Mark Butler's weekly blog

just a bit Aussie

2010-01-29T03:37:00.001+11:00

UK comedian Mark Butler will become an Australian citizen in time for this year’s Fringe. Having spent the much of the last five years in Australia, he has decided it’s time to be a bit more Aussie.

‘This year’s Fringe show is all about my observations on the Australian way of life,’ he explains, ‘so in order to give you guys a fair go, I felt I should become Australian.’

So does his new show praise or poke fun at our famed beach and barbeque culture? ‘It’s generally positive,’ he claims in his Northern English accent, ‘but I’m not a huge fan of the macho footy culture. I was called a poofter the other day for wearing a shoulder bag! Granted I was wearing it slightly off-the-shoulder, but I still looked tough.’

So why has he decided to make Australia home? It’s not because of the weather, he insists, it’s because Aussie audiences are much more appreciative of his comedy. English audiences, he claims, find it difficult to let themselves go, checking themselves if they laugh too loudly. But that’s never a problem in Adelaide – in his previous Fringe shows he has had to tell audiences to stop laughing so that he can move onto the next joke.

Butler insists, however, that his show is not for everyone. ‘I love your bogans because they’re a good source of material, but I don’t want them coming to my show. My jokes go over their heads.’ So with this discriminatory approach to his audiences, some readers may be left wondering whether Mark’s show is for them. He, of course, has an answer … ‘If you have to ask yourself whether or not you’re a bogan, you’re a bogan! Don’t come to my show!’

Mark Butler’s show I’ve been watching you Australians (but not in a creepy way) in on at the Electric Light Hotel on Grenfell St from 18^th February.

Blow jobs

2009-03-17T22:10:00.003+11:00

There are so many people in this world who do not know how to give good head. If you are one of those people, you should come along to my comedy show, or you should read this fictitious book.

Throwing Stones at Girls

2009-02-16T23:00:00.003+11:00

In preparation for my show I've been learning a lot about how children go through puberty. And I've realised that it’s not just about maturing physically, it’s also about maturing emotionally - something boys are particularly bad at. I’ve got this friend called Ali and he’s terrible when it comes to the opposite sex. He’s in his thirties and he still throws stones at girls. Can you believe that? It's not so surprising - he lives in Saudi Arabia, that’s what they do. But even though he's a really good shot he still can’t get a girlfriend. Growing up can be tough, eh?

The Echidna's hidden talents

2009-02-16T22:47:00.004+11:00

It's been a while since I blogged. I've been busy writing my 2009 show Let's talk about SEX. I've been doing a lot of research (as always) and I've stumbled across lots of fasciniating facts.
Here's one I want to share with you ... an echidna has a penis that looks like Bart Simpson's hand.
It's a bit minging but fair play to the echidna - I'll never look at these creatures in the same way again.

The Stripper

2008-05-08T12:38:00.004+10:00

Here's a story that is better told by video.
It's six minutes long but I feel the pay-off is worth it.

Fashion Crimes

2007-11-03T15:28:00.000+11:00

What's happening to the world's military? They need to employ some new fashion designers. Standards of dress have slowly been slipping so that a 'man in uniform' is no longer considered dashing. In the Crimea War, soldiers wore smart red jackets. First World War - tidy trenchcoats. WWII - the Gestapo had some pretty cool leather jackets. But then it all started to go downhill in the Vietnam War. American G.I.s began wearing vest tops and cargo pants, and they even wore bandanas. But nothing is as bad as the current costume of choice for those fighting in Iraq - beige tracksuits. Pathetic.

Silence is Golden

2007-09-14T14:51:00.000+10:00

Men are not as sensitive as women in the bedroom. We're not so turned on by smells and sounds, and we're not so put off by words. A man could be having sex with a lady and she could yell out 'Shit stains' or 'I've got a cock' or 'You're the ugliest man I've ever seen' and we're quite happy to carry on - we don't care, we're very resilient. But if you say something to a woman like 'You've got nice feet', she'll often lash out with. 'Are you saying I've got horrible legs? That's it, I'm not in the mood anymore. Get off me!' I've learned that it's better to keep my mouth shut.
Women can say what they like in the bedroom, it's the visual elements that men focus on. We're not fussy about sounds, but if we see one nipple hair, it's off. And there's nothing a lady can do to put the lead back in a pencil.
A nipple hair, a whitehead, or a hammer thumb - that's all it takes.

