Cleaned myself: who’s asking?
Monkey see, monkey do: I am a private individual
Tics: is this you, or my mind? I don’t care, none of you have any standing here.
Believe in God? Look at that cove below and ask again.
YTLH: Have you never tried to improve your sen?
Oh, by the way, I’ve applied to go on a few quiz shows. It’s the only thing I can come up with in the short term that provides a fast-track to cash. I’ve been using the time between rehearsals and performances to watch them and catch up on the old ones.
And so this is Christmas, And what have I learned? Well the first thing is, you’ll be lucky to get on one if you’re not a celebrity. Is it just here, or does the whole world celebrate the almost famous like us? They are not smart, not even those who have benefited from having travelled the lubricated path from good schools via Oxbridge to their media position. There was a whole panel of them on the other day and not one of them knew where any countries were found in Africa.
We must face it, the general public, with the odd omission, are exceptionally ignorant. But it’s come to something when the expert quizzers, the Mastermind Champions et al, against whom you play, and who set the standards, are just as limited. There’s one of them who’s in the show I’m aiming for, and the other day when asked how far a car travelling at 60 mph would have moved in one minute, gave the answer, two miles. Now, as shameful an illustration of his profound lack of intellect as that is – that he cannot readily assimilate such harmonious data – he was also not sufficiently book-learned to be able to work it out either. All he knows is what he’s memorised off a list.
And though such shortcomings would be sufficient to curtail, if not end careers in the real world, often, celebrity or a celebrity quiz expert, is but the second and sometimes third leg of a career for many of them. On the one where they couldn’t find anywhere in Africa, one of them was a practising GP. That was his main job, and he kept saying, ‘I know I’m thick, but I’m a good doctor.’ Imagine that prick coming down the corridor at you with a syringe full of something. And the half-wit who couldn’t work out the under-sevens maths conundrum, he’s a barrister. Try this scenario for size – you’re in a magistrates’ court one Monday morning on trumped up charges, a victim of police oppression, and he turns up and tells you he’s the duty brief.
And nearly all of the coves are best-selling authors too.
Despite what my mind is trying to tell me about public humiliation, I need to see this pathetic tolerance of retards as an opportunity.
Incidentally, in the above scenario, I’d kill myself, obviously, but only on the condition that the Reverend Kate Bottley didn’t preside over the funeral service.
I’m off to do a screen test/audition/COVID test tomorrow. Wish me luck.