I can’t believe the American’s booed Sasha Baron Cohen’s only decent joke last night. Watching Golden Globe footage this morning, the Madonna gag would’ve gone down a storm over here, even during this post Sachs comedy witch hunt. I have instantly lost a lot of respect for America’s shallow image based Hollywood scene. I had no respect for them in the first place so they are now in minus respect in my books which should have them all quaking with fear no doubt. Watch the film scene crumble under my mere disregard for their lack of humour.
I need some new jokes for today. I am kick starting my 2009 gigging by doing two shows tonight and I don’t feel prepared for either of them. It is times like this I wish their was a comedy fuel akin to Asterix’s magic potion that I could just drink and let the funnies roll. Asterix had it easy, defending Gaul against the might of the Roman empire. Give me that any day over writing new material. Of course you’d have to resurrect the entire Roman empire first, and that would take ages.
I received some belated birthday presents from my ‘in-laws’ yesterday which was very nice of them. Nicer of my girlfriend really as she had picked them all, which makes it better for everyone in that her parents don’t have to actually think about what to get me and I am more likely to like it. The other option would have been that all of us would have just felt awkward when I show a massive lack of gratefulness opening a present that turns out to be a wok. Thats what happened two years ago. I still resent the wok.
The presents were all new clothes and seem to be part of Layla’s plan to change my wardrobe because I clearly don’t dress in the right way. I’ve never thought that my t-shirt and jeans combo was particularly bad but it is slowly being replaced by trendy cardies and shirts. On item was also a purple jumper. I have never worn purple ever and never sought to, but apparently I should. I’m fairly sure purple is a colour for girls and mental old people like in that poem. It suddenly occurred to me that old people also wear cardies and shirts. Could it be that Layla secretly wants me to dress like a grandad? Could it be only a matter of time before she can only get turned on by me saying such phrases as ‘ During the war…’, ‘In my day…’ and ‘Pass my teeth’?
