my head and it just makes me sound like a twat. So, I’ll be brief: Ever since Gary Delaney started dishing out those No Whimsy badges Edinburgh has turned evil. Comics are headbutting people and writing disgusting, sexist, moronic open letters to reviewers. Whatever happened to just calling someone a cunt? I understand why people might get upset with reviews (I spent the best part of an evening calling Steve Bennett a cock back in 2004) but why write a letter proving them right when you can point out the irony of being called a misogynist by someone who books a lot of misogynists? I really like her but it’s at least a debatable argument. I reckon she’d even respect you for it. It shows you’ve actually thought of something. But instead you wrote “anal shotgun suicide”. Oh, dear.
So, with all that horror in mind, let me bring nice back. Nice is nice, isn’t it? I like nice. Edinburgh is perhaps the most beautiful city in Britain and it’s architecture, culture and late night bars make it a joy to spend time in. There are also some entertainment based shows going on up here at the moment and I really must recommend some to you. Richard Herring’s Christ On A Bike at the Assembly Rooms is a brilliant hour of stand up even though he is a stupid cunt and the least talented out of all his double acts. I can’t imagine there is a better stand up show up here this year. It’s both very funny and very impressive. Oh, and thanks to the cunt who recorded me laughing at Richard and put it on the internet. Sorry that I laughed at a comedy show. That must have really put you off. Caroline Mabey’s Eat Your Friends at The Caves is just odd. I love it, it’s really, really funny but it is also just plain odd. You should see it. I hadn’t seen the Penny Dreadfuls until yesterday and they were predictably great and sold out their huge room. They’re funny men. Slick and scrappy at the same time. In fact, don’t go to see them. Fuck them. The bunch of cunts.
The show that I definitely insist you see is An Hour of Telly Live. I knew it would be good and they don’t disappoint at all. Margaret and Zoe are my favourite ever act. I laugh more at them than I do any other comedians. When I see them on stage my heart, if I actually have one, just fills up. There is war in this world. There is war, there is famine, there is Idiots of Ants. But as long as we have Margaret and Zoe we should be OK. It’s worth going to just for Margaret’s description of Zoe’s teeth alone but there’s also another 59 minutes and 58 seconds of brilliance in there too. They’re at The Banshee Labyrinth at 2.20.
Now, let’s get on with our lives and let’s be nice. OK? Yeah? Yeah.
On Twitter use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
The show is going well but I really miss Pointless Anger with Robin and, of course, I can still clearly see that absolutely everyone up here is a total arsehole. Especially one of them. So I’ve decided to sort out next year’s Edinburgh Fringe and I think I’ve come up with a really good idea for a one-off show. Margaret Cabourn-Smith, Dan Tetsell and Ben Walker have also become excited by the prospect and developed my idea. It’s going to be great. I really want someone of Phil McIntyre’s stature to be promoting it (if you know him, can you pass this blog on to him, yeah? Cheers) and I see it in a good 350 seater room such as Pleasance One. Anyway, the show is called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off and will start at 7pm until two seconds after 7pm. The safety announcement before the show will be 15 times longer than the show itself but it will be one of those shows that you’ll be bragging about if you were actually there. I’ve already done some previews (ask Alan from Karaoke Circus) and the merchandise stall will be amazing. Who wouldn’t want a Michael Legge Told Me To Fuck Off T-shirt? And don’t forget to buy the soundtrack. Why not have Michael Legge tell you to fuck off in your own home? But this might be all a bit too mainstream for you and that’s why my good friends have developed the idea further. I’m thinking of another gig, tiny venue, just for the cool people. You know, like you. It’s called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off – Late. God, it will be hip. Imagine me telling you to fuck off while one of The Pajama Men are at the back of the room. Awesome. Then there’s Michael Legge Tells Your Kids To Fuck Off. That's at 11am. Again a great merchandise opportunity. Wouldn’t you want your baby to be seen in a babygrow that says Uncle Michael Told Me To Fuck Off? I’m telling you. This HAS to happen. And nowhere else on Earth is stupid enough to let it happen but Edinburgh. It’s money in the bank.
