A blog of Comedy

Comedy

This post will be a little more informal than most mainly due to two weeks of sleep deprivation and a thirteen hour marathon of Dr Who just before writing this, they are not a good cocktail. I’m going to try and incorporate my comical ambitions with today’s post, yet stay topical with my usual themes of the writer and influences.

While we’re all young we question what profession we’ll go into when we’ve finished with education. I personally have always fancied myself as a writer; I know I’m an abomination, but your letter bombs haven’t found me yet!

Up until the age of about fifteen, I’d worked on poetry alone; with adding stories and articles to my repertoire, it shows obviously how I’ve diversified over the years. I sound like a business, I just lack a manager, but let’s face it, there’s no woman crazy enough to share a room with me let alone a shackle.

For the last few years I’ve been fascinated by comedians, or at least trying to break into the world of comedy. I have to avoid watching the Apollo otherwise I begin to think, very wrongly, I can be a gag writer after an hour of someone drivelling on about their genitals. In honesty if that makes me think I’m any good I should just try secondary sex ed, cucumber and a condom anyone?

You know how we all laugh at what children say no mater how idiotic it is we find it hilarious, only because we’re thinking the exact same thing? I feel it’s a shame that’s beaten out of kids at secondary school, it’s no wonder good comedians are a dying breed, still, you have to learn how to give a decent wedgies at some point, or your kids would miss out.

I feel that the most bonkers people in society today are comedians and English teachers, or in the case of Mr Frankie Boyle: both. It takes a man with a real set of balls, or a sense of humour that could crack up royalty to sit in front of a class of young hormonal girls and read how a man has been screwing them all over for years. Personally I’m more in favour of throwing the book at them, not being biased; I’d lob a dictionary or two at the lads and head for the hills. But mum said I’m not allowed to do that again, I have to set an example, and hand out the pitch forks, one each before legging it. Apparently it’s good practice for later in life.

On a more serious note, I’m still wishing I were one of those, maybe not handsome, or cool people on stage, but I’d love to do what they do. It may never happen, but as with the catch phrase this generation has opted for, ‘I do it for de lulz’.