Another smutty entry. The pictures should serve as a warning I guess.
It's always nice to do benefit gigs for charity. From the outside it looks like I'm a caring person who doesn't just do stuff for myself, but in actuality I get to play to big audiences in theatres that I would probably never fill on my own. It's only ten minutes work and there's usually free crisps and Celebrations and sometimes they give the acts a bottle of champagne each in gratitude for their selflessness (ha ha the charity running idiots - we're doing it for ourselves - we hate the disadvantaged).
Tonight I was at the Bloomsbury and the charity was
Brook, providing free sexual advice to the under 25s, something I am also always very happy to do. But you might get less biased and self-serving service from the charity. Usually at a benefit I am thinking - oh no, all my material is filthy and about sex and it might upset these nice charity loving people - but tonight for once I had full access to even my most disgusting stuff and no one could really complain. It was a bit overwhelming. I only have about 10 minutes of stuff that is clean enough for the general public and even that has about 8 minutes of utter filth in it. Now I had too much choice. I was rubbing my hands with glee. Not just my hands.
But then, after all that, and after requests from a couple of the other comics on the bill, I decided to do my rather sweet Ferrero Rocher routine instead. What a wasted opportunity! I didn't even suggest inserting the Ferrero Rocher pyramid into someone's anus. I am losing my edge.
Weirdly enough a Ferrero Rocher pyramid might make rather a good sex toy - it's bobbly and it's got extra little nobbles on it and would give the inserter and the insertee (the postman and the letterbox) a choice of how far and wide they wanted to go. A timid lover could just put the tip in, a more adventurous devotee of stuffing things up their anus might go for three or four layers. Or even the whole thing. Oh Ambassador, with these Rocher you're really spoiling us.
I mean spoiling in both ways.
I am proud to say I avoided that obvious reference in the routine, but it seemed too good an opportunity to miss in this context.
I don't know very much about sex toys and despite my general bravado on stage am very vanilla in my sexual tastes and much too shy to try anything like putting a big pyramid of hazelnut based sweetmeats up someone's anal passage. If you've read my book you'll know that I don't really like the idea of putting anything up my bum and politely ask people to stop doing it if they try. But the thought has probably been put into my head by the present each of the comics was given for appearing in the show.
No champagne or box of chocolates for us this time. We all got a bumper bag of lubricants and sex toys from a shop called "Sh!" in Hoxton. I think more comedy benefits should do this. Even ones that have nothing to do with sex. If charities gave out butt-plugs to anyone who'd do a free gig for them then I think we'd see a lot of acts falling over themselves to get involved. Though to be honest, as you'll know if you've read my book (
buy here if intrigued!), you can put a champagne bottle up someone's bum (warning - this is not that advisable as it can shatter and also it's weird) - so the charities that give champagne are already giving you a choice. You can just have a drink, or you can use it as a sex toy. Unless I wanted to drink water-based lube then these sex toys only had the one function.
I am delighted to say the butt plug (if that's what it is), which works on a similar principle to my Ferrero Rocher pyramid anal intruder, comes on a base that is in the shape of a heart. So as you tap that up your lover's bottom, you are reassuring them and yourself that you are doing this out of love. I think it could be seen as sarcastic though. I suspect that a marine might tap that up the sphincter of a dead Taliban member and laugh to himself at the irony of the protruding love heart.
Although I have a long history of successful masturbation, often with nothing more than an innocent episode of Blockbusters to assist me, the people from this charity decided I might need to try and juzz things up a bit. And they might be right. I have been getting to the point where a little self-abuse feels like a chore rather than a pleasure and as Dr Johnson famously said, with good cause, "When a man is tired of wanking, he's tired of life." So there's also a vibrating masturbation device, which is surely only useful to the most lazy and jaded person - but at least I don't have to stick it up my arse, so I might give it a go (I haven't yet though so don't worry all these photos are of unused items - though I did nearly daub a bit of chocolate on to the top of the butt plug. Most terrifyingly of all there's something called, "The Rude-Boy" (is this what
Rihanna was singing about?), which looks a bit like a bent Smurf's cock and is designed to stimulate the prostate and the perineum at the same time. I have never been filled with such terror and intrigue by anything before. Am I missing out on a whole new world of excitement by refusing to put buzzing things up my mousehole? Does it make me a boring person for not really wanting to find out? Now I have the toys will curiosity get the better of me? Billy Connolly (and then Stewart Lee) said you couldn't trust a man who left alone in a room with a tea cosy didn't try it on his head. Is the same true of a man left in a room with a gigantic, prostate stroking Smurf penis? Or should we not trust the man who does.
My girlfriend was also on the bill tonight and got her own bag load of female orientated sex toys. If our house is ever raided by the police they are going to think we're a right pair of perverts. Especially if they find the dungeon we've already constructed. Personally I am more concerned that our cleaner might just open the wrong drawer and decide to never come back to our house again. Of course we could just throw it all away, but that would be rude. Perhaps not as rude as the smurf penis, but my mum always taught me to accept gifts graciously. Her advice has really been testing me this week.
There was an after show party, but seemingly none of the comedians wanted to go along. Which shows what happens if you give comedians a bag of sex toys. Our job is essentially masturbatory in nature, so we're all happy just to go home and carry on the party alone.
My mum reads this blog.
The "What Is Love, Anyway?" tour gets under way in earnest next week when I will be visiting Bournemouth, Monmouth, Cheltenham and Stafford. Details of those and all the other dates can be found
here. Touring is now my main source of income, so if it goes well I can carry on churning out the insane free stuff, if it goes badly I might have to go back to Cheddar Caves to see if they need any tour guides. It seems to be selling pretty well on the whole and a few gigs are either sold out or very close - if you want to see me in Stafford, Salford and Cambridge then ring the venues NOW! But Swindon
is offering a half price tickets deal. So it's a bit too early to call. I'd say ticket sales are up on the same point last year (and nearly all of the first 14 gigs have been rammed), but I am generally playing bigger venues.
I seem to be getting a few guys emailing me saying they want to come, as they're big fans of AIOTM, but their wives or girlfriends don't like me and don't want to join them. But the ones who convince their partners to take a chance have then emailed to say how much the doubters enjoyed the show. It's an oddly sweet and even occasionally romantic show (impressive given its aim of destroying love and my fondness for discussing sexcrement), which prompted a couple to get engaged after the Belfast show. I should point out that it did also cause at least one couple to break up after the Newcastle show too, but mainly because the girl realised her boyfriend was an idiot, so it's all good! Do spread the word about the show. I am relying on you, my Medici patrons.
It must be dull for all those big name comedians who sell out months in advance and know they're going to make hundreds of thousands of pounds. Every year doing Edinburgh and going on tour is like doing the lottery for me. But a lottery that costs thousands of pounds and where the top prize is only about four times the outlay. The kind of lottery only an idiot would enter. I am that idiot. And I love the jeopardy.
