Grumpy
Draft copy of my... what the fuck has blogger done? They've changed shit and I don't know how to right justify. Crapping crap. Anyway... draft copy of new Grumpy column. Have to shorten it a bit for the mag. But it's late and deadline is sometime in the morning. And I am Grumpy.
There's
a comedian called Sanderson Jones who could be coming to a comedy
festival near you. He's been doing the world comedy festival circuit
and has been getting pretty good reviews, so I thought I'd check him
out.
Thing is, he doesn't always appear on the comedy festival
program and you can't book tickets to his shows through the usual
outlets. Contact has to be made. You need to follow him on Twitter or
friend him on Facebook to find out where and when he'll be to sell
you tickets in person. At the transaction he takes your photo, and
then between the time of the ticket sale and the show, he does a bit
of internet snooping on many of his audience members. Intriguing
stuff. There is the potential for mass public humiliation, of course;
who can remember every little comment or picture they have posted on
Facebook or their blog? I have seen some inane shit posted in my
time, but I didn't think I'd have anything to worry about because
most of my inane shit is like this column; intentionally inane shit.
On the
night of the gig, as the audience of around 400 filled the theatre,
Sanderson Jones made his way through the crowd to the stage as we
took our seats. Bit of banter with the punters, and suddenly I
wondered if I should be worried after all, because he paused, looked
down to me and said, “Hello, Lee.” Could have been my
imagination, but he was sounding a bit like Christopher Lee in one of
those old Dracula movies.
The show
started and indeed many in the audience were singled out and amusing
posts and status updates were projected onto a large screen.
Including a couple of my intentionally inane ones. All good. All
sweet, if a little weird to see your name and your words meant for
friends splashed onto the big screen in front of guffawing strangers.
All was
going hilariously well until the comedian let some laughter die down
before asking, “Do we have any critics in the audience?”
I
quickly checked out the various exit signs and picked my best
options.
“Critics
like Lee Bemrose,” he said as he squinted into the lights in my
direction. “Are you here, Lee Bemrose?”
Fuck.
“No!”
I shouted back. “He is not here.”
“Because
I'd like you to come up on stage and compete in The Critics' Obstacle
Course!”
Oh the
Colosseum was into this. I gripped the arms of my chair and made it
clear that everyone could just fuck off because no way was I
competing in any kind of obstacle course designed by this vampire for
the amusement of 400 utter utter
bastards whose joy clearly came from the fact that they were safe
whilst I was about to be made a spectacle of.
Ringleader
was, of course, The Dreaded One, who thought it was all quite
hilarious. “You have
to do it! It will be so
funny!”
Needless
to say, I ended up on stage with one other reviewer. A third reviewer
who had been called had clearly been a faster runner than the two of
us onstage and had made it to one of those emergency exits and was
nowhere in sight.
The
first stage of our obstacle course was a spoon and egg race, to be
followed by a pie fight with the vampire-comedian, followed by the
critics dashing back across the stage to jump through hoops held by His Minions.
It was
as the comedian was telling us the bit about the pie fight that I
turned to my onstage victim and asked if he would mind holding my
spoon and egg for a moment. Looking confused but happy to help, he
took my spoon and egg and I tried to sneak back off stage, leaving
him standing with both spoons and eggs.
The
Colosseum erupted with equal parts laughter and boos, and a hellish
glare from Dracula returned me to my starting position.
The
obstacle course itself was a bit of a blur. Because I had been trying
to sneak off the stage I missed the bit about throwing the pies at
each other. I just arrived at the pie table and didn't know what to
do next. Suddenly there was lots of pie throwing, however, and always
quick to catch on, I threw pies. Later The Dreaded One would ask how
on Earth I managed to not get a single drop of cream pie on me when
the others were covered in the stuff. What can I say? I'm a Pie Fight
Ninja. You have been warned.
And the
minions holding the hoops? Naturally they moved the hoops each time
we jumped.
The
thing about all this is, is it really so smart to get revenge on your
reviewers before they have reviewed your show?
“No,”
Sanderson Jones admitted when I asked him this over a post-show
drink. “Don't know what I was thinking, really. Especially when
I've read many of your Grumpy columns now, Lee, and I have to hand it
to you, you are one funny bastard. Way, way
funnier than I am. In fact I'm going back to the drawing board and
learning from you, the master, I'm going to try really really
hard to be a better comedian.”
“Well
that's good to hear, Sanderson,” I replied. “The promising thing
is that you have a lot of room for improvement. A lot.
In fact here's a Venn Diagram... this tiny little circle here is how
good you are now, and this separate great big circle over here represents
your 'room for improvement.'”
“Ah. I see what you mean.
And hey... this Venn Diagram thing... that could be a great addition
to the show. You mind if I borrow that?”
And so
my story ends... except I'm wondering... if it's a mistake to take
revenge on on a reviewer prior to their writing of the review, is it
a mistake for me to be getting my revenge here when cyber-stalking
comedians can have their revenge at another comedy festival, in
another Colosseum?
Damnit.
I really should think this through before publishing, shouldn't I.