Not Made for Water

2007-07-30T21:39:00.000+10:00

Lap swimming has to be the most boring sport around. There’s absolutely nothing to see when you’ve got your head underwater. I’ve tried reading a book and it doesn’t work. You keep having to swap hands to turn the pages, and it gets far too fiddly. They should release some fish into the pool just to give you something to look at. Or some treasure from a Spanish galleon – that would be cool. Or they could throw a shark into the pool. This would not only make you swim faster, but it would make swimming much more entertaining for spectators.

Humans look bad underwater. We are not built for swimming. We are not graceful. We are clumsy and odd, and are arms and legs flap about too much. We are like fish with special needs. It’s no wonder the sharks attack us – they must think we are taking the piss.

Hotels

2007-07-22T13:55:00.000+10:00

I’ve been spending quite a lot of time in business hotels recently. They put things in your room like soap and tea-bags. They never give you anything decent. When you’re in a hotel room you are bored out of your mind – you need a Playstation or some profiteroles or some dancing horses with profiteroles. But instead you get a shower cap so your hair doesn’t get wet when you are trying to slash your wrists in the bath. They sometimes give you two shower caps just in case you grow an extra head out of boredom.

And the sheets are always tucked in so hard you need a pizza-cutter to go to bed. I think the maids do it on purpose, trying to keep you on top of the sheets so they don’t have to do any work the next day.

Fridays

2007-07-14T15:56:00.000+10:00

Many offices have a culture of dressing down on Fridays, but some people have absolutely no idea. I saw a businessman at the train station last Friday wearing running shoes and a Hawaiian shirt. It’s supposed to be Casual Friday not Cockhead Friday. Was he really expecting fun and games to spontaneously break out at that day’s board meeting? He probably had a hula-hoop in his briefcase on the off-chance. The only times when Hawaiian shirts are acceptable are if you are making a guest appearance on the TV show Lost, and when you are a private detective trying to blend in at a speed dating evening for university lecturers.

Poetry is Shit

2007-05-10T19:26:00.000+10:00

I got dragged along to a poetry slam last week. I was so bored I almost slammed the poet’s head in a door. The ‘slam’, it seems, is just a tag given to an incredibly dull evening in an attempt to make it sound edgy – a bit like a chess gangbang. There’s nothing edgy about reading out words that don’t rhyme.
Poems without rhyming words are like jokes without punchlines – very easy to write and a complete waste of time. To write this type of poetry all you have to do is type a sentence into a computer while pressing ENTER randomly.
The complete works of Shakespeare were apparently written by some monkeys with typewriters. I reckon an ant could knock out a poem on a mobile phone in a few seconds. Give me a limerick any day of the week. OK, the one about the old lady from China who had an enormous body part may not be considered highbrow but at least it rhymes. And it features a pensioner with a giant minge, which is both funny and edgy.
If poetry really wants to be cool, it has to do more than ‘slam’. It has to draw blood. I suggest a poetry cage-fight where a poet faces off against a streetfighting bogan. The pen may be mightier than the sword but an obscure whimsical metaphor is no match for a broken bottle. I’d pay to see that.

Gun Crazy

2007-04-18T12:50:00.000+10:00

If you were the President of a country where everyone was sensible, happy, broad-minded and educated, you would, perhaps, consider letting a select few of your country's citizens own firearms. The vast majority of these people, though, would not want any. Why would they - everything is fine.

If you were the President of a country that had millions of ignorant, disaffected teenagers in places where community spirit had eroded, social infrastructure had crumbled, crime rates were phenomenal, and morality was based on shifting government policy, you would be a moron to even consider selling firearms.

But those Americans are at it again, eh? Shooting each other. Did anyone think 'Now, there's a surprise'? Of course not. He was a loner, apparently. Well really? Did he perhaps listen to some kind of heavy metal music? There's a surprise.

Festival Reviews

2007-04-03T18:24:00.000+10:00

I have just come back from performing at the Adelaide Fringe Festival.
Here are some reviews:

"Mark Butler drops comic pearls before an engaged audience ... A wonderful comic creation ... Easily five star entertainment ... A genuine rib-aching tour de force."
- Adelaide Theatre Guide

"A piece of comic mastery. A must see - twice." - Groggy Squirrel

"Bloody Funny. A very entertaining show." - The Advertiser

If you are in Melbourne, come and see the show...
8th~26th April (Sun 7pm, Mon~Thu 9pm)
Loop Bar, Meyers Place, City

Kiss and Make Up

2007-02-25T22:19:00.000+11:00

Weird people have been stopping me on the street recently, like they think they I belong to their group. It's quite worrying. I dress well, I walk normally, I don't dribble, I don't have scars on my tongue, but these people seem to think we have something in common.