I’ve written three blogs over the last three days and deleted them all because they’re either too nice or too pointless. I’ve been fighting other people’s battles in my head and it just makes me sound like a twat. So, I’ll be brief: Ever since Gary Delaney started dishing out those No Whimsy badges Edinburgh has turned evil. Comics are headbutting people and writing disgusting, sexist, moronic open letters to reviewers. Whatever happened to just calling someone a cunt? I understand why people might get upset with reviews (I spent the best part of an evening calling Steve Bennett a cock back in 2004) but why write a letter proving them right when you can point out the irony of being called a misogynist by someone who books a lot of misogynists? I really like her but it’s at least a debatable argument. I reckon she’d even respect you for it. It shows you’ve actually thought of something. But instead you wrote “anal shotgun suicide”. Oh, dear.
So, with all that horror in mind, let me bring nice back. Nice is nice, isn’t it? I like nice. Edinburgh is perhaps the most beautiful city in Britain and it’s architecture, culture and late night bars make it a joy to spend time in. There are also some entertainment based shows going on up here at the moment and I really must recommend some to you. Richard Herring’s Christ On A Bike at the Assembly Rooms is a brilliant hour of stand up even though he is a stupid cunt and the least talented out of all his double acts. I can’t imagine there is a better stand up show up here this year. It’s both very funny and very impressive. Oh, and thanks to the cunt who recorded me laughing at Richard and put it on the internet. Sorry that I laughed at a comedy show. That must have really put you off. Caroline Mabey’s Eat Your Friends at The Caves is just odd. I love it, it’s really, really funny but it is also just plain odd. You should see it. I hadn’t seen the Penny Dreadfuls until yesterday and they were predictably great and sold out their huge room. They’re funny men. Slick and scrappy at the same time. In fact, don’t go to see them. Fuck them. The bunch of cunts.
The show that I definitely insist you see is An Hour of Telly Live. I knew it would be good and they don’t disappoint at all. Margaret and Zoe are my favourite ever act. I laugh more at them than I do any other comedians. When I see them on stage my heart, if I actually have one, just fills up. There is war in this world. There is war, there is famine, there is Idiots of Ants. But as long as we have Margaret and Zoe we should be OK. It’s worth going to just for Margaret’s description of Zoe’s teeth alone but there’s also another 59 minutes and 58 seconds of brilliance in there too. They’re at The Banshee Labyrinth at 2.20.
Now, let’s get on with our lives and let’s be nice. OK? Yeah? Yeah.
On Twitter use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Wednesday, 18 August 2010
Jammy Shit.
Are you Michael McIntyre? No, you aren’t, so you are NOT the fucking STAR of Michael McIntyre Comedy Roadshow. Do you know who is? Michael McIntyre. That’s all. No-one else. He is so much the star of Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow that he’s even managed to sneak his name into the title of the show somewhere, so they say. Why you haven’t stopped your agent from putting “Star of the Michael McIntyre Comedy Roadshow” on your poster and making you look like an egotistical, fame addicted tool is absolutely no-one’s guess. You aren’t Paul Merton or Ian Hislop either. You’re just you. Shame you don’t think that’s enough.
Right. That’s that bit done. Now, let’s talk about Chris Addison. I’m having a really nice Edinburgh. It’s stressless, relaxing, enjoyable. All the things that I don’t relate to. As a result, I have nothing to blog about. People around me are all lovely and the shows are going well. Nothing about that is interesting. I had a bit of trouble finding vegan food at the beginning of the festival but now I’m in a new flat practically next door to Henderson’s, Edinburgh’s oldest vegetarian/vegan restaurant. Everything is going my stupid fucking way. I even tried to pick a fight with some poor cunt called Alan by heckling him at Karaoke Circus but everyone is so fucking lovely there that they just tolerated me. Cunts. But Chris Addison. Chris fucking Addison gets it all handed to him on a plate. He’s a fucking bastard. I’ve always thought that about him and so have you. I saw him on Monday night, hours after he had torn ligaments and was hobbling on crutches. Did he cancel his gigs and then go home and bitch about it on Chortle like a real man? NO. The big flowery twat shrugged it all off, did the gig crutch-free and fucking smiled about it afterwards. He told me how it all happened while smiling and not making a big deal of it. The arrogance of the cock. And there I was, looking at his crutches, seeing him hobble and I seethed with jealousy. Those crutches should be mine, not his. I should be the one on pain killers and doctor’s orders. Imagine my blogs describing in detail of how I have to spend days in bed in pain and agony popping pills and constantly reading everyone else’s good reviews. I would tell yarns of my struggle to put pants on and go on and on and on about my solitude while all around me everyone is having a great festival and then make some hilarious joke about at least now I can’t physically make it to see Dark Side Of The Poon. But that cunt has ruined it. I’m never going to have torn ligaments now. I mean what are the chances of that happening to two young, talented and famous comedians? Instead I have to tell you a fucking stupid story about Alistair McGowan shitting on my shit.
