Friday, 20 March 2009

The art of a bad joke

The beauty of London is there is always the unexpected.

There is no run of the mill in this big city – prepare for the unpredictable, the bizarre and downright unimaginable.

Like last weekend when I went to a comedy show.

Ok, so when you think comedy, you think guy standing in front of a microphone trying to be funny. You, sitting in the audience, feel compelled to laugh. And if you’re lucky it’s not the wine giving you the giggles.

But at no point do you expect the comedian to suddenly drop his trousers, stuff his hand into his pearly white Y-fronts and proceed to… well, you know.

Ah ha, yep. I’m not lying. Three minutes.

Three minutes where this camp American comedian is standing there, trousers down at his ankles, skinny white chicken legs on show and a hand in his pants.

And I’m thinking, wow that is an interesting spot on the back wall. Is it a fly? No, couldn’t possible be a fly, it’s far too big for a fly. Maybe a squirt of ketchup…

This was unconventional comedy for sure – I mean who else has a comedy routine where two fingers have sex? (Sound effects included and a microphone practically swallowed).

Now I had not walked into an erotica show by accident; this really was stand-up comedy, only it had an 18+ sticker attached to it (that I’d somehow missed) and clearly small print saying small minds should not proceed. Fortunately I’m rather open-minded yet a large dose of courage was still required.

So there I am trying not to laugh – because I am a person of good moral character – praying he won’t pick on me – think sheep shagging jokes more than likely. And all the time that spot is getting more interesting. But how does ketchup get on a wall…

At least, the girls from Sheffield enjoyed it.

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