They say that Batman is the world's greatest detective. I notice he's not discovered Bruce Wayne's secret identity though, has he?

I've got this joke I like to tell in Wigan.

It begins when I tell how I went to the bookstore and went to look at the Eng ...

Well, first I have to explain what books are.

Now a few people are normally sharp enough to keep up here. They've seen that episode of Hollyoaks where a character reads a book.

For the rest, I need to go into a bit more detail. Like I'm wikipedia.

"No, you know love, you know ... they come on paper?"

Now she thinks I'm talking about some obscure Japanese perversion.

Paper! Like ... remember when you got a bill from United Utilities? Remember that? And you looked at it, and then thought 'fuck this, Last Orders is open?'

Yeah. Paper. So that's the format in which books normally come. No. Not cum. Come. Get your head out the gutter.

Anyway, so I tell this joke in Wigan about how I went to the book shop ... ah fuck it I'd have lost them long before now ... a joke about English literature, in Wigan? Does it end 'Get out, you're Bard?'

Anyway, this joke, it's about books they're like fillums only etched on to treated tree bark and quiet. Well, no, not etched, but Christ I don't know how to explain the phenomenon of laser printing to a Wiganner ...

Anyway, the joke is ... it's not even worth giving it a set-up now. The joke is ... the joke is ... we're in England, in a shop that exclusively sells literature, and, get this, this is the joke, here's the punch line, here it is, it's coming, not long now, thanks for your patience, you've been a wonderful reader, thanks etc, drive careful, visit Moe's, you've been great ... they have a shelf specifically for English literature.

I'm here all week.

No-one else would fucking have me, would they?

I love the idea of a Stripper emerging from a cake.

I'd love to design a cake that just crumbles inward, slowly collapsing, shrinking & wobbling, minute upon minute, until finally a fat stripper is revealed, face covered in crumbs, a guilty look on her face.

Wait now for a minute whilst I think of it. It was really funny, this thing I was thinking of. No, wait now a minute whilst I tell you.

No good, it's gone.

But thanks for sticking with me during that exciting time.

Films From The Eighties You Just Can't Find On VHS Anywhere

#1 in an ungoing series: Latrine Wolf Too

It appears that my parliament is Hung.

No more shit election jokes from me, I'm a stand-up guy.

An Actual Blog Post

I was listening to some music, and I began to wonder: if I were asked what my top five live music experiences were, what would I answer? So I asked myself, aloud, 'Hey, you in the scruffy haircut, if you were asked what your top five live music experiences were, what would you answer?!'

And I decided I would answer:

#5 Young Knives, Manchester Academy with Little Sarah - "She's Attracted To"

There are some good reasons for choosing this song. First, Sarah, who is tiny and delicate and fragrant, is also typical of all the bad things about women. She knows when to be pretty, when to be dismissive, and when to be cruel. Precocious, and evil. She also knows how to look after herself.

Yet when she said, just prior to stepping over drunks and broken glass and large men, 'this is the first concert I've been too since my Mum took me to see Blue!' I felt a bit sick in both a good way and a bad way. I was taking her to her first proper concert. And I was responsible for getting her out alive.

She commented frequently on the amount of 'weirdos' and 'freaks' at the show. I pointed out that the proportion of weirdos and freaks was well within acceptable limits. She didn't seem happy, but trusted me to look after her as we forged, beers in hand to the front.

Then the men came on stage and picked up their instruments. Sarah screeched with what I can only assume was relief. Then, the relief was gone, and pure screaming enthusiasm was her only tone. Hysteria crept in ... I watched her eyes, they got red and then purple and her tiny childlike face seemed fit to burst.

The roadies soon walked off.

And then the band came out. I kicked her skinny leg, and cheered them on myself. Sarah got the idea and started to scream and clap herself. A fat bloke, a cheery bloke and a drummer took their positions. The fat bloke, in Joe 90 specs, started to play a fat chugging bass line. I went crazy. The other 1498 people in the crowd went mental. Sarah turned to me a bit confused. I can only imagine it's the look a child gives their parents upon catching them mid-coitus.

And then she started to bounce too. Screaming, wrongly, "She's a tractor too! She's a tractor too!"

I leaned toward her ear and tried to tell her the proper lyric. Not that it mattered. Or that it could be heard. Henry Dartnell had chosen this moment to dive into our sweaty ranks - first song, best song, stage dive.

