A Comedian's Rant - Happiness

I got so excited, I accidentally shat on his Nan

Feature by Keir McAllister | 16 Apr 2006
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I'm not a big fan of reunions. Having people unexpectedly pop into my present from my past is up there with such socially awkward experiences as coming home to find your mother polishing the cutlery with your wank sock or leaving the proctologist and realising that wasn't his finger. If someone is in my past then it's generally for a reason, and that reason usually involves some degree of humiliation on my part which has caused me to go to extraordinary lengths to avoid ever having to look that person in the eye again.

These shameful events stretch from the relatively minor - vomiting on carpets, cats and wives, up to the fairly offensive - attempted shagging of said carpets, cats and wives (though not after I've just vomited on them… except for that one time). Then there's such utterly inexcusable events like the time I was at my friend's fifth birthday party and got so excited, I accidentally shat on his Nan. I had to move schools after that.

It always seems to happen when I'm enjoying myself with new friends who haven't yet worked out what a twat I am. Then someone I have spent good time and energy mentally erasing from my memory bank comes bounding out of the blue, presents themselves in front of me while I'm mid conversation and says, with a smug grin akin to those seen on late night Gay Chatline TV ads, "Remember me?"

There are only two reasons I can think of why someone would want to do this;
1) They have recognised me, made some keen observations and concluded that they are far further up the social status ladder than I am. They will therefore repay whatever humiliating event which caused us to lose contact by flaunting their huge, erect, throbbing status inches from my face, while simultaneously drawing public attention to my own tiny, flaccid, drooping one.
2) They are an utter social spastic who will rugby tackle the slightest of opportunities to make a new friend, even if that new friend is actually an old one who once lost control their of bowels while sitting on the knee of their Nan.

Whichever category they fall in to, one thing is inevitable - they will ask the question. The question I hate above all questions. The one that makes me want to gnaw off my own foreskin.

"So are you happy then?"

I object to this question on all sorts of levels, not least because the very fact that I'm being asked has a huge influence over the answer. I hate the implication that the single purpose of life is to make myself happy, that if I'm not happy then I'm somehow failing in some sort of way, that life is just one long, self-fulfilling wanking session that prematurely ejaculates in to the face of death.

What's so good about 'happy' anyway? Let's think of some notoriously happy role models – there's Paris Hilton, Peter Andre, Chantelle from Celebrity Big Brother – all, by their own admission, very happy people. Coincidentally, all also complete fuckwits who are about two chromosomes away from flinging their own shit at each other and eating their young; you just have to look at them to realise their diet consists mainly of crayons.

Let me put it simply - the desire to be happy is a disease that needs to be stamped out. For starters, if everybody was happy I'd be out of a job, since who'd come to a comedy club? There wouldn't even be comedy – tragedy is a vital ingredient and comedians are the experts. There's not a comedian on the Scottish circuit who doesn't regularly miss gigs because of failed suicide attempts.

Being Scottish, it's in my D.N.A. to be a miserable bastard. A combination of my Calvinistic heritage, two days of mild sunshine a year and growing up, being forced to watch Scotland Today has left me with little tolerance for 'happy'. In my opinion, anyone who has actually managed to reach some sustainable level of happiness is either insane or in dire need of having their genitals stapled to the back bumper of a Landrover and then driven through a cactus farm. To me, being happy just means you're too shallow, vacuous and hedonistic to understand what's really going on around you.

So to all persons I have known and may run into in the future, the answer to your stupid, pointless question is, "No, I'm not happy!"
I hope that brings a smile to your face. Now fuck off.
Keir McAllister appears regularly at The Stand in Edinburgh and Glasgow, as well as performing throughout Scotland.