A couple approached me last week. She had skin similar to the kind of porcelain you would find at the bottom of the 50 cent basket at the charity shop, her mascarra looked like it had been applied by the brushes from a road-sweeper, and she had enough foundation to rebuild the twin towers. Her boyfriend/pimp had a flanel shirt tied around his waist and a tattoo which read 'I love tattoos'.

She walked straight up to me and, pointing to the guy, said, "He says I am wearing too much make-up. What do you think?"

How do you respond in that situation? Either way you are going to get smacked by someone.

I had to find a neutral answer. Eventually I told her that one eye looked good and the other had too much make-up. She went away happy, squinting with her right eye, saying to her tattooed friend, "he's a fuckin' weirdo."

My Book

2007-02-13T22:33:00.000+11:00

Five years in the making and it has finally arrived... my debut novel. They say you can't judge a book by the cover, so here's the blurb:
A story about how lives can be influenced by incredible people and by incredibly small events... Red Thomas moves to London and scams a teaching position at a prestigious boys’ school, but his hedonistic tendencies quickly send his lessons on Probability spiralling out of control. The son of a wealthy politician allows himself to get caught up in Red’s chaos and he is soon gambling with more than just his father’s money.
If it sounds like your cup of tea, please buy it: http://www.lulu.com/content/679182
Cheers

Before We Die

2006-12-28T20:54:00.000+11:00

One of the biggest selling books this Christmas was 1001 Films You Must See Before You Die. It’s a great gift idea, but not for people with a terminal illness – it puts a bit too much pressure on them. And there are many more in the series… 1001 Places You Must Visit… 1001 Albums You Must Hear… 1001 Paintings You Must See… all before you die. Why do they have to be so ambitious? What about a book for the underachievers? 5 Things To Put Off Until Next Year. Though the slackers will be sitting around saying, ‘I can’t be bothered to put off five things – it’s just a bit too many.’

May contain Fish

2006-12-08T20:17:00.000+11:00

On my Colgate toothpaste it reads ‘No Colgate toothpaste contains sugar’. I should hope not. Sugar is the worst thing imaginable for your teeth – except for ‘having English parents’. I also hope my toothpaste does not contain poison or asbestos, but the label doesn’t say anything, so who knows what’s in there. Maybe medical companies also need a disclaimer – Our bandages do not contain salt – just to put our minds at ease.
My cereal box also has a disclaimer – This product may contain traces of nuts, eggs, gluten and seafood. I can understand the nuts, but how does a fish end up in a cornflake factory? I know salmon migrate upstream but they must have taken some serious wrong turns to end up at Kelloggs. Still, I suppose a fish head is preferable to some of those dodgy hologram stickers you get inside special packs.

Bad Hair Day

2006-11-25T18:00:00.000+11:00

I’ve just had a haircut. In the hairdressers’ I was pretty happy with the style. One minute after leaving, after having “accidentally” caught a glimpse of myself in a shop window, my hair looked too short and too stupid. Hairdressers must have magic mirrors or something. Or they must put drugs in your coffee. Or the shampoo. What else could explain me being temporarily pleased with a Mohican mullet?
“Would you like any ‘product’ in your hair, sir?” It’s always wax. I’ve never had any honey or lemonade put in my hair. Why do they have to refer to it as ‘product’? Could they not find a word less generic? I don’t walk in and ask for a service. Anyway, while the bloke was cutting it, a sixteen year-old goth girl was watching as part of her ‘work experience’. She asked a number of stupid questions but my favourite was, ‘So, it is true that hair grows quicker at weekends?’ I laughed so hard that I moved my head and ended up with a stupid haircut.

Language of Love

2006-11-13T20:23:00.000+11:00

Restaurants use far too much fancy language nowadays. Succulent pieces of marinated steak in a deliciously tangy bouillon. Chinese restaurants don’t play that game; they go out of their way to make their dishes sound unappealing - Beef testicles in spicy water. How can you order that with a straight face? Chicken insides on dry noodles? Hardly the stuff to whet an appetite.
And Chinese restaurateurs don’t do themselves any favours with the photographs they display in their shop windows. All the food they photograph looks like its been surprised. You can actually see the spring rolls putting their hands up, shielding their faces from the camera.

