If you are the sort of audience human that texts in a comedy show is it too strong to suggest that you get into a bin of fire and dog-shit? Is that too strong? I wish I was the sort of clown who had a stack of perfectly written put-downs to handle these thankfully rare situations but I don’t. I really don’t. I just want to scream “YOU WERE RAISED BADLY” an inch from their face – and that says more about me than the texter I suspect.
Maybe they have ADHD – maybe they just got told their bum lump is in remission, maybe they are texting the account details of a Swiss bank account to pay a ransom so their mum doesn’t die? Or maybe, just maybe – it’s because they are a … and I hesitate to say the word, but it rhymes with bunt, and is spelled Cunt. Or dick, let’s not divide arseholes along gender lines.
The real answer is probably just that they think that watching live stuff is like watching TV, maybe that’s why one woman stood up during one of my shows and said “pause it for me, I’m going for a shit.”
It can be easy to blame the audience for being mucoid bipedal semi psychotic bags of pus but at the end of the day, so is everyone. And as Michael Jackson famously sang, “I’m looking at the mucoid bipedal semi psychotic bag of pus in the mirror, I’m asking him to change his ways.” But then again he had issues that extended beyond being a surgery obsessed man-child with a fairground in the garden. Do I have a point? WHO KNOWS…
I guess what I’m trying to say, is help. Help me. I could have been a plumber. A bad plumber, but instead I’m here in Edinburgh AND IT FEELS LIKE I’M GOING INSANE. INSANE.