Bird's-eye View

I'm feeling down, so I'll try to retreat into the world of my imagination.

I am a happy bird. I fly through the sunny sky, and the air is all warm under my feathery feathers.

As I swoop through the afternoon sky, lots of other birds sing playfully. They are all my friends.

I head towards my place of work. I work at a tattoo parlour.

My wings and feet are relatively clumsy. I find it difficult to grip the needle in my beak. Yet my natural artistry conquers all and I've never had an unsatisfied customer. Most of my customers are birds, but I also tattoo cats, mice and human adults. They are charmed by me.

My needle is magic. Did I mention that?

Whatever I tattoo becomes real. If I tattoo an anchor on a sailor's arm, it becomes heavy and solid, and she finds it difficult to drive.

I tattoo money on things sometimes, then give it to various charities. Animal charities, cancer research, SCOPE, etc.

Earlier this year, I tattooed a time machine on a leaf. I then used the (now real) time machine to go back to the late 80s, and sell my life story to a cartoon producer.

He changed some of the details. Instead of a tattoo needle, the magic came from a pencil. And my character was changed from me (a male bird) to a female human. That's how Penny Crayon came about.

I enjoy my job.

I also have a satisfying private life. I collect memorabilia. I collect amnesiac memorabilia. I have a room in my nest dedicated to various items that have some association with amnesia. Mementoes to forgetfulness. The irony is not lost on me.

Sometimes, for a change, I ride a tiny motorcycle. I wear a helmet just to be safe. It has a side-car on each side (I sometimes prefer symmetrical things). In the right side-car, I keep some magic tattoo apparatus. In the left one, I keep some ferns and magazines.

I was married for a short time to Marilyn Monroe. I had tattooed her on a baker, and she had come to life. We had some happy times, even though I had been careless when creating her, and one eye was higher than the other. I sometimes prefer symmetrical things.

We didn't really click though, so I drew her an ideal new husband with my magic needle, and we parted amicably.

I'm friends with a magpie called Richard. Sometimes we go to the fly-in cinema. Here are my top five favourite films:

- Men in Black II
- The Brave Little Toaster
- Kagemusha
- Penny Crayon (the new Michael Bay adaptation)
- Gregory's Girl

Richard has quite different tastes. His top five favourite films are:

- The Thomas Crown Affair (the McQueen one)
- Men in Black
- Deep Blue Sea
- Saw V
- Pure Luck (with Danny Glover and Martin Short)

Although we are different, we get on well.

Tonight for dinner, we're having burritoes, with dandelion and burdock to drink.

(As well as symmetry, I enjoy pluralising words that end in 'o' with an 'e' before the 's'.)

Pitch:

I'm going to go on Dragons' Den and present my new invention: the Convex Bath.

It's like a normal bath, except convex. It's basically a fibreglass bathroom mound. It's better than the normal bath for several reasons:

1) It's incredibly uncomfortable to lie on. Your spine bends backwards - you're painfully prostrate. Extended use leads to paralysis.

2) It obviously can't hold any water. The tap is above you, and provides an inefficient trickle shower.

3) The plughole is right at the peak of the Convex Bath's hump. Which means your body is always covering it, leading to no drainage whatsoever; eventually causing flooding to your bathroom. With water pouring into your house, you're bound to face mould, structural instability, and eventual death.

4) The plughole is also really, really sharp, and cuts up your back.

5) When you're all soaped-up, you won't be able to maintain any traction, so you'll keep sliding off the jagged hole and onto the sodden bathroom floor. Bleeding any hypothermia are your only friends.

What do you think?

I reckon it would fit well in any trendy inner-city wankpad.

Now and Zen

I'm enjoying a day of quietness and tranquility. It's no different from any other day, but my brain feels pleasantly muffled.

It's like being in the womb. Albeit a womb where I have to shave and go to work. Which would be really annoying. I'm glad all humans get a settling-in period. I wouldn't want to be launched straight into a world of spreadsheets and broken shoelaces and Jeremy Paxman.

I think I'd be interested in pursuing transcendental meditation if I didn't have such a short attention span. I wonder if it's possible to achieve a state of detached enlightenment whilst listening to Adam and Joe podcasts. Probably not.

Hang gliding might be a suitable alternative. It would be very peaceful. Except for the whole fear of imminent death thing. But death is always imminent in some, untrue way.

[I originally spelled the above as 'hand gliding'. That's different. But also fun. Especially if you paint your hand in bright colours and tie a mouse to it. And make him a little helmet.]