Scary Stuff

2006-10-31T23:27:00.000+11:00

It’s ‘Trick or Treat’ time. This is basically a training ground for extortion. “Give us some money and we’ll look after you, otherwise we’ll set fire to a paper bag full of dogshit and put it on your doorstep.” That’s how The Kray Twins started. I asked one for a trick and he chopped off my ear. Hilarious.
And why do ghosts always move things around the house? Don’t ghosts have anything better to do. They are supposedly trapped between worlds and dimensions, and the only thing they can do is move a vase a few inches to the left. Why don’t they hang around the kitchen nicking food from the fridge? Or watch DVDs that weren’t invented when they were alive? If I were a ghost, I wouldn’t go around spooking people out, I’d go and have a chat with them about the latest football results. I talk to people about how things have changed since I was a lad. I’d play ‘Trick or Treat’ and get people to give me some beer, or I’d threaten to slit their throats – I’d be much scarier than an eleven year old with a pair of flashing horns.

Unveiled

2006-10-25T20:31:00.000+10:00

Should veils be allowed? Well, if you are planning to rob a bank, I think a veil would be an excellent idea. If you are cycling through London, a veil would be useful to stop you getting black bogeys. If you are going to a fancy dress party as a belly dancer, it would really add something to the outfit. If you are chatting to a member of parliament... it depends on how bad his breath is. If you are a lazy ventriloquist, it would come in handy. If you had just had Botox injections, you should stay indoors for a year regardless. If you are Dick Turpin... it's worth investing in a veil - who knows they may soon take off.

Terrorist Pope

2006-09-16T21:02:00.000+10:00

The world is paranoid. If you listen to the news, there are terrorists everywhere, all queuing up to create mayhem or simply to strike fear into the public. There are no jobs left for the pea-dough-files (sic). They are not terryfying enough in the modern world. I saw loads of them at the job-centre the other day, with the rapists and the evil clowns, reading through the job ads: Someone needed to create panic on public transport networks. Would suit someone of Middle Eastern appearance. The poor buggers just didn't have the right look. It's a tough game this terrorism business.
On the subject of pea-dough-files, the Pope has gone on the offensive by claiming that Mohammed liked cutting people up. He clearly wants to create a war, just to fuel paranoia, to stop people using public transport, to sell more of his Popemobiles. Smart man, but very creepy.
Dont forget my survey - click on the red links.

Swearing Survey

2006-08-22T21:59:00.000+10:00

I have created an online survey consisting of six pages that I want everyone in Australia to fill out. I am trying to find out what is Australia's favourite swearword. Ideally I would like everyone in the country to complete the survey, but I would be happy with just a million.
There are six links on the right. Click on each in turn and answer the questions. The six pages should only take a total of about two minutes, and your results will help to create my festival shows for next year.
Please copy the address of this site and forward it to all of your friends (even the ones you don't really like but whose addresses you keep just to make your contacts list appear bigger).
Thanks

Stop the Car

2006-08-06T13:56:00.000+10:00

The only stories we read are about death and destruction. It means that people lock themselves away through fear. We always think the worst, which is why people no longer stop for broken down cars on roads when it’s dark. When I broke down recently in Country Victoria people refused to stop until I pulled out my video camera and explained that I was conducting auditions for a celebrity mechanic TV karaoke show. After three engine tune-ups and a new exhaust I had to turn people away. The power of the lure of fame.
A friend of mine once hit a wombat in The Dandenongs. He didn’t stop. He thought it was just a ruse by the wombats. He expected that once he was out of the car the wombats would gang-rape him and sell him to the koalas. It really is a jungle out there.

Foot Loose

2006-08-01T22:36:00.000+10:00

Big hair, big earrings, silly plastic belts. Cindy Lauper was embarrassing enough the first time around, we don’t need an eighties revival. But it’s been here for long enough to be noticed, and it’s building momentum every day. Spotted dresses are the latest fashion must-have for girls, but I’m looking forward to getting my hands on a piano-key tie. I was performing in Perth last week and I noticed a nineties revival; everyone is wearing skateboard pants and Nirvana T-shirts. Perth must be one step ahead of everyone else. Or fifteen years behind.
The drive a lot in Perth. I asked a lady for directions to a gig one kilometre away, and she told me to take a taxi. She was a fat woman but I didn’t yet hold it against her. When I asked her if I could walk, she said “I don’t know. I’d never thought of that.” Never thought of moving her legs? It being such an alien concept. She was probably too busy thinking about how many cakes she could fit in her mouth.