It's nothing special, nowadays to stage dive, nor is it special to stage dive on the first song. But this did engender a spin of limbs and sweat and beer, something one ought to protect an innocent teen from. Dartnell was flung back upon the stage, and was followed by a half-dozen fans.

Sarah pulled closer to me, feared of the flying limbs. Then, and this made me so proud, she said, "I'm doing that!" and ran toward the ball of muscle flicking sweaty fans up on to the stage. That she turned around and ran back just before they flung her on to the stage doesn't matter to me. Young Knives played their best song first, and Sarah was willing to stage dive her first gig.

"She's a tractor too!" she shouted at me, repeatedly. It was all the best bits of hearing live music, and having kids, and still managing to get the last train back.

I'd like to lick the Pacific Rim.

A friend recently pointed out that my Facebook updates are funnier than my blog updates. This, unfortunately for you and me both, is often true. So I include here some of my 'funny' updates.

***

'Our Maddy Hell' say kidnappers tired of reading incorrect guesses in Daily Express.

Hellman's Mayonnaise contains REAL ingredients, but I still prefer that mayonnaise made from purely conceptual ingredients like perfect circles and karma.

Activia Yoghurt now comes in a Handy Little Pot. Yoghurt, in a pot? What a fucking amazing new idea!

***

I'll write out my planned little rant tomorrow, for your dismissing pleasure. Pinky promise!

Oh Warticon, Oh Warticon!
Where have you gone?
Oh Warticon, Oh Warticon!
Look at my cock & what grows upon!

I belong to a generation of Britons who understand that DangerMouse is a cartoon character, a DJ, and also a way of flogging faux-faded casual wear in Topman. Of course, there exists a generation who know DangerMouse simply as a DJ and a way of flogging faux-faded casual wear in Topman. And then, sadly, there exist a new, younger generation who only know DangerMouse as a way of flogging faux-faded casual wear in Topman. I call this new generation: The Least DangerMouse Generation.

Have you done your bit for the Help For Heroes campaign?

I have. I got Aquaman a job on the buses. If you're wondering where the 313 from Skelmersdale is, don't worry. It broke down in Orrell, but a team of dolphins will be pulling it down the bypass any minute now.

Is studying the works of Euclid. Chiefly, his Eukelele.

New vid up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p6fKiVHU2UQ

Ps, I didn't cry.

I can't help feeling that 9/11 would have been very different had New Yorkers not killed King Kong beforehand.

It's a well known fact that the word 'diagonal' comes from the discoverer of such eccentric lines, the famed Greek mathematician Diagon. Less well known, of course, is that Diagon's given name was actually Lysis. Lysis, a Cretan native who lived during the 8th century BCE, only became known as Diagon when, upon his death, he was found to have expired due to an unfortunate combination of diarrhoea and gonorrhea.

Many many years ago, I was bitten by a rare radioactive woodlouse. Pretty soon I found I had a strange new ability. Upon the uttering of a single, secret, magic word, I could transform from mere mortal man. I became a sturdy, calming, outdoor structure, ideal for fighting crime and also relaxing in the shade on a Sunday afternoon. I became, my friends ... The Human Porch.

My friend Helen is so gay, she eats out more than Michael Winner.

This peach is from the ever lovely Mrs Gary, upon her brain smarts being compared to those of Professor Stephen Hawking:

"Yeah, but all he's good for is typing. He can't even stand up."

Lame Exotic Bird Based Pun, Ahoy!

I once put a parrot in parenthesis. And a comma too.

Spiderman wasn't that badass. He lived in a friendly neighbourhood, after all.

pornstar pop provocateur: Lady Gargle
pornstar Brian Butterworth: Peter ShallIFeelHerTits
pornstar front-man fucker: Pantys Kensit
pornstar linguist: Noam Chompsmeat
pornstar record-breaker: Norris McSquirter
pornstar gravel voice: Queefer Sutherland
pornstar desperate housewife: Titty Snatcher
pornstar screen-legend, pasta purveyor: Paul Screwmen
pornstar pop chameleon: David Blowie
pornstar professional Geordie, racist: Cheryl Hole
pornstar US alt.rock band: Les Slavey Fag
pornstar legal drama creator: Dick Wolf*

* yeah, that's how creative I am

My girlfriend doesn't understand my jokes. She doesn't understand why they're funny.

I think she's more perceptive than she realises.

You ever go to the pet store and see unicorn food?

And you wonder why there's no fucking unicorns?

I learnt to enjoy books early on in life. I went through the whole kama sutra in just a few sittings. Though my mum had to help me with the hard bits.