***

I misheard the lyrics to a Morrissey song the other day. The song is called I'll Never Be Anybody's Hero. It's really good. In fact, here it is:



The chorus goes 'I'll never be anybody's hero now'.

I misheard it as 'I'll never be anybody's here or now'. Which I think is much better.

It speaks of a deep transience and of temporal and spatial alienation. Maybe I should email him and suggest a change.

I'm a superb lyricist. When I was about seventeen, I wrote a really bitter and entirely uninformed love song called Yesterday's Muse. Get it? Like news! I was a genius.

The song wasn't based on any actual experience of mine, but was what I felt a bitter love song should be about. Here are the lyrics:

Yesterday's Muse

You're not my inspiration anymore
So get the fuck out of my song
You've been buzzing like a fly
Hanging round my shit for far too long

If I see you cross the road
It's unlikely that I'll hit the brake
I'm sure I'd love the sound
Your shattered vertebrae would make

[Not too sure on the chorus, but think it was something like:]

And I still can't figure out why
I said OK when you said goodbye
I guess I thought the pain would end
When the cancer died

I was a well-adjusted teenager.

I can't imagine writing that sincerely. I enjoy the use of the word 'vertebrae'. It's also quite magnificently misogynistic and cruel, especially as I hadn't had any traumatic relationships.

To be fair, I don't think I was ever that much of an idiot. I reckon I was just trying to imitate convention, rather than be original. I hope, anyway.

When I get home, I might record a quick acoustic version and post it here. I'll try to remember the chords. In fact, I might release it as a single.

Bitterness sells (mainly in lemons).

Dracular

I performed at a Halloween Cabaret night on Saturday.

I'm not usually a big Halloween person. The idea of dressing up seems fun, but it usually requires going out and talking to people. I don't like either of those things. And if you stay in, you face the terrifying ordeal of trick-or-treaters.

Children are scary enough already. I don't want to open my front door to find four tiny witches demanding snacks. I have to turn all the lights off and pretend I'm not in. The whole night is spent huddled in the dark. It's like the Blitz. Scary, admittedly, but not too fun. So it was quite good to have plans that didn't involve too much socialising, or too much cowering in fear.

Costumes were obligatory. I wore a suit. Which is a kind of costume. I didn't want to wear anything too outlandish, because I thought it would take away from the integrity of my many sophisticated puns and jokes about potatoes. Lucy was dressed as a drowned sea-woman. We sprayed green strips in her hair, which was fun (although it did turn my snot bright green).

The venue was really nice. It was at the Vault and Gardens cafe in Radcliffe Square, attached to St Mary's church. I have some photos of us at the top of the tower somewhere. The church probably deserves its own blog post, so I'll save them for some other time...

Anyway, the cafe had been beautifully decorated with all manner of pumpkins, candles, spiderwebs and ghosts. I assume there were ghosts there. The whole room seemed to be full of invisible and intangible nothings.

There were some excellent costumes on display and it was sold out. The night as a whole was a lot of fun. It included readings from Dracula, belly-dancing, magic, some really good musical acts, and... me.

I was the only comedian on the bill, and I thought it might be tricky to get the crowd involved, but they were really good. It was a great example of how beneficial it is to play to different crowds. Their reactions were totally different to those I've had before.

They seemed quite easily shocked, for one. Jokes that I didn't even consider to be remotely controversial generated some 'oooh's, as though I'd voiced my support for the BNP.

Which I didn't.

Not then.

They also seemed to be really quick to see where I was going. My LSD bit, which I've done a few times, was the main example. They could totally predict the punchlines by the second joke, and I was a little unprepared for it. It still got a pretty good reaction, but it was surprising to suddenly view that bit as predictable. It was a good lesson. In the future, I'll have to judge the audience and alter my approach as necessary. And throw my own faeces if necessary.

I did quite a lot of improvising, which was a lot of fun. I commented on my lack of costume, and went in to a long bit in the style of a werewolf doing observational comedy, which collapsed into an existential cry for help. It was fun, and gave me a chance to bust out my acting chops.

I was really pleased with the set as a whole, and it has given me quite a few new ideas.

***

I don't like serious analysis of my own stand-up. It makes me seem really pretentious.

Maybe I can diffuse that impression with a crude joke:

Knock knock.

Who's there?

I've just wet myself.

....

Hello?

...

Hello?

Return to Plagiarists' Corner

Wow!

Barely was the cyber-ink dry on the below discussion of comedy plagiarism, when I wrote the following Tweet:

The tiddly-wink factory is counter-productive.
12:36 AM Oct 27th from web

A slightly silly joke.