Poor Little Mouse

2006-07-21T14:24:00.000+10:00

My mother has been using a video player for over twenty years and still has problems handling the technological requirements. She can put a video in the slot but refuses to take it back out in case she "ends up pushing it in further". She is equally inept with computers - her fingers hover over the keys like she is choosing a chocolate. When I told her to move the mouse to the left, she picked it up and put it on the screen. She thought it acted like a magnet. But it's no surprise; technology moves on so quickly. When I was at school, the computer mouse was a real mouse and we had to move him around by dragging a piece of cheese under his nose. But the mouse was a pretty clever animal and, when he taught himself to scroll over, this was seized upon by Microsoft and a middle wheel became standard. Mr Gates may well have given billions to his charity but he has never compensated the poor mouse for stealing his idea, and the poor mouse now works in a laboratory trying on cosmetics and cancers. The modern world is cruel.

Middle Eastern Politics

2006-07-15T17:46:00.000+10:00

It's all kicking off again in the Middle East. My money is on the Lebanese. They make better falafel and they do lots of exercise. All Moslems are incredibly fit - anyone who takes out a mat and does pilates five times a day must be in pretty good shape.
And they probably have some kind of god on their side; there's always a story of someone cutting open a falafel ball and it seeing the word Allah or E. coli.
But reading skills may not be the strong point of the Jihadists. Decreasing standards of literacy in the Arab world perhaps led to the rise in suicide bombers. The instructions on the bomb read 'Pull the pin. Step back. Run.' The poor readers only managed the first instruction and then the bomb went off. Just a thought.

It's all Me Me Me

2006-07-07T09:51:00.000+10:00

Last week, a friend returning from Germany, showed me a video clip from his phone that he had taken during one of the World Cup matches. “This is the bit where they scored the goal,” he explained. The video showed the backs of people’s heads bouncing up and down. I asked him whether the actual goal was any good, and he told me he hadn’t seen it – he was too busy videoing.
I’ve realised that people are less concerned about enjoying life, but more concerned about telling people how much they are enjoying life. Internet dating subscribers are the biggest criminals – anyone who claims to have a ‘very active social life’ would surely not need to meet people online. We all reside in an image-obsessed world where a condition of living is the putting on a show to convince others that we are having a great time. Websites such as mine are testament to this. On checking out my site it may appear that I am successful comedian with a bright future. Little does the world know that I am actually Employee AV22 working a 167 hour week in a sweatshop in Bangladesh, updating my blog in my free hour with the amusing stories that I have borrowed from Ravi, the cleaner.

Eat Shit and Live

2006-06-30T16:04:00.000+10:00

Mothers are so over-protective of their increasingly fat children nowadays. They stop their kids eating stuff that may or may not have been near a production line that may or may not have had some wheat dust on it, just in case their kid happens to be allergic to wheat. Of course these kids will have allergic reactions – they have been exposed only to disinfected rusks and sandwiches from birth. Early exposure to bad stuff boosts your defences and stops you developing these new-age allergies. When I was in the womb my Mam used to roll around outside in the uranium mine to make me tougher. And that never did me any harm. And my Siamese twin agrees. I eat cake that has been on the floor, salad that has had insects crawling all over it, and insects that have had salad on them, and I haven’t had a day off work in years. I haven’t done a proper day’s work in years but the point remains, I’m as fit as a fiddler. The ill people in society are the ones who wash their hands before eating, the ones who have never eaten spiders wrapped in birdshit for a bet. They are the ones who will be sitting around complaining of stomach upsets, not me. To make our kids stronger, caterpillar legs should be on school menus, deep-fried flies should be compulsory at tuck-shops, soil should appear as a condiment at chip-shops, and your best friend’s piss disguised as blackcurrant juice should be stacked in every vending machine across the Western world. It might even stop kids getting fat.

Shop Fish

2006-06-25T20:21:00.000+10:00

It is difficult to type at the moment. I have that arm thing. You know, the arm thing caused by going to the gym for the first time in months. The thing where your muscles cease up and it’s impossible to put on a jacket. Well, I’ve been walking around with my arms outstretched, like an extra from Home & Away, knocking over vases in shops, trying to look normal.
And when shop assistants ask, “Can I help you?” and I ask for a massage, they always turn away. But that’s typical of so-called ‘customer service’ nowadays. I was in a supermarket yesterday and for the whole time the girl was serving me she was having a conversation with the boy on the neighbouring till. And while I was waiting for my change she interrupted our transaction to take a text message. To teach her a lesson I walked away without my change. She’ll think twice next time.
In Asia the attention from shop assistants is very different – they follow you around like goldfish poo. It’s considered good customer service. I find it disconcerting, like they think I’m a criminal. Often you will ask a shop-girl (always a girl in Asia) for something like a pair of black jeans and they will come back from the storeroom with a yellow scarf, and if you don’t try it on, they will take it as a snub. But I suppose they are just trying to sell, just doing their job. Australian shop assistants, on the other hand, seem to do everything they can to avoid selling you stuff. I was looking for a pair of grey shoes the other day and, rather than trying to convince that grey shoes were rubbish and that his green shoes were all the rage, the shop-guy advised me to go elsewhere, actually giving me the address of a rival shop, actively encouraging me to buy from his competitors. I almost bought the green shoes to him a lesson, but he probably would have wriggled out of it. Perhaps he had an important text message to send.

