WUNCH: Plural of Bankers. I.e: A WUNCH OF BANKERS.

From COLLINS ENGLISH DICTIONARY.

I went into the bank the other day. The guy behind the counter told me that I must pay a seventy pound charge. When I asked what for, he simply replied : For being born, you peasant.

Well I think these banks have gotten out of control. Did you know that Benny Hill and Diana Dors both left huge boxes of money, buried in mystery locations, then died without leaving proper maps? Its true. They didn’t trust in the banks.

So lets start searching now. The loot is out there somewhere.

But seriously folks. The rich have gotten out of hand. They’ve been bumming us in the mouth for too long now. Its time to stand up. To say NO!

And here’s how.

Have you seen those stupid adverts that are supposed to frighten benefit cheats- the ones that say: we’ve caught one hundred people this year! So the net is closing in around you, you twelve year old single mother scum!

OR WORDS TO THAT EFFECT.

Well, it seems to me that they are in fact rubbish at catching benefit cheats. So here’s my advice to the brave amongst you: open your eyes and see the true message of these adverts:

on a low wage? Why not double your earnings immediately!?

Simply carry on doing your job, but nip into the dole and sign on in your lunch break.

There is a tiny chance of getting caught. But far smaller, statistically, than the chance of spontaneous human combustion.

Probably.

AND JUST THINK OF THE THINGS YOU CAN BUY WITH THE MONEY:

Blakeys segs.

Plasticine.

Boxing lessons.

Everything you need to help you survive the Mad Max style world that is about to dawn, as the money system collapses, retarded nail bombers sprout from every nook and cranny, and the amount of money you are required by new BBC laws to spend on toy Daleks (to boost the license fee,) is so financially crippling that your life is destroyed as effectively as if real Daleks had invaded.

This society is a ludicrous farce isn’t it.

A BIT LIKE ‘ALLO ‘ALLO.

Its not funny but idiots all over the world keep buying into it. FOR SEVEN FUCKING SERIES AND IT WAS ONLY STOPPED WHEN A HURRICANE SENT A PLANK FLYING OFF THE BACK OF A LORRY INTO THE HEAD OF STAR GORDON ‘RENE’ KAYE!*

So all I can say is:

I hope a plank goes flying into the face of international laissez faire capitalism sometime soon, and this played out geriatric nonsense can be replaced by something trendy like The Mighty Boosh. I.E an anarchic fantasy world where the government can be trusted to help the weak and protect the planet, and Gorillas can talk.

Do you think I stretched the analogy too far?

Your humble savant,

THE VAUDEVILLIAN

*No disrespect intended to Gordon Kaye who’s probably a very nice man. If not a funny one.

Hiya mate…

It was with a certain amount of wry, heartbroken mirth, that I perused the pages of my local newspaper, and beheld the spectre of Radovan Karadžić done up like an acid casualty Santa Claus, and caught redhanded doling out radical heath remedies to people with too much money.

Now I’m not saying that just because he’s an alleged mass murderer means that he may not also be a great healer.

But I’ve had it up to here with charlatans and blagmeisters, taking advantage of the mentally ill.

Karadžić has always been a man with his thumb firmly on the pulse of the zeitgeist. When it was hip to be squabbling over territory in disintegrating post communist Europe, there he was. Now, when that’s all old hat, he’s joined the most hilarious growth industry of our times- preying on the fears of hippies in failing health.

And then there’s his poetry.

You can check out some of Radovan’s wild poetic utterances, possibly translated by babel fish but no less mind boggling for it, at:

www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/karadzic/radovan/poems.html

Here, we find the lovely man ‘assuming authorial voices’ of, variously, a messianic demagogue - and a viciously self-righteous misanthrope.

And they say Daniel Day Lewis makes a big effort to get into character. Pah! This guy LIVES his characters! I mean, REALLY lives them!

There is a link between Radovan’s various incarnations, however. ABSOLUTE HATRED FOR EVERYTHING. Including SCIENCE and YOU.

