Stealth of a salesman

I’m writing this having just returned from a six day tour of Finland. People often ask me if it’s difficult having to write different material for my annual trips to Finland. The answer is no. I simply substitute any reference to “Offaly” with a reference to “Pudasjarvi”. That seems to do the trick. The only difficult bit is having to learn a new language. (The same people who ask me about Finland have recently been asking me about my upcoming show in Vicar St. on March 13 but I’ll get to that later.)

I arrived back from Finland to find one of my horses was lame and my gardener still hadn’t planted the spring bulbs. “What’s all this about?” I roared, “What chance have I of seeing a full bed of irises by April now?” “But you’ll be on tour in April,” he countered. “You’ll be in Birr, Galway, and Roscommon on the 1st, 2nd and 3rd of April.” Enraged, I grabbed him by the throat with one hand and with the other I slowly inserted a finger in his rectum, a technique I’d read about in the Sexed Up column in hotpress. “I can destroy your g-spot in 5 seconds,” I growled, “if you don’t tell me where you found this information about my tour”. “It’s all on your website www.thejoerooney.com,” he ejaculated. Somewhat embarrassed and humiliated, I let go of his throat, extricated my finger and wiped myself down. “Well, have the bulbs planted before I return from my show in Siamsa Tire in Tralee on March 16th,” I mumbled.
I was embarrassed, not because I had inadvertently helped a man I had no feelings for and only knew as an employee, orgasm copiously all over my Ozwald Boateng suit, but because I had forgotten about the website. Unlike other comedians I find it crude and ill mannered to flagrantly advertise my wares like some cheap salesman. It was my wife, Sandra, who had convinced me to invest in the website.
“It will give people in Limerick a chance to find out you’re in Limerick LIT on March 20th,” she moaned, as we made love in the pantry. “Oh God, yes, yes, yes!” I concurred, but since then I had put it to the back of my mind. Of course she’s right. I can’t expect the good burghers of Naas to somehow telepathically know I’m in the Moate, Naas on the 9th. of April or the people of Kilkenny to inexplicably march like zombies to the Watergate on the 27th and 28th of April on a hunch that I’ll be performing there. (I will be!)
No, I’m going to have to grab the bull by the horns, go out there, and advertise and plug ’til the cows come home. And when the cows come home and see me grabbing the bull by the horns they’re going to look at me in a different light. I’m going to tell those cows what’s what! I’m going to tell them I’m in the Everyman in Cork on the 30th of April and the Ramor Virginia on the 8th of May. As I write this I can see the gardener through the pantry window stooping gently as he drops the bulbs into their beds. It reminds me I’m in Vicar St. on March 13th.