X. Whatever next? Y? laughlaughlaugh!â„¢
I am going to apply this unique (and trademarked, note) comedy formula to the news of today, in my second news round-up! I’m going to gorge myself on facts during the plentiful summer months, storing some choice data as a nutritious milky paste in a flap of skin in my neck. Then, when you’re about to die from cold and starvation, I’ll let you out from between my legs, and let you gulk it out of my neck.
Oh, who am I kidding? As much as it pains me to say this, I’m not a penguin, and neither are you. So let’s stop living in a stupid fucking fantasy world for ten minutes and address the issues of the day, using my new comedy idea, outlined above.
I see from ananova that the Italian prime minister has promised not to have sex until after the election. I think they may have misheard him, assuming that the italian for “erection” and “election” are as phonetically close as the English words are!!!! (They’re not so this joke essentially needs to be removed) BUT SERIOUSLY, WHATEVER NEXT? Whoopi Goldberg sailing that weird helicopter/boat from Gentle Ben into a cow-shed?
But you know, if Whoopi Goldberg DID sail that boat into a cowshed, I think it’d look something like this!
Did you notice the “If X Did Y, I Think It’d Look/Sound Something Like This + Puns” joke, then? I learned that from Punt and Dennis. I went on some hella gruelling Kung-Fu course up a mountain during which I had to imagine what puns might arise if Victor Meldrew and Larry Grayson hosted an Indian cookery programme. It was like this.
Q1. Imagine what puns might arise should Victor Meldrew and Larry Grayson somehow end up opening an Indian Restaurant. Show your working.
That was brilliant, as I’m sure you’ll agree. But I’m not one to rest on my laurels, so I’m going to develop my formula by introducing a “thematic similarity” between x and y. This link, which I have called the funbilical cord, will shroud the original formula in a thick fug of hilarity. Hold on to your anusses! (If you’re too fat to hold onto your anus, sit in the bath)
I also see from the internet news sources that the 100th UK soldier has been killed in Iraq. This is a terrible waste of hot sexy soldiers, who should rightly be performing in movies called “Rookie Fucky Five Dorrar”. Way to ruin the porn industry, Tony B-Liar. SERIOUSLY, THOUGH – WHATEVER NEXT? (note the use of the keyphrase “whatever next” – this is absolutely fundamental to the joke).
More dead soldiers, Tony? MORE DEAD SOLDIERS? 101 dead soldiers all DEAD?
(This is a political joke, so you don’t have to worry about being funny. People will clap politely and say “I may not agree with you but thank God for democracy and I’m so glad we don’t live somewhere horrid like Iraq”)
Here’s a quick ready-reckoner of some of the most common situations that arise “in today’s Britain”, and “what’ll happen next if things carry on the way they are and no mistake”.
| x | y |
| Gays allowed to do this thing where it’s kinda like you’re married but you’re not really | Everything, whether it likes it or not, will get routinely fucked by God knows what – probably horses or something. |
| Single mother, in the later stages of breast cancer, is given a double mastectomy on the NHS | It’ll be free tiaras and a ride in the Popemobile for any slut stupid enough not to get an abortion, and it’s the kids I feel sorry for, there’s no replacing a mother’s milk. |
| An endangered panda in London Zoo has a potential mate imported from overseas | I’ll tell you what’ next – there’ll be an endless stream of good British infants being shipped over to Vietnam for Gary Glitter to pump full of AIDS, I mean what’s wrong with British pandas? Look, I’m not saying we need to kill the cunts and burn their diseased pelts – I’m just suggesting that perhaps someone isn’t thinking of the long-term ramifications this whole situation might have. It’s not so much the actual effects as the signals we’re sending out really. |
| Foreigner does something | It doesn’t seem that bad, but imagine that foreigner doing exactly the same thing to your family, while you are forced to watch, helpless thanks to the beaurocrats in brussels who are too busy straightening bananas to get behind the lads in the trenches. It’s a world gone topsy-turvy. |
Well, that’s everything that’s happened in the last 60 years covered. Have you spotted an absurd trend, that has a hilarious logical conclusion? If so, use my amazing new comedy formula in the comments. Next time in Beyond Laughter, I’ll be studying shock humour in four chapters; old ladies pissing, old ladies swearing, old ladies vomiting, and old ladies laughing and jeering while a woman gets raped on the pinball table.
Mini-Brenda Update
Brenda, 30th January 2006, on a colleaugue re-entering the office to fetch her keys : You just left! You’re like a rubber ball. Or a boomerang. What about a boomerang! [makes fwip sounds whilst slinging an arm around in a back-and-forth gesture not used in the throwing of boomerangs. The person has left by the time she stops]
X=Foreigner does something
Y=Foreigner goes on tour.
Really! Look!
http://www.ticketmaster.com/artist/735109
WHATEVER NEXT?
Scene: Talent Agency Open day – Circa 1953 – Owner and impresario Fothering Menns flicks through the list of attendee details as he sits behind a huge oak desk. He selects one that catches his eye.
Menns: Would ‘Voltage Evelyn’ come in please!
Through the door enters a small, spry woman of 40, a huge glass bulb is sealed over her head, cables and wires spiral from her neck and into a cumbersome looking battery pack on her back. Her voice is faintly muffled by the glass bubble.
Evelyn: Thank you Mr Menns.
Menns: Okay, what is it you can do.. what would make you the Queen of Vaudeville?
Evelyn: Well, I wear metal filament braces, and have match heads stuck between my teeth..and when I gnash..
Menns: Gnash?
Evelyn: Yes, gnash.. my teeth together, it ignites the filament and the resulting combustion makes my head burst into the worlds biggest light bulb! Which is then maintained by the battery pack..
Menns: Intriguing.. show me..
Evelyn: Okay..
Evelyn clamps her teeth down furiously, chewing and grinding away on the match heads and filament, suddenly a burst of white heat and flame explodes within the glass bulb. The metal lodged in Evelyns face glows white and the pain and fury of the action makes her stumble from one corner of the office to the other. Shes screaming in agony, but her face is obscured by the blinding light. Eventually, she shudders, and drops to the floor.. her head and neck smouldering.
Menns: I like it.. but change the name.. say, something like ‘ Watt Eva’, next!
Outside Mr Daniels the anal ventriloquist stands, straightens his tie, and prepares to enter the office.
I am so very sorry….
Close but no Cigar
http://cbnc.blogspot.com/
*Aghast applause*
X: Man stops near school to ask passer-by for directions
Y: Secretary of State for Education and all head-teachers are publicly raped, flayed and gibbeted for their disgusting failure to protect our children from these monsters, all schools are moved to secret locations probably made out of hollowed-out volcanoes to make sure paedophiles don’t know where to find children, every M.P. in the House of Commons is required by his/her constituents to scream at a pitch and volume that makes the speaker’s eardrums burst, while the new Education Secretary, the one that replaced the gibbeted one, jumps into the Thames to become a whale. All men are castrated.