The Sixteen Faces Of Jimmy Carr: Part One

FACE 1: YES, I’M JIMMY CARR
You’ve got me, governor – I’m the Jimmy Carr you’re looking for. How did you find me on top of this vibrating neon podium? Sorry I couldn’t bring myself to reduce the word “governor” to “guv’nor”, by the way. The thing is, I’m not a moronic commoner who drops ecstacy and syllables like I’ve got nothing to live for. Lest the world forgets, I’m award-winning. You don’t get put up for the Loaded Lafta Award in 2004 unless you’re on the top of your fucking game, OK?
FACE 2: DO SHUT UP
As I made clear with my previous face, I am Jimmy Carr. With Jimmy Carr – me – certain things are implied. Firstly, I require Egyptian linens – this is not relevant to you, as the closest you’ve probably got to Egypt is watching Carry On Cleopatra and scoffing a Choc Ice with your feet on a pouffe. Keep paying attention, however, because my point will be made soon enough. The second thing Jimmy Carr expects is for obscene strumpets like yourself to remain silent while he presses him palms flat against her bosom. Now, do you see why I’m upset by your vile, uneducated caterwauling?
FACE 3: THE APOLOGY
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Here, take my handkerchief. Never let it be said that Jimmy Carr – the very same Jimmy Carr that is me – is anything other than a gentleman. Yes, it’s silk. It glides over the skin, like nothing you’ve felt before. I’m sorry if it appears that I’m staring at your bust, it’s an optical illusion that you really must learn to ignore. Please sit still, ssh, don’t move – I wouldn’t want to be forced so early to sever the so-brittle pipe that is your spine.
FACE 4: IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME
Give us a kiss. Just a little one. A little peck on the cheek. Go on, just give us a brisk tickle on me chops with yer mucky gob, and I’ll be on me way. This is how you talk, isn’t it? I’ll not make a mess – when me dick goes bang all ‘at comes out is a lit’l bit o’ chimney soot, and I’ll keep that in me pants as a memento of this auspicious day. You see, I’m all things to all people – an affliction, a blessing, a lover, a god – I have a different name in every country, and the stories of my adventures differ only in the details. There are countries where my comedy must be spoken in hushed tones, because to laugh is a crime – and where you hear the oppressed peoples of these countries whispering, you can be assured that they are whispering – “Jimmy Carr”.
FACE 5: I’M VERY CLOSE NOW
Hello. I’m the same Jimmy Carr as before, but I’m closer to you, now. If you look closely – and I’ve heard that at times of extreme danger, the human brain is capable of picking out fine, irrelevant details just like this one – you might notice that my tear ducts are loose. You have just joined an exclusive group of people who know this about my tear ducts; soon you’ll be just as dead as they are. Please, don’t appeal to my sense of humanity – asking me to consider your feelings is like asking a rainbow to land on a turd.
FACE 6: CONCERN
Someone’s at the door. You stay there. I’ll be back in a minute. And don’t change the channel, I’m watching that. I know I haven’t been actually looking at it, but I like it being on. My favourite telly program is the one where people talk about what is in the boxes. I often disagree with them about what is in the boxes, and when it turns out we were both wrong, I’m never sure if I’ve won the argument. Sometimes life just fails to have a satisfactory sense of resolution. That’s pretty much why I, Jimmy Carr, love killing people, and need to be stopped by an angry mob.
FACE 7: UH-OH!
Oh, nuts! It’s my mother. If she finds me with a woman, she’ll go mental! OK – let’s get our stories straight. You’re Deborah, you work in a high street travel agent. You feel your life exists solely to give other people the experiences you so sorely desire, and you’re thankful to me for giving you an insight into how wonderful life can be. Your favourite joke of mine is “throwing acid is wrong, in some peoples’ eyes”, even though you weren’t aware of it being a common form of revenge attack amongst spurned lovers in India, like I was when I wrote the joke. This is just one of the reasons I’m better than you, but there’s no time to go into all the others right now.
FACE 8: OH GOD SHE’S FALLEN OVER
You don’t know first aid, do you? She caught a whiff of you and fainted dead away. Not from that angle, she’s got a colostomy bag. No, it’s not hers, she found it on the pavement. She’s got it into her head that one day she’ll meet the owner, and it’ll be the beginning of this incredible romance. I’ve tried telling her he’d have got a new one by now, and that the last thing he’ll want is to have the faeces of yesteryear sloshed into his lap by a randy widow. But you honestly can’t tell her. I’m sorry, I can’t keep calling you Bitch, not in front of mother. What’s your name?
What will happen next? There’s eight more pictures of Jimmy Carr to go – will he find love, or just add another luckless lady to the massive pile of murder victims in the scullery?
Pictures taken from jimmycarr.net – probably the finest Jimmy Carr Serial Murderer Fansite on the internet.