Souvenir Belly

2006-06-16T19:07:00.000+10:00

I’ve been away for the last three weeks. I visited my parents and put on 5 kg in 5 days. My mam was secretly feeding me chocolate on a drip, perhaps hoping that I would be too fat to leave the house. Then I went to Vietnam and lost the 5 kg by drinking dodgy water – oh, the slimming benefits of poor sanitation!
There were no chocolate drips in Saigon. All the ladies around me were slim and elegant in their traditional silk Ao Dai. That is until I got to the airport for the flight back to Melbourne where a mob of Caucasians had gathered in the departure lounge, all dressed in tracky bottoms and spare tyres. Many of these fashion fatalities had on the unnecessary conical hats that they had haggled for in the Chinese markets, clearly trying to be streetwise. Those hats will no doubt come in useful when these people get back to working in the rice fields of Collins Street.
Souvenirs generally annoy me. Partly because the word is difficult to spell, but also because they take up too much space at the back of wardrobes. If all the unworn sombreros and fishermen’s pants from all the wardrobes of the world were gathered up, the space created would be big enough to make a giant incinerator theme park where tourists could burn the sarongs and batique clothing that they once thought they would actually wear.

No need for Swearing

2006-05-19T11:38:00.000+10:00

There is no real need for swearing. But it can be fun. It can turn those seemingly uneventful experiences into something uncomfortable and memorable for everyone. That friend of yours that you’ve never liked… just use the C-word in front of his family and he’ll never call or pester you again. The right swearword at the right time can finish any relationship.
But you hardly have to say anything to offend an American. Damn is considered bang-out-of-order in many states. They are culturally devoid of good swearwords. When I lived over there someone called me a Freakin’ Goofball. I asked him if that was the best he could do and he called me a Crazy Doofberry. That’s not a swearword, that’s a Boost Juice. You can’t insult someone with a Boost Juice.
But the world’s worst swearers have to be the English middle classes. When they get really angry they use words like nincompoop and poppycock – it’s like Tourette Syndrome in reverse.

Going Underground

2006-05-12T13:59:00.001+10:00

The story of the two Tasmanian miners got a bit too much for me this week. News networks were scrambling around trying to get exclusive rights to their "story". How interesting is the story of people trapped in the dark going to be? "Well, I didn't do anything, or see anything, or go anywhere, but I've got a story worth millions." The only thing these two men did was some basic stretching - what a scoop! And if the media are really interested in people being trapped, they should interview the ones in detention centres; I'm sure their stories contain much more emotion and heartache than two blokes waiting for a drill. But of course these detainees are not "Australian" enough to make a good story for the sensationalising networks.
The two miners were said to be "good Australians" for being trapped in a dark cell for two weeks. If that's all it takes to be a good Australian then David Hicks would surely be the most Australian person in the world by now. Except that he's now British.
While trapped, one of the miners requested a McDonalds burger as his first meal for when he was freed. If I were a rescuer, I would have blocked back up the hole and let him die. Of all the things he could have chosen, he opted for that. What a tool! That's like being offered a dream holiday anywhere in the world and choosing to go to Guantanamo Bay with Amanda Vanstone.

Parents are Dull

2006-05-05T11:08:00.000+10:00

A lot of my friends are having
babies at the moment and they
have since become the dullest
people in the world.
Every conversation topic leads
to their beautiful baby daughter.
For example:

Russian Revolution → Red Square → Coloured Shapes → Toys → Their Daughter
Iranian Nuclear Energy → Islam → The Koran → Children’s Books → Their Daughter
Mark Butler’s Comedy → Shut Up → Their Daughter

They say “Oh, isn’t she clever because she can say the word papa?” I can do over three hours of stand-up and they never give me biscuits.
They wanted me to hold her, like I’d suddenly be convinced that the kid was a genius. And this kid started to put her snotty little fingers into my mouth, and I didn’t like it so I pulled this funny face and started to spit. I think a woman’s sense of humour must be contained in her breast-milk because the kid was laughing, but the mother was giving me daggers. She said, “Stop being so miserable and let her put her fingers in your mouth. That’s her way of communicating.” I said, “I will come back and visit when your daughter is eighteen, and if she still wants to put her fingers in my mouth I might even reciprocate. I might even put something else in there.” It was a joke. The mother didn’t find it funny. But comedy is just my way of communicating.

