Typical day? “I’d arrive at a gig an hour early to eat a burger while the MC sets up and belittles the support acts. If the MC is struggling for time I will also help him belittle the support acts.”
Material? “One of the hardest challenges is living inside a Comedian’s Mind where wild and zany ideas fly at you every few weeks.”
After Parties? “A comedian’s job doesn’t end when you get off the stage. That’s when the most important part begins: Self Promotion. Basically if you shag someone all their friends will know who you are.”
Glamorous? “After reciting your five year old set word for word, night after night, the glamour fades. But that’s the job and I’m happy to take the money.”
Fame? “For posters you can trim the URL and post reviews from big websites even if it’s just a reference in the comment section.”
Hecklers? “I detest anyone that tries to interrupt me when I’m on auto-pilot. I will turn on them in a heartbeat. Would they shout at a surgeon while they’re preforming an operation?”
Dying? “No good comedian ever dies. There’s may be times where the audience aren’t reacting appropriately. But if you’ve done the set before and there were laughs then you are right and the audience is wrong. I’d get thick with them, try and shake them to life, then get back to reciting my set without change.”
Heroes? “I no longer look up to famous comedians as heroes. I look across to them as peers. And if you’re ever on before a household name I’d not be shy in saying that I was their support act. It implies that they picked me personally even if they’ve never heard of me. They shouldn’t mind helping a fellow comic using their name to promote themselves.”
Advice to wannabe Comedians? “You think it’s easy to get up here? You wanna come up here now and do a tight seven, do ya? Well come on then ya fat prick. Oh now you’re shy. Now ya wanna keep your fat mouth shout. Who’s that beside you? Your day release officer? Take him to the zoo next time, ok?”
Career? “Every day I wake up and I have a gig that night I get to tell the world that I’m a comedian. If you gig, no matter if you phone it in, you can tell everyone before and after that you are a comedian. And I wouldn’t give that up for the world.”
Dear Aunty. I’ve had the same outfit on two days in a row in work and they’ve started to call me Two Day Trouser Tony! What am I to do? I don’t want to change my way of life.
Well Tony, the best thing you can do is quit your job but in this economy you might as well pick out a sleeping bag and a doorway. Or you can do what I do and wear the slacks inside out. I’ll break it down. Day 1 normal, Day 2 inside out, Day 3 normal but backwards, Day 4 inside out and backwards, Day 5 back to normal. With this method you can get the most out of your clothes and for all intensive purposes people will think you’re wearing five pairs of britches. You’re welcome Tony.
Dear Aunty. My wife never washes the dishes. Everyday there’s a stack the height of liberty hall of dirty plates and crockery beside the sink. She’ll not even say a word she’ll just yawn after meals and sit in front of the tv with a packet of fig-rolls. How do I tell her that I’m sleeping with another woman?
If I’ve said this once I’ve said it a thousand time: Domestic Bliss is as fleeting as Mist. So many people go into a marriage thinking that it’ll be all the fun of the fair when in reality it’s seething resentment and passive aggression. Try spicing up the boring job of doing the dishes by donning the marigolds and nothing else. She’ll either join in or have a laugh at the sight of you. Patching the gaping crack in the relationship for a moment at least.
And don’t tell her about your hush hush smush. In my experience people hate hearing about stuff like that.
Dear Aunty. I can’t stop myself from criticizing my children. I know I’m only doing it from a place of love but I can get really nasty with them. I had the five year old crying for hours after I called him a scumbag that no one loves. It was hurtful, I know, but it’s for the best, right?
The problem I’ve always had with children is that by the time you figure them out they’re already grown and set in their ways. It’s like when you see wet cement and wanna write something funny in it so you have a think and then by the time you get the idea the cement has set. That’s what it’s like with raising children. But the good news is that once you get them to 18 they’re out the door and are no longer your problem. The Bouncers, Guards and Judges will have to deal with them then.
Dear Aunty. I’ve recently found my calling, I want to be an Army Man, but when I’ve shared this with my family they were anything but supportive. My mother in particular was very against the idea. I think sometimes she’d rather I was just a common gardener. But I don’t wanna get muck on my hands and flirt with a bored housewife. I wanna get blood on my hands and flirt with distraught widows of war. How am I to convince my family to get on board my dream?
