The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

I have always been wary of deeply involved self-analysis. There are two reasons for this: firstly because those who are tend to be the type of people who can’t take a shit without holding a candle ceremony and secondly because I’m reluctant to spend vast amounts of my own money only to reach the inevitable breakthrough that all my problems stem from the cold, hard, emotional truth that I am, in fact, just a bit of a dick. So you can imagine my initial reticence when asked to become involved in a comedy podcast which requires me to identify the good, bad and ugly parts of my existence. Let me just say right now: it’s really not been worth it.

The bad was easy. No-one finds it difficult to identify the bad things in their life, especially comedians. Every good comic is a masochist by nature. A friend of mine once told me a harrowing story about being on his first holiday in nine years. Within the first two days he was severely beaten up and had a loaded gun pointed at his head. He swears his one presiding emotion throughout the whole ordeal was relief, because now, at last, he had some material for his Fringe show, a show he never got to perform due to the resulting mental breakdown which occurred when the trauma finally kicked in.

I believe most people carry with them a fully loaded rant, ready to shoot from the hip should some unsuspecting do-gooder ever be naïve enough to strike up a conversation with something as moronically vacuous as 'How are you today?' If you don’t, you should. One of life’s greatest pleasures is watching a slightly scared stranger being forced to listen as you seethe and spit your way through a lengthy and colourful critique of ScotRail services, an unsettlingly graphic account of the many ways you’d separate Jeremy Clarkson from his head and ending on a slightly surreal vignette detailing why tangerines can just fuck off...

As I said, the bad was pretty easy....

The good, not so much....

It’s not that there isn’t good stuff in my life – it’s just its not very funny or flattering. Not only is it difficult to get the big laughs from material about how "I really enjoyed my walk the other day because I saw a fox," or "I’m enjoying that new Danish drama series," but the picture painted is one of a socially retarded recluse who’s aroused by vermin. 

Comedians and contentment do not mix. It’s like giving Clark Kent a Kryptonite johnny. The engine of comedy is dissatisfaction, self-loathing and tragedy. Without these components we would all end up smug, self-satisfied, humourless replicants. Perhaps the only good I’ve truly identified throughout this process is that it’s vastly overrated.  Bad is a lot easier to work with and much more satisfying. Just ask Charlie Sheen.

Then there’s the ugly...

I don’t care what Colleen Rooney says, the human condition is naturally disposed against looking for too long at our unsightly parts for reasons of self preservation. If we were all to reach an understanding as to our own true nature, just think of the massive surge in applications for shotgun licenses and bookings for holidays in Syria. Fortunately for me, I have a family who positively revel in any opportunity to collectively relive the plotted history of my ever eventful cuntitude. Even if it’s Christmas Day. And I haven’t seen most of them for three months. And no-one fucking asked them to.  Still, I’m now more than equipped with enough ugly material and I can put the whole experience on my bad list. Which is a good thing isn’t it? See I told you. It’s really not been worth it.