Intelligent Design?

2006-04-28T12:04:00.000+10:00

Creationism is making a comeback in American schools in the form of Intelligent Design. I admit that Darwin’s theories are just theories, but the idea that a God created the world is slightly less watertight.
Recently, a Christian attempted to have a conversation/conversion with me, and he said that because everything on our bodies, like our tiny eyelashes, were so intricate and so perfect, they must have been built by someone. He had obviously never had any work done by the builder who fixed my roof. Intelligent Designers created the world in six days? My builder took seven to put back a tile.
Intelligent Design? If this so-called designer was so intelligent, why did he give men nipples? Why didn’t he give us wings instead – something useful. Why didn’t he give us rocket packs, or helicopters coming out of ours heads like Inspector Gadget, or a trunk so we could drive cars with no hands, or skills to attract women without having to get them drunk. Something useful. No, we get nipples, appendices, wisdom teeth, and sideburns. Cheers.
I believe that all life started off in the sea as bits of slime. Eventually this led to man. Mobile phone salesmen are living proof of the link. Animals don’t need designers, they learn to evolve, they adapt to their surroundings. For example, the jellyfish in Port Philip Bay have evolved to look like floating plastic bags to blend in to their environment. And because of all the people taking photos of the Penguin Parade on Philip Island, the penguins have actually developed gossip magazines, and paparazzi minders. Isn't Mother Nature wonderful?

Planes and Nuts

2006-04-26T16:32:00.000+10:00

I was on a flight recently and the stewardess came on the tannoy and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special passenger on board today. Our special passenger has a peanut allergy, so in the interests of passenger safety can I ask that you refrain from eating any nuts or nut products throughout the duration of this flight.” Like some nut DNA from my snickers bar is going to fly 50m to back of the plane and lodge up someone’s nose.
In the interests of passenger safety? What about in the interests of me and my snickers bar. What about the interests of passengers nibbles? If their nose is that sensitive, they shouldn’t be on the plane – they should be working at customs as a sniffer dog.
I sometimes get a rash when I wear polyester but I didn't make an announcement asking all the boguns to take off their tracksuits.
A fellow comic told me that he won’t fly on planes anymore because he can’t go that long without having a cigarette. That’s a good lifestyle choice, trading in international travel and life-changing experiences in favour of lung cancer. Nice move.

Happy Birthday Liz

2006-04-21T17:43:00.000+10:00

It's The Queen's 80th birthday today, and according to the BBC she has received 20,000 cards and 17,000 emails. On my last birthday I got 1 card and 1 email - both from my mam. I only have a small mantlepiece so it was probably for the best.
But I was bored reading just the one card, so I can only sympathise with HRH having to trawl through 20,000 messages of "If the socks don't fit, I've kept the receipt." But if she was like me, she would have only read the ones with money inside anyway.
Last year, my mam pushed the boat out and sent me a cardigan. The label had M on it, which must have stood for “Massive cardigan that I’ll never wear” because it wasn't a medium. It was massive. It was like a cast-off from The Biggest Loser. So I called up my mam to remind her how big I actually am, and she said, “Well, you’ll just have to eat more, won’t you, until it fits.” Which is entirely logical if you are an idiot. But it got me thinking that perhaps the high obesity rates throughout the world aren’t due to a poor diet and lack of exercise… it’s because of big cardigans and bad logic. The bigger we make them, the more they will eat.
In December, my mam did pretty well in the gift-buying department. She asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I told her to get me a surprise. She got me an Easter egg. I hadn't expected that. Mothers, eh?

Everybody needs...

