"Ah, shit! I've been recommissioned!" These are depressing words for any actor, writer or viewer to express or hear. Yes, you thought you were talented and making a fantastic, fresh comedy series or you thought you were an intelligent audience member who's tastes are above the average but you were WRONG. The TV companies know best and their view is "If it's unbearably shit, let's give it a second series". Don't think of this as neccessarily a bad thing, although it definitely is, because maybe we should be wearing this as a badge of honour. The powers that be have given up on our cool, brilliant, clever little show after just six episodes? BRILLIANT! I told you it was good. I mean who wants to be recommissioned by a business that happily gives a second series to Episodes, Stand Up For The Week and fucking Mrs. fucking Brown's fucking Boys.
One of my favourite TV series is Catterick. It lasted one series. Just six episodes. It had a story, characters and some of the best jokes in any sit-com and it lasted one series. Of course it did. It's excellent. The Peter Serafinowicz Show was flawed but brilliant. When it hit, it was fantastic. It would have been the natural thing to see those ideas developed over a second series but no. It was just too good to be recommissioned. I couldn't believe that Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle didn't get another series immediately after it's brilliant debut. Arguably the best stand up comedian in the UK performing at the very peak of his powers, it was easily the best comedy series around and as a result did not deserve it's second series. Imagine my surprise when it did finally get recommissioned. I guess I was wrong. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle must be shit.
Of course, I can go one even more impressive than Catterick or Serafinowicz. I have never had a first series commissioned. That's just how talented I am. And I take great comfort from that when I have a night off and put my feet up on the sofa and watch some new TV comedy. If this is what the TV companies want then it makes sense that my utterly genius scripts have been sent back with a badly written, grammar-free rejection letter. Not that I always accept rejection letters. Production companies must understand that I get a lot of rejection letters and I do try to read as many as I can but unfortunately some of them just aren't right for me at the time, it's just not what I'm looking for, etc. Anyway, what I'm trying to get at is last night I watched a TV show called Twenty Twelve which wasn't funny but, to be fair, no one in it tried to be funny and then I watched fucking Mrs. fucking Brown's fucking Boys.
Where to begin? Well, let's begin where Mrs. Brown's Boys starts: in the bin. It is clear that the BBC have simply found all the old Rentaghost scripts they thought they had dumped and replaced the words "ghost", "ghoul" and "spectre" with the word "fuck". It's so utterly offensive that I'm sure the word "spook" stayed. It starts off with CBeebies opening credits and an old-fashioned voiceover welcoming us to Mrs. Brown's Boys. That was the bit I liked. That one bit where the guy said "It's Mrs. Brown's Boys!" was the one single solitary second of enjoyment to be had from this dung that is thrown into our eyes and mouths. It's easy for them to get the dung in our mouths too because your jaw hits the floor right from the word go. Mrs. Brown, in the fine tradition of Shakespeare or serial killers from Silence of the Lambs, is a man dressed as a woman. Yes, somehow the BBC didn't just tell them to fuck off there and then. Mrs. Brown is a man dressed as a woman and has a bunch of children all aged about two years younger than her, except the hilarious gay son who is clearly much older than his male mother. In last night's episode, Mammy (played by Mrs. Brown played by some docker with no teeth) went to a wedding and had to speak to a posh lady. Incongruous with most wedding etiquette, Mammy told the posh lady to go fuck herself and then walked into a room waving a penis around. The second bit wasn't that surprising as I was already confident that Mammy had a penis. She's a tough talking, hard drinking, "typical" Irish woman with a "typical" Irish family. Just like mine! Oh, the amount of times my own Mum would just tell people to fuck off for no reason, shit her pants while laughing and then wave her fat, hairy cock at a priest...But that's just what we're like. That's the Oirish fer ya. We're just so tick, ah but sure isn't the crack great? Where the fuck is a potato famine when you need one?
But I have just learned that it's getting a second series. Of course it is. It deserves a second series. It's as bad as adult comedy can get. If they took the swearing out and put it on at 3 in the afternoon I wouldn't have a problem with it. They don't. They put it on at 10.30pm. That's when I watch TV. This programme is aimed at me. The BBC must think I'm a fucking eejit...I mean, idiot. Even when you watch it on iPlayer a little insulting box pops up saying "Are you 16 years of age or over?" HOW DARE YOU! No one over the age of 8 minutes old should watch this tripe. I was hoping that when I clicked "yes" another box would pop up saying "Well, what the hell are you playing at?"
This blog was supposed to be about how lovely celebrities are. I had a great week last week and wanted to share it with you but last night I decided to watch a bunch of self-loathing Irish people piss all over their culture and then hope that we might all join in. It upset me so you got this blog instead. In fact, I'm still furious about it that it might go to a 2nd blog.
No. My anger and fury over this doesn't deseerve a 2nd blog. It's too good.
I will leave you with this though. Keith Lemon's on his 5th series. Goodnight, everyone.