Alistair McGowan has done a shit on my shit. I always had a feeling that one day mine and Alistair’s faeces would touch and I was right. I did done a poo at the Pleasance (no, not like everyone else. I mean in the toilet) and, when I had completed my poo and ticked my To Do List, I flushed. The toilet did nothing. I flushed again. Once more the toilet remained enigmatic and refused to get rid of my waste. I flushed several more times and still nothing. You know what? I kept my side of the bargain and flushed, the toilet blanked me so it’s the toilet’s problem. I don’t have time to spend all night in a cubicle flushing (I do) so I left. When I opened the door Alistair McGowan was there ready to go in. I can only assume he has shat on my shit. What a terrible impression, LOL! Now you know how we feel, Alistair!! LOL!
Fuck off. If I’d torn my ligaments instead of that prick I would never have written that.
If on Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Right. That’s that bit done. Now, let’s talk about Chris Addison. I’m having a really nice Edinburgh. It’s stressless, relaxing, enjoyable. All the things that I don’t relate to. As a result, I have nothing to blog about. People around me are all lovely and the shows are going well. Nothing about that is interesting. I had a bit of trouble finding vegan food at the beginning of the festival but now I’m in a new flat practically next door to Henderson’s, Edinburgh’s oldest vegetarian/vegan restaurant. Everything is going my stupid fucking way. I even tried to pick a fight with some poor cunt called Alan by heckling him at Karaoke Circus but everyone is so fucking lovely there that they just tolerated me. Cunts. But Chris Addison. Chris fucking Addison gets it all handed to him on a plate. He’s a fucking bastard. I’ve always thought that about him and so have you. I saw him on Monday night, hours after he had torn ligaments and was hobbling on crutches. Did he cancel his gigs and then go home and bitch about it on Chortle like a real man? NO. The big flowery twat shrugged it all off, did the gig crutch-free and fucking smiled about it afterwards. He told me how it all happened while smiling and not making a big deal of it. The arrogance of the cock. And there I was, looking at his crutches, seeing him hobble and I seethed with jealousy. Those crutches should be mine, not his. I should be the one on pain killers and doctor’s orders. Imagine my blogs describing in detail of how I have to spend days in bed in pain and agony popping pills and constantly reading everyone else’s good reviews. I would tell yarns of my struggle to put pants on and go on and on and on about my solitude while all around me everyone is having a great festival and then make some hilarious joke about at least now I can’t physically make it to see Dark Side Of The Poon. But that cunt has ruined it. I’m never going to have torn ligaments now. I mean what are the chances of that happening to two young, talented and famous comedians? Instead I have to tell you a fucking stupid story about Alistair McGowan shitting on my shit.
Alistair McGowan has done a shit on my shit. I always had a feeling that one day mine and Alistair’s faeces would touch and I was right. I did done a poo at the Pleasance (no, not like everyone else. I mean in the toilet) and, when I had completed my poo and ticked my To Do List, I flushed. The toilet did nothing. I flushed again. Once more the toilet remained enigmatic and refused to get rid of my waste. I flushed several more times and still nothing. You know what? I kept my side of the bargain and flushed, the toilet blanked me so it’s the toilet’s problem. I don’t have time to spend all night in a cubicle flushing (I do) so I left. When I opened the door Alistair McGowan was there ready to go in. I can only assume he has shat on my shit. What a terrible impression, LOL! Now you know how we feel, Alistair!! LOL!
Fuck off. If I’d torn my ligaments instead of that prick I would never have written that.
If on Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
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