But just now I've been reading an article on the Guardian about inoffensive comics. (It must be conflicting to be on that list. It's good to not hurt peoples' feelings, but if you don't offend anyone, you're probably doing something wrong.)

The last comedian on the list is called Alex Horne (who I admit I've never heard of before). They printed an example of his humour, and here it is:

"My dad worked in a tiddlywinks factory. It was counterproductive."

That's pretty scary! Obviously, he came up with it first, but I'm sure I've never heard the joke before. I even remember working the joke out. I seem to be a bit more hyphen-happy than he is...

It just goes to show that two people can independently come up with the same joke. One can be successful, and one can be a nobody.

I'll leave it to you to work out which is which.

Plagiarists' Corner (my idea)

The issue of comedic plagiarism has been occupying my mind recently. If it has been occupying yours too, you're a thief. There have been a couple of recent incidents in particular that have got my brain-cogs turning.

The first is that a while ago Stewart Lee (or whoever's in charge of his online activities) put up a section on his website called Plagiarists' Corner. There's nothing on there anymore. The section included video comparisons between Lee's material and that of other (more mainstream) acts, and the similarities between the bits. You can read more specifics here.

It's clear that Lee isn't a big fan of lesser-known comics having their material stolen. Here's a great bit on that very subject:



I suppose he wasn't expecting a page on his website to attract that much attention, but the reach of the comedy nerd should not be underestimated.

The second plagiaristic event was that one of Josie Long's jokes was sent into the Adam and Joe 6Music show. Whoever sent it in claimed it as their own work, and because A&J and Long share similar demographics, she has had to drop the bit.

This long-winded backstory is all leading up to the following conclusion:

the issue of plagiarism in comedy is really, really tricky.

There. Someone had to come out and say it.

I have to say that when the section was first added to Lee's website, I thought it was a little bit unpleasant. I love his work (as the constant mentions of him on here indicate), but it seemed a little bit off.

One reason for this is that, though championing the uncredited outsider, Lee has almost become an insider himself. He had his own TV show, he has a reasonable fanbase. This shouldn't make any difference of course; stealing is stealing. But at this stage it almost makes the whole thing seem a little bit petty.

Another reason was that some of the bits weren't that similar. There were a couple of comparisons with Ricky Gervais. Both Lee and Gervais did routines taking fables to their logical conclusions. But that seems like quite an obvious (and fruitful!) source of humour. I don't think Lee can be seen to 'own' it. If the bits had been really similar, there would be more of a case. (This is appartently true of the Jack Whitehall routine, though I didn't see it)

It's always possible that two people will come up with the same joke, particularly if it is drawn from a commonly held concept. There are loads of jokes analysing fables or expressions (I've done it myself many times!). There are parts of our shared culture and language that provide a good basis for comedy. It's looking at the familiar from a new perspective (perhaps the dreaded 'sideways look').

Another example I saw recently was in a Demetri Martin stand-up show (who is very funny, by the way). He took the expression of a glass being half-full or half-empty. He says you're not necessarily a pessimist if you say the glass is half empty. If there's blood in the glass, it's better that it's half gone.

Richard Herring does an almost identical bit, except he cites monkey semen, rather than blood (and thus has the comedic edge over Martin on this occasion). I don't know who came up with the idea first.

There are so many comedians drawing on similar experiences, incidents and uses of language, that it's not surprising that people come up with similar jokes. That's why accusations of plagiarism are so difficult. Maybe the guy who sent his joke to Andam and Joe really did make it up. It's not impossible.

Not only that, but it's always possible to steal a joke by accident. You can subconsciously remember something funny and think of it as your own.

That's not to say that people shouldn't ever complain. I'm sure if one of my jokes got stolen, I'd be really annoyed. But I'd have to be sure before pointing fingers (or knives).

Only when a joke is very unusual could you be sure of plagiarism. Which is a bit annoying. But I like the idea of writing only jokes that could never be stolen.

One way of doing this is to make them extremely personal and anecdotal. The other way is to make all your jokes really rubbish. I tend to go for the latter. My routines are utterly awful, but completely original.

***

This is an example of the type of post I never usually finish. You can probably see why. I got bored by the third paragraph, but soldiered on to the end. Like strips of toast.

All Thumbs

We went to see Up last night.

Dull, pretentious, workmanlike film, full of unmemorable characters, implausible set-pieces and disgusting faux-emotion. Rubbish.

Oh wait. I think I mistyped. It was actually completely awesome.

I must have been using my Pointless Controversy Fingers. They're always getting me into trouble. I should wear my Rationality Mittens more often.

So, two thumbs up for Up.

