Tuesday, November 22, 2011

What Does Your Dad Look Like?

Welcome to my blog about my incredibly exciting life living in London and being an almost competent stand up comedian.

It's nearly 3pm, I'm still in bed

 I'm going to have to get dressed and get up soon because Monica and Richard are about to break up and I've fallen far too deeply in love with the sight of Tom Selleck to deal with the episodes that come after this one.

Is this how you're meant to live out your twenties? Falling deeply in love with moustachioed older male actors until the lack of food and tea in your life forces you to get out of bed and get on with your day?

I was keen to achieve stuff today... new material and other such things that'll help me on my way to conquering the world and curing sudoku addictions. Sadly, we don't have any milk and so there's no good tea and so I haven't achieved anything. Not a deity darned thing.

Potentially there's a direct correlation between amount of milk I have available and the number of my dreams that will come true that day. I can only imagine that if I lived in a dairy Tom Selleck would have turned up on my doorstep by now and been gently humorous in his patient, secure way. I am way less mental than Monica so I see absolutely no reason why he wouldn't have fallen for me like a focussed coyote off a high canyon.

Tom Selleck and I would go and live on a ranch I think. He would enjoy cooking us various meat dishes and smiling wryly at my inability to darn anything properly. We'd have matching rocking chairs (carved by Bill Pullman circa his woodwork years alongside Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping) and generally we wouldn't have a lot to say to each other. But, you know, not in an awkward way... in that comfortable way that people talk about but other people don't actually believe in.

See, the thing is that Monica and Tom Selleck had to split up because of the baby rows. She was all about sprogging and he was like "Nah man, I need my freedom." But I wouldn't have that problem because I would just say to him,

"Hey man, I don't even need babies."

And then I would treat his moustache like it was my very own child so that I didn't feel like I was giving anything up for him. Like a compromise except that I'm still getting everything I want so it doesn't count. I'd bottle feed that moustache until it slept like a hisute baby. He might be all confused and say, like:

"Hey man, why are you patting my moustache?"

And I wouldn't be able to say "Hey man, I'm burping so that the tiddler doesn't cry!" So I would have to say that I was just looking for more ways to be close to him because I was so in love. He'd be really impressed and probably buy me a present made of shiny stuff and leaves.

I'd get Baby Mo a cradle and a sleep suit and I'd teach it to laugh. Perfect.

Now I do believe it's time to get up. Move on with my day. And start stockpiling milk to make this particular dream come hairily true...

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