You know what you do to someone that won’t let you become a Professional Killer? Can you guess? You want to kill but there’s someone standing in the way of you killing? What could you possibly do to overcome this hurdle and pursue your dreams? If you’re thinking Drone Strike than you just might be the ideal Army Man.
Dear Aunty. Everyday on my bus to work there is this young lad. He is on the bus I take to work and on the bus I take home. He looks too young for a job yet too old for school. I’m very concerned as to where he is going. I’m not trying to keep tab I just want to make sure he’s alright. I was wondering what I should say to this kid to find out where he could possibly be going everyday. How should I broach the subject with him without me looking like a nosey rosey?
He’s going to college.
Dear Aunty. My husband keeps shiteting on about things I don’t care about. How do I stop him talking?
The only way to stop a man talking is to stick a big pie in his fat gob and wash it down with a cold can. I’ve a husband too and anytime I get it in the ear the oven gets turned on stat. If you really don’t have time there are microwave pies too. They’re high in starch and carbs but who wants to be married forever.
Dear Aunty. There’s a girl in my life that I have honest intentions to wed. But there’s a wasp in the medicine: She’s thick. Now I’m not one to prejudge and it’s not a problem for me per say but to everyone around it’ll look like I’m divvy scooping. I really like her and almost half of what she says but I don’t know what to do. Please help Aunty.
Sounds to me like you’re caught up in your own bullshit. Spare her the bother and leave her the fuck alone.
Dear Aunty. I think I might be the dying with the plague. Should I tell others or just go quietly?
Our very own flour-fingered Fiona hopes to wear the big white hat one day. But right now she’s a slice of life. “The customers love a smile and a chat.” And the free day-old sponge cakes surely help too.
“Gary” the Kebab Man
Everyone knows that you gotta eat after a tipple or you’ll wake up with a headache. “Gary” starts rolling the kebab bread and spraying that big chunk of meat with grease at 6.30pm when most of us are still doing ourselves up (women) or pre-drinking cans at home (men). Gary reckons he’ll have served 500 gargled drunks over one night. “I remember every face even if they don’t remember how they got home.”
Ella on the Helpline
Superstar Ella is the friendly voice you hear when you have an enquiry about your myTaxi being overcharged. She can speak three languages. And her line manager says “it’s a shame she can’t speak them all at once during our peak hour (saturday 4.30am)”
Simon the War Man Rep
Roy Orbison may have been working “for the man” but Simon is working “for the Empire”. That’s the King of the Galaxy that all the little soldiers are serving. Simon has a wealth of facts about them in his head. And knows more than a thing or two about paints and bags of fake grass.
There was a tarot card reader at this stall. Buried down the back of this indoor market. It was an odd little thing this market. It itself was bury in the back end of Dublin and this tarot stall was bury in the back end of it. The market was filled with noting useful. People selling stones painted like Mexican skulls, some old garb that some girl is trying to shill so she has money to buy more, and a lad selling tea and coffee. That was probably the busiest one. I had a coffee. I wasn’t feeling great that day. There was foolery the night before and I was ploughed with it now. I was feeling like the cork board bottom of me had given way and all the compassion and self-warmth I had had fallen out on the floor like a gush of vomit through a brown bag. I felt like shit basically. Like the type that deserves nothing bright to happen to them. Bones rattled, brain cramping and guts dirty with grit and scars. I was hopping around like a loon probably pissing everyone off and I felt that. I felt how much I was pissing everyone off and there was nothing I could do cause all feelings where dropping out my arsehole. And any that survived I’d stub out with my foot like a still lit smoke. I had a wander around. I’d done the rounds of the stalls a few times already. And I’d no spending money, so was the last pair of eyeballs the vendors wanted. But there was some band on in the middle of the market. A live band. They’d play and you’d shop for craft tat. It was an idea, I’ll give that to them. But I didn’t wanna get involved in that. So I wandered down to the tarot card stall. I peeked in at the standard issue middle age woman. Her stall hadn’t been that busy and I felt bad for her. I felt bad for myself too. I had that clacking of shitty brain cells going on so I trundled into the stall. “I don’t have any money but… but what’s my fortune? Like in general?” She took a brief glance at me. “You’ll have a good life.” “Really?” “Yeah” I dug for something in my pocket but there was hardly anything. I’d just be insulting if I gave her a twenty cent coin. So I just pulled my hand out and gave her the thumbs up, said thanks and left. A good life. That’s what she said. If she was looking for money she’d have given me a lead-on fortune that’d get me curiosity. She just had one look at me. And I wasn’t looking good. I was a drunk and shit stained mess. But she said I’d have a good life. Sometimes I imagine that’s true. Sometimes.