You see, friends, I have terrible wonderful news for you. The only people who know anything at all about healing the human body, are those flawed, untrustworthy, over-payed monsters we call DOCTORS.

And if you have elephantiasis eating your face off, you can pump as much money as you want into the bank accounts of various deranged witchdoctors, and still nothing is going to change.

A bleak prospect, perhaps. But in a way inspiring: because if we embrace nothing else in this depressing post post post post post modern world, let us embrace this:

The TRUTH is always liberating.

Here’s my truth:

You are going to die. You will not regenerate into a new body except, perhaps, AFTER death (burial, reincarnation, who knows?).

THIS IS YOUR LOT. Live it like there’s no tomorrow, because you know what? There ISN’T.

And if you have already been diagnosed with a syndrome that gives you trees for hands or makes you grow an extra face…?

Then use your swiss bank account WISELY. Take inspiration from the great dying monsters of literature: the phantom of the opera, Doctor Strangelove, that guy from SAW- and start a FIENDISH MASTERPLAN of your own!
INSTEAD OF BLOWING YOUR MONEY ON POINTLESS PLACEBO’S, why not instead save all those suicide bombers some grief- after all, many of them are good looking and in perfect health-

strike a blow where it will really count- REALITY!

Whether you strap gelignite to yourself and walk into a meeting of the G8, or simply spend your money paying the rent of destitute failed asylum seekers so they don’t have to go into prostitution… PLEASE rich ill hippy fools, PLEASE-

Just promise me you won’t be paying for the champagne of Robert Mugabe when he sets up a colonic irrigation centre in Stoke on Trent.

Your Humble savant,

THE VAUDEVILLIAN.

HOUSE

No, not the irritating Hugh Laurie doctor off the telly. Nor the thing that you shout at bingo.

THE THING MADE OF BRICKS THAT YOU LIVE IN IF YOU’RE LUCKY.

Yes, my friends: It’s time to speak of HOUSING.

Now, I’m all in favour of shamelessly venal cartoon villains who rip off everyone they meet.  After all, I’m one myself.

What I despise is the spineless, flabby minds of people like a certain former green party councillor, who put out local email ’shouts’ advertising rooms to let for ‘decent people’ who want to pay yuppie- flat prices for an ex-council flat (no DSS, of course. )

You see, kids, I live on an estate which was once peopled by crusties, eco-warriors, reclaim the streets types. A hotbed of raves, wild parties, and righteous groups opposing the invasion of Iraq. The kind of place where you could hear a plummy basil brush accent emerging from a person covered in engine oil with hair like the predator. Where children were named ‘Fern’ and stuff like that.

YET US CRUSTY PONCES ALWAYS LIVED IN HARMONY WITH THE SMACKHEADS, AFRO-CARIBBEANS, AND WORKING CLASS WHITE SQUARES.

However there was this cliche you used to hear at parties: that people who join the green party or become ‘eco-warriors’ are after all often borgeouse hypocrites playing at being radical. That one day their true colours would show, when they returned to the pro- establishment class loyalties of their parents.
What an outrageous assertion! I hate cliches, don’t you? So I decried it. After all, ’stereotype not others, lest you be stereotyped yourself,’ that’s what I always say.

But I was wrong, damnit. Finally, I must admit it. I WAS WRONG.

I don’t know about where you live, but almost every one of the people in my area (HULME) who once espoused radical anti-establishment views, then went on to buy their council flats- has ended up selling or letting it, for a profit. While there are still homeless people on the streets. (My own father is one of them. Although he did bring that upon himself, the idiot…but that’s another story…)

The stunning bit is this: every single one of these new landlords has come out with a story about how they are not typical thatcherite/blairite/brownite selfishers; that somehow the way in which THEY are profiting from the corrupt state approach to social housing, is in some way a secret part of their cunning plan to make the world a paradise and save the icecaps.

You see folks, the people round here all recycle their bottles. They put them into huge glass smashing bottle banks, to be shipped to china and made into MORE bottles.

