The horror, the horror

I’ve been doing warm-up for the Late Late Show and I’m surprised they haven’t kicked me out yet, on account of the amount of vodka I’ve consumed in the Green Room, during and after the show.

I have some horrifyingly vague recollections of trying to snog one of the researchers, and then jumping all over a flowerbed. But the powers that be have put my appalling drunkenness down to over-excitement about being involved with the Late Late Show. So I’m quite thankful for that.

I really don’t know who reads this column. I presume it’s people who are interested in hearing some gossip about comedians, or some off the wall shit about badgers sniffing poo.

Well, here’s some gossip. The Irish stand-up comedy scene is shite. There aren’t even a handful of decent venues and there is no functioning comedy agency booking comedians on their merit.

If the Irish comedy scene was a restaurant, the food would be stale and badly prepared, the waiters would hate all their customers, it would be completely mismanaged and in fact, the only reason this restaurant would be doing any business at all would be because the fucking eejits that happen to walk in off the street don’t know anything about food.

Your Irish comedy scene is a mentally ill, unwashed, unloved whore with open sores on her minge.

If I couldn’t supplement my pathetic comedy income by doing street shows in Temple Bar, I’d be totally fucked. I know you’re thinking ‘You’re not making money because you’re shite and drink too much and are completely undependable and people are afraid to give you gigs because you might get violent and attack a member of the audience like you did in Spirit, which doesn’t operate anymore, probably because of you, you ignorant prick’.

Yeah, well fuck off you lesbian, man-hating bitch. I’m the funniest man in this country right now. You put me up on stage with any of these assholes and I guarantee you the volume as in the loudness of laughs and the amount of laughs per minute I get, will top anyone, oh yes. Anyone of you cowardly de-sexualised semi-comics. I, David McSavage am throwing down the gauntlet. I’m challenging you to a laugh-off.

I did a support gig recently in Portlaoise with Tommy (Silver-backed, alpha male gorilla, twinkly-eyed, story-telling genius, Ford Galaxy-driving, mid-life crisis) Tiernan. I was lucky to get the gig, because normally Gerry (I have eyelashes like a Hereford cow) Mallon does support for the talented bastard. On this occasion, however, the bovine Mallon was laying out the red carpet for Ed (I used to look like Jesus with my porcelain complexion and long hair, but then I realised I looked like a complete twat) Byrne down in Galway in Cuba, where I heard David O’Doherty stole the show. I saw Reuben, Neil Delamara and Michael Mee in an almost empty Sugar Club, run every Thursday by Sue (Wagon) Collins. Those boys are going places, hopefully to venues that can get audiences.

Phil Kay and David McSavage stand up at the Sugar Club, Monday 24. Doors open 8pm