Apparently apparently these were animal bombs from old times. The med-evil ages or so. It’s kinda cartoonish now but these we’re for killing people. And the animal would die too, most likely. What a queer world we lived in.
It would have been funny if they were jetpacks. But why would a bird need a jetpack? Have a think about that.
Jennifer may love Hewitt but Jennifer also loves chatting to married men about where the sand goes when she’s at the beach.
Galileo might have been adamant that the sun was the centre of the universe. But his bastard son was hardly the centre of his universe. It wasn’t until the lutenist was 13 that he legitimized him. Awkward.
The Duke might have been famous for is slow drawl approach to delivering lines but it’s believed that when he was quick “on the draw” when it came to getting down on one knee. Just ask any of his THREE wives.
The former famous actress is, allegedly, known to many as Teri Hatcher Parking Space Snatcher. Owing to her penchant for gazumping car spaces at shops and cinemas. And do you know the spaces up the front that are only for the disabled? Well Mrs Hatcher acts like she doesn’t know that.
Don’t accuse me of treason but as far as this Gossip Girl is aware, Queen Latifah may not be a member or heir to any royal dynasty. She may have many types of glittering golden awards for her music but a gold crown sovereign lineage is not on her shelf.
The once great golfer has admitted to a few close friends that he sometimes deliberately hits the ball into the rough so he can take a sly shite.
Mister “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” Lucas was seen by wait staff at a luxurous Hollywood restuarant leaving at half ten. Reports say that he spent a couple of idel minutes looking up at the night sky. Could he be getting new inspiration for more Star Adventures? Here’s hoping.
You may know why the caged bird sings but no one for the life of them knows how or why you can sleep still wearing your tights!
Sources close to the Estate of the author have said they’ve recently found boxes of unpublished pornograhpic short stories that were promptly burnt by his heirs and the ashes buried to keep the secret shame from coming out. Oops my bad!
The country singer might be able to woo the audiences with his songs but he’s allegedly not had as much look keeping schtum about his links to militia groups throughout the frontier. We knew he liked Faith Hill but turns out he has faith in hill-people too.
One of my little birdies has spotted Cam at a soup kitchen. That may seem on brand with the charitable actress but she must have fallen on lean times as she was on the other side of the cauldron of broth.
The recent Met Gala was noted for the continued absence of receding-haired clever clogs Plato. A man many claim as the father of higher learning still hasn’t found a way of resurrecting his tramp-bearded body. Come on brain-box pull the finger out and support the arts. ∎
Traditionally cocaine was seen as a party drug. A means for the very wealthy or the very poor to unwind and take edge off. It’s said that clubbers, ravers and people who dance to music use it to aid with their enjoyment of the music. But what if it’s not just for appreciating DJs and their work? What if you could also use it to appreciate God and her work? Well that’s what could might even be happening in a small church in Letterboyle, Co. Athlone.
Letterboyle is how you’d imagine a small picturesque town in the Irish countryside. It’s just like something out of a picture or postcard. If you can imagine that. The fields are green. The sky is blue or grey or black. The roads are a light dark colour. The trees are brown with green on the top. And the sidewalks are a load of wet grass. Green grass. The last place you’d imagine there to be the Cocaine Catholics of Letterboyle.
“The last place you’d imagine there to be the Cocaine Catholics of Letterboyle.”