But two thumbs down for Down (which is a horror film about a killer lift starring Naomi Watts - seriously)

The good thing about the thumb system is that it's compatible with mittens. If it was the finger system, I'd be fucked.

I wonder if there's ever been an aspiring film critic who has faced obstacles because she lacks thumbs. Two stumps up is pretty ambiguous as film-ratings go.

That's probably why the 5-star rating system became the standard: to accommodate the thumbless.

I might write a screenplay about that. It can be the story of one woman's quest to succeed in spite of her missing thumbs (set against the backdrop of some kind of momentous world event). I reckon Winslet could play thumbless.

***

COMFORTABLY THUMB

BY

PAUL FUNG

FADE IN:

Rain drips into a scummy puddle, rippling the reflection of a flickering streetlight.

The surface is shattered by the hurried footstep of a girl.

The footstep is one of many. She is running through the darkened streets. She slips, stumbles, clips boxes and garbage cans, but keeps on running, her breathing heavy.

She rounds a corner, and realises she is trapped. Panicking, she searches for a way out. The wall of the dead-end is slippery. The bottom rung of a fire-escape ladder is inches away from her desperate grasp.

A mass of shadows round the corner, followed closely by their occupants: a spitting, snarling mob.

They have pitchforks. One person just has a normal-sized fork, but is playing it cool. Another has a spoon.

Their faces are twisted in rage - the streetlight shines off the MOB LEADER's knife.

MOB LEADER

Nowhere to run, freak!

SPOON WIELDER

Oh boy. I'm gonna enjoy this!

MOB LEADER

We don't like people like you.

Especially YOU. You are the person

who is most like you. In fact

you're identical.

A primal scream erupts from the mob at this slightly confusing assertion.

The girl backs up against the wall.

MOB LEADER (CONT'D)
Put your hands up, freak.

The girl's eyes burn brightly. Her face becomes strong; defiant. She raises her arms.

Illuminated by the torchlight (oh yeah, there are torches), we see her hands.

They are thumbless.

This is not just any child. This is ANGELIQUE DEXTEREAUX.

MOB LEADER

You're disgusting. You're not

human, bitch! Which means inhuman

punishment is entirely appropriate.

The other guy drops his spoon.

ANGELIQUE

I couldn't agree more.

She rotates her hands to display her thoroughly intact middle fingers.

Then, with the speed of Billy the Kid, pulls a gun out of her boot with her foot.

Her leg outstretched, she takes the safety off and cocks it with her toes.

The mob freezes in shock. Forks fall to the floor.

MOB LEADER

I... I...

ANGELIQUE

Now what was that about

inhuman punishment?

MOB LEADER

I didn't mean...

ANGELIQUE

The way I see it, one of us is

walking out of here with her

head held high. The other is

getting a lead pedicure.

(BEAT)

A ledicure.

SPOON WIELDER

But, surely that would be

being shot IN the foot.

Not being shot BY a foot?

ANGELIQUE pulls ANOTHER gun out of her OTHER boot with her OTHER foot, and aims it at the Spoon guy.

SPOON WIELDER (CONT'D)

And, I mean, maybe I'm being

stupid... but surely, even without

thumbs, it would be easier to

use a gun with your hands?

She spits out her toothpick (she had a toothpick).

SPOON WIELDER (CONT'D)

And isn't this whole scene

incredibly similar to the other

screenplay extract written on this

blog? It's a bit repetitive. Maybe

a sign of creative bankruptcy?

MOB LEADER

Well? Are you gonna do it

or not, you thumbless whore?!

ANGELIQUE smiles.

ANGELIQUE

I may have both my feet full,

but your life is in my hands.

You think I'm a freak? You think

I have no place in this world?

Well, I've been fighting scum

like you all my life.

MOB LEADER

If you do this, my friends'll

find ya! You can kiss your

life goodbye!

ANGELIQUE

Maybe so.

She spits out another toothpick.

ANGELIQUE (CONT'D)

But you can kiss my thumbless ass!

A flurry of gunfire and screaming. Then silence. Smoke seeps from the scattered corpses.

The hand of the dead MOB LEADER flops pathetically into a gutter.

ANGELIQUE strolls over, still holding guns in her feet. She picks up the 9mm in her right foot, and points it at the MOB LEADER's thumb. She smiles.

ANGELIQUE

Oh well. Easy thumb, easy go.

Gunshot.

FADE TO BLACK

***

That wasn't quite what I expected. I was hoping for Forrest Gump meets The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly. What I got was a straight-to-DVD action movie starring Mira Sorvino.

I suppose it means I've found my milieu. Which is comforting, but depressing at the same time.

I should probably stop writing about thumbs.