2006-04-14T12:57:00.000+10:00

Am I the only Englishman living in Australia who hasn’t been on a ‘Neighbours Tour’?
Every day I see my fellow countrymen cramming into a bus in St Kilda, eagerly awaiting their 45 minute drive through Melbourne’s least interesting suburbs, hoping for a glimpse of a woman putting out a dustbin. They are an embarrassment to my nation.
Nothing against the stars of Neighbours but they are hardly Howard Hughes. If you want to meet these people, you just have to go to the opening of any supermarket within 20 km of the city.
Someone once asked me ‘If you were having a dinner party and you could invite any person, dead or alive, from Neighbours, who would you invite?’ I said I would probably invite Harold and make him do the cooking. And if I wanted conversation, I think Bouncer would be the most interesting. He was a great actor – a dog who didn’t cock his leg up at the rest of the cast even though their acting was akin to that of trees. And he never chased Kylie even though she was both wooden and a stick. He should have won a logie, or whatever token prize is given out at the oxymoronic ‘Australian Television’ awards.
Untalented British thespians can be found on The Bill. And if I ever go back and live in England, I will start a ‘Bill Tour’ where pissed-up Australian backpackers get driven around the roughest council estates of London in the vain hope of meeting a policeman. And for that really authentic Cockney experience they’ll be able to upgrade to the deluxe tour where they get their wallets nicked as well.

Strange gig

2006-04-07T10:20:00.000+10:00

I had a bad gig for the first time in years last night. I wanted to try out some rather under-prepared new material so (to be on the safe side) I opened with my 100% banker of an opener which always gets a great laugh.
Except last night.
Comedy pause. No laughs. Punchline #1. No laughs. Punchline #2. No laughs. I couldn't figure it out. Then I stumbled into some underdone material and managed to mumble my way through to a half-hearted round of applause at the end.
After the show, another comic came up to me and told me that 30 minutes earlier (while he was on stage and I was on my way to the gig) he had just done an almost identical joke.
The audience must have been thinking "Who is this English twat doing the same gag again? What an arsehole." Hence the uphill battle.
It’s the first time it has happened, and I'm actually surprised it hasn’t happened before. I've been doing that gag for six years, and the chance of no-one else thinking along the same lines is zero.
Having similar gags is not the problem. The annoying thing is that wasn’t able to judge the impact of the new gags because everyone thought I was a twat.
They might be right.

Silly games

2006-04-01T17:31:00.000+11:00

It seemed that Australia during the Commonwealth Games turned communist – every time I turned on the TV the national anthem was playing. It was like North Korea without the weapons, and fancy goose-stepping. But that Aussie bloke who won the walking competitions looked just as silly. Walking - what a crap event. If people want to walk fast, they should run. Oh, but they have to keep both feet on the ground, don’t they? What a skill. What’s the point in putting such restrictions on an event? It’s like having a long jump competition where everyone has to wear a backpack to slow them down.
And now it’s Grand Prix weekend where fast cars and overweight mechanics cruise around my neighbourhood making far too much noise. And there are helicopters. Why can’t they use a camera on a stick? Why is a camera shot of a car moving down a road more valued than my peace?
Maybe they should have a Grand Prix event with the restriction that you have to go as slow as possible. But with Mark Webber racing we would probably have to listen to Advance Australia Fair yet again.

Bad leg

2006-03-31T13:26:00.000+11:00

There have been rumours circulating St Kilda as to how I ended up on crutches. I am only aware of these rumours because I started most of them.
I was tired of repeating the same tale over and over again, so I changed my story to match my mood. I told some people that it was a shark attack, some that it was from torture, and others that I was chased out of Queensland for believing Charles Darwin. A kid of about six stopped me in the street to ask me about my gammy left leg, and after being told that a Stegosaurus tried to eat me, he went away happy. Ah, the innocence of youth – he didn’t know that Stegosaurus are plant-eaters.
So I’ll tell you the truth behind my injury: I was rescuing some orphans from a burning building and one of those water-carrying helicopters had accidentally scooped up a shark... You can imagine the rest.
I was rushed to The Alfred where the doctor said ‘You’ve snapped your Achilles tendon, and it may take up to a year before you can rescue any more orphans.’ A year! I thought recovery times were supposed to be much faster here in Australia. I’ve seen Home and Away – Sally almost died in a car accident last year, and she was back playing netball after just two episodes. I want to get a transfer to the hospital in Summer Bay. They have the best doctors in the world there. They have the most dangerous stretch of road in the whole of Australia, but the best doctors too.
With my mobility restricted I’ve been staying at home a lot and keeping myself amused on the Internet. I’ve just got a broadband connection and it’s great. I used to have dial-up which meant I could only use either the phone or the Internet. But now, with broadband, I can access all my spam and junk emails and receive telesales calls at the same time. Technology is amazing nowadays, eh?