But this is where this story had led me. On my first meeting with The Priest I was surprised how friendly and energetic he was. We shook hands and he took me into his kitchen where teas and cakes were laid on a small table. We exchanged pleasantries as I sipped and bit. But just as I was getting to the heart of the issue, the cocaine use, he took a turn and almost collapsed from fatigue. I thought he was just a really chill guy so I continued to question him. But there was no response. I’d hit a roadblock in my investigation. And that really got me down. But just as it was looking like I’d have to return to this shithole of a town tomorrow The Priest woke with a bolt. He apologized profusely. He took a sniff of some salts and was back to his jovial best. And we continued.
“So,” I asked “What’s with the blow?” The Priest took a long blink before answering “God talks to me through cocaine. I used to be an alcoholic and then one day after a hard week on the bottle I felt I’d nowhere to go. I felt I couldn’t go on. I wanted to keep drinking but I couldn’t muster the energy. That’s when I found coke. It was what got me back to feeling, not just good, but great. And there was no looking back.” His eyes returned to darting around the room, fondly recalling his past.
“Nobody can take my cocaine from me”
“Wow that’s sick.” I replied “And what does the Pope think?”
“The Pope can go and shite” He barked and held a mean stare at me. “He doesn’t know me and he can’t judge me.” I asked. “Is that the kind of thing you’d say? For a quote?” He nodded back and that was enough for this reporter.
We chatted more. Or he did as I drank cup after cup of teas while his went cold. The more he talked the more I got the idea the impression that this is a really cool dude that really believes in what he says. That doesn’t mean that he is any less of a Priest. And his congregation really like him. They were constantly knocking on the door to give contributions to the Church fund.
We arranged to meet up again the next day. But he never showed up and I couldn’t get through to him. It was fine since I’d already made my word count from the first interview so I was happy that I’d successfully reported the balls off this story. Fuck you dad. ∎
One of the most simple and natural curiosities we have is the humble flame. Do let enjoying fire be something only appreciated by young kids and cavemen. Relight that spark.
😘 🔥😘 🔥😘 🔥😘 🔥😘 🔥😘
😘 Burn an unwanted letter or bill. It’s as if it’d never been sent.
🔥 Instead of an egg timer or app try using a piece of petrol soaked string to track time. Cut a suitable length. Light the fuse. And wait.
😘 Burning the edges of a poster can make it look very old-timey. You can make a pirates’ treasure map, an old wizard’s scroll or an inquisitor’s decree that a loved one is to be put to death slow and painfully.
🔥 Keep busting your teeth taking bites out of raw potatoes? Try heating them on a spit with a little help from our reliable pal: Fire.
😘 Anyone in your work about to get the boot? Set up a little visual scene to let them know: “You are Fired”.
🔥 Sterilize a needle if you need to lance a boil. Watch out for that puss splatter!
😘 Hold a single naked flame in the air at gig to let the band on stage you’re there. Hold two to let them think there’s twice as many fans in attendance.
🔥 It doesn’t have to be your birthday to make a wish. Keep a lighter in your pocket that you can blow out and make wishes whenever you want.
😘 Hard Cases never have a light, be ready with a lighter for their cigarette and you can seem tough and hard too. They might tell you stories from the “inside” or let you buy some of their stolen gear.
When I’m at a canteen in the mornings I always hide some rashers under the beans and then just pay for a plate of beans
Long Con Jovi
Write the names of potential sequels (Shrek 5, Hangover 4 etc) and post them to yourself. If they get released bring the sealed and postmarked envelope to the studio and claim plagiarism
I never sign the back of bank cards. It’s never been authorised so I can claim back everything I’ve paid for it with
They may say you can’t work and claim your state pension. But no one has ever said that to ol’Mick
During Jackass we used to just take loads of Opioid Painkillers before the stunts so the injuries never really hurt
Bruce “The Double Cross Boss” Springsteen
They all thought it was a “fan” I brought up on stage during one of our famous concerts but it was an actress we got from an agency. Our scheme was foiled when she later got the roll of Monica on Friends
To ensure I get picked for presenting gigs I gash the tires of the other hopefuls and have them start the day on a bum note. If they do make it in a good mood I threaten them with a stanley knife