And the flat I complained about being turned into yuppie housing? Advertised by a green party activist? It’s OK because…

It has an eco toilet.

Well, I think I’d better go and take my medication again now, I can feel the red mist rising.

Your humble savant

THE VAUDEViLLIAN.

Postscript: What has all this leftist polemic got to do with VAUDEViLLE, I hear you ask? Normally I’d say cheerfully reply ‘Nothing at all!’ But do you know what? Actually, it has everything to do with it. It’s called CONTEXTUALISATION, fatso.

This is WHY I do Vaudeville. This is the reason for all of the performances, the writing, the comedy. For me, this is one way to oppose the terrible mediocrity of our epoch.

What do you think?

Kingdom of the blind.

Hello everybody. It’s me- your favourite psychotic curmudgeon, THE VAUDEViLLIAN. Check out this interesting tidbit I just received from VAUDEViLLE STALWART ‘ONE MINUTE WANDA’:

Eleven-year-old James got a huge shock when he received a handwritten letter from the Chancellor, Gordon Brown.
In his report, James tells us why the politician wrote to him …

“Four years ago I had an accident at a supermarket. A bottle fell on the floor and glass flew up and hit my eye… Now I have an artificial eye.
Recently I was bullied quite badly.

They told me they were going to steal my false eye and smash it on the ground. They even burned me with cigarettes.

My mum could see that I was going through a hard time and she wrote to Gordon Brown telling him what had happened to me.

I was so shocked when I got a handwritten letter from the Chancellor.
He told me that having an artificial eye never stopped him from doing anything and has made absolutely no difference to him.
It made me feel very happy, I’ve never had a letter from someone that important before.
And it’s made me think that I can achieve anything I want to in life.”
James, 11, Halifax

(full version at: news.bbc.co.uk/cbbcnews/hi/newsid_4410000/newsid_4417600/4417641.stm

Well I never did. Gordon has a GLASS EYE! I couldn’t tell. It’s certainly a lot more convincing than the one fitted to ‘Rumpole Of The Bailey’. Who sadly does not exist, or he could use his brilliant barristering skills to defend that poor sod languishing in Guantanamo, what Gordon’s turned his back on because he doesn’t want to release mitigating evidence that the blokes confession may have been extracted using torture. No mention of being burned with cigarrettes but he does speak of having his knackers slashed at…

Yes of course it’s inspiring for this lad James to hear from a powerful man who is a cyclops like himself. Too bad it’s the same bugger who is presiding over a country that sanctions torture. Who knows, maybe those UK sponsored inquisitors will succeed in ‘creating’ more one-eyed people, who if they do ever get out of chokey, can in turn be inspired in life by the very man who presides over the social divides that create feral little bastards who assault disabled people for kicks.

If only James’s Mum had written to Columbo instead…he’d have gotten to the truth!

What all of this has to do with VAUDEVILLE, I cannot say…

Love and kisses and electric shocks to your fanny you terrorist cow,

THE VAUDEVILLIAN

READ ME YOU LAZY DOGS IT’LL ONLY TAKE A MOMENT

Hi kids. It’s me, THE VAUDVilliAN here. This is my first post to this blog thing. I will be using it to share with you the amazing things I think, and to involve you more in the world of POST 9-11 PERFORMANCE IDIOCY.

You see, I love you. I love you so much, I could vomit. ON YOUR DAD.

This blog is about people who come to the sinister meetings which take place in the green room arts centre, manchester, england, once a month. We call these gatherings VAUDEViLLE. Here, you can hear THICK RiCHARD doing poem. You can SEE TaM hiNToN making a goat of hisself. Plus sometimes there’s half naked women playing the double bass. And othEr stuff. Occasionally a grEat band named MANiMAL pryze themselves from the pub and play a set… But not today. SO, if you live in Manchester and don’t come to VAUDEViLLE very month- why not? Are you some sort of APETH? Get on with it. We’ll all die one day, and you’ll be able to say you saw the legends live…