Comedy Catastrophe: A Stand-Up Disaster

Transcription:

Och, gather ye useless we-never-do-wells. It is time for another glorious tale of stupidity featuring our two favourite eejits, we Kevin and his mad pal Lance. Now this episode finds them at the local comedy club in Glenfinnan, a place ye go for a laugh, not a bloody headache. But guess who's strutting in like they own the place? Aye, it all kicked off when Kevin nicked some dodgy flyers from the pub, thinking it'd be a grand idea to get on stage and deliver some absolute shite about the village. Lance, ye wee numpty, we need to make him laugh, Kevin crowed, his eyes glimmering like a magpie's on a treasure hunt. Aye, until Lance reminded him the only thing you're gonna make them laugh at is how daft ye are. But determined, and fuelled by a wee dram on whiskey, Kevin hatched his brilliant plan. I'm getting on that stage, one way or another, he announced. He spotted the bouncer, a great lump called Big Dougie, standing at the door looking slat about as cheerful as a cat forced to take a bath. Lance, let's blackmail him, we'll use that picture o' him from last week's big night out. So the pair goose-stepped over, all sneaky-like, armed with a photo of Big Dougie dancing, lat, like his trousers had just lighted fire. Hey Dougie, how about ye let us on the stage or this wee gem's getting posted on the club's Facebook, eh? Kevin snickered, pointing at the photo. Dougie's face went pale as a haggis in a snowstorm. Fine, get on with it, he growled through clenched teeth, clearly wanting to keep his dignity intact. With that, Kevin shoved Lance aside and strutted onto the stage like it was his bloody coronation. Ladies and gents, you're gonna love this. I'm gonna talk about Constable Hamish, he bellowed, the crowd rolling, their eyes yet intrigued about what drivel was coming. Och ye didnae ken, Hamish is the head of a massive conspiracy, he's actually a spy, right? Kevin rambled, slurping back some imaginary pint. You see, he's lying in wait, monitoring Lhasaar every move, especially me and Lance because we're the only ones with half a brain in this village. Aye, I reckon he's working for the aliens who want to steal all the IRN brew. A few folk looked flabbergasted, some laughing while others gawking, like someone had just set a sheep on fire. Kevin, feelings the crowd shock only got wilder. I'm telling you the real reason why Glenfinnan has so many sheep is Hamish is raising an army of woolly spies to unleash on the world. Just as his nonsense reached a crescendo, Dougie stormed onto the stage, looking like a thundercloud with a vendetta. Get off ye eejit, you're outta here, he roared, grabbing to Kevin by the scruff of his neck. Kevin protested, but I was just getting to the juicy bit about Hamish's plan to control the sheep. And just like that, our beloved Kevin was hurled out the door, bouncing off the pavement and landing down like a sack of spuds. Lance, a puddle of giggles, followed close behind, wheezing like he was about to explode from laughing. They scuttled off into the night, what was meant to be a night of laughs transforming into yet another disaster for these beloved eejits. As they staggered home, Kevin couldnae help but bellow, I still think it was a solid theory. And so, the legend, oh slash Kevin's short-lived comedy career spread throughout Glenfinnan, a reminder that sometimes it's best if the eejits keep their arses off the stage. Dinna forget ye comedy clueless muppets to like and subscribe, or you'll find yourself booted out like Kevin. Head over arse out of the comedy club.