Dear BCGers,
I've had a few requests - most of which were physically impossible and some almost certainly illegal but others of which concerned the snippet of stand up I posted a while back.
Accordingly, here's the new, improved version.
It's only a short snippet and it's for performance by a very thin comedienne:
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Hi, I'm (NAME).
I'm a comedian and aspiring comedy writer. If you're a regular 'attendee' (MIME QUOTES) at this sort of venue, you might remember my face. If you're a TV producer, you might remember the top of my head (LEAN FORWARD AND BACK).
I was at home last week when the phone rang. I was in the shower. I mention that for two reasons: one, it introduces suspense into the story. "Will she get to the phone before it stops ringing?", and two, it conjures up a picture in your minds of me in the shower . . . which some of you might find arousing. (LOOK AROUND THE AUDIENCE) (NOD AS IF REALISING) You were worrying I wouldn't get the phone in time, right?
It's not my fault I'm skinny. I'm the only girl in the world with two backs. I have a tattoo on my chest "In case of rape: this side up".
I stole that joke from a Jim Davidson DVD and I'm only repeating it in a postmodern ironic kind of way.
We shouldn't joke about rape. Rape is not funny. It's just not. Even when the guy wears a clown mask, it's still not funny.
One guy told me I have a 'function-specific anatomy'.
Look. I do impressions. (STAND SIDEWAYS, STICK TONGUE OUT) Can you tell what it is, yet? No, not Rolf Harris. That was an accidental impression. (STAND SIDEWAYS, STICK TONGUE OUT AGAIN) It's a zip! (WAIT A FEW SECONDS) Some people say it's a lesbian with an erection but those people are not very nice.
I've always been very thin. You think I'm thin now? You should have seen me when I was younger. When I was fourteen, I swallowed a grape and three of my cousins left town. No, that's not true. One of them got to the outskirts of town and then realised it couldn't be hers.
And before that, I was even thinner. I remember when I was 8 or 9 years old I used to go into town every weekend and just sit on the pavement all day begging like a little homeless skeleton. And my dad would sit in the pub opposite, looking after my shoes and watching through the window in case anyone tried to feed me.
Anyway, I was at home last week when the phone rang. I was in the shower and I did manage to pick it up before it stopped ringing. It was the BBC.
I accepted the charge and they said "Can you do three minutes on a new comedy show we're recording next week?" I said 'Yes, I'd love to".
"There's only one thing," they said. "We don't want anything gynaecological".
"But most of my act is about women's woes in one form or another", I said.
There was a pause and he said "No women's woes. No female stuff. Period!" and put the phone down without a trace of irony.
Don't you love unintentional comedy? I do - except when it's me that's doing it. It feel's like I'm working on my day off.
When my family found out I was going into comedy, they were mortified. My grandmother threw her hands in the air. That's a strange expression – 'throw your hands in the air', isn't it? I mean, how would you ever catch them when they came down again?
Anyway, my grandmother threw her hands in the air and emitted a wail – which is another good trick. Emitting a whale You think childbirth is uncomfortable? Try emitting a whale!
So, the whale's lying there, flapping around on the carpet, my grandmother's fainted and we've sent out for plankton . . .
I can see a few of you looking puzzled now. This is the surreal part of my act. Are they any Eddie Izzard fans here tonight? Well, guess what – he's not coming. So make the most of me.
