Comments!

Comments, yeah! That's my enthusiastic way of informing you (yes, you. The nebulous you that I am entirely uncertain exists in any corporeal or measurable form. Sort of a person version of the concept of Russell Howard's alleged "talent") that I've actually responded to all the comments that had been left. Even the one I completely didn't understand (you know who you are, Flower Travellin' Band Fan). Leave more. Go on. Please? Look, I'm paying attention now, I wasn't before. I'll actually read them within about a week of being left, not the six months it was previously. Look, don't make me beg. Again.

Returning to Russell Howard. Do I mean Russell Howard? Russell someone at any rate, and I know I don't mean Brand, Grant or Harty (who are, incidentally one of the oldest law firms in New Zealand). Tell you what, I'll describe him, and then we'll see which Russell I mean.

The boz-eyed, gimp-faced horse-tickler of a comedian. The one who isn't a comedian at all, on account of him being a bazillion times more irritating than he is funny. The one who pops up on panel shows, the one who doesn't fit in, the one who seems like the fucking irritating younger brother of your mate - the really spoilt one who always had to be allowed follow his brother around and join in, despite being FUCKING IRRITATING, because if he wasn't allowed he'd tell his mam and ruin everything (including the glue-sniffing), the one that was constantly trying to show off and being embarrassing, the one desperate for approval and acceptance, but going about it all wrong and MASSIVELY PISSING YOU OFF in the process.

The one who looks like he'd be better suited to presenting Blue Peter. Blue Peter in HELL.

Is that Russell Howard?

I'm listening to Metallica. And enjoying it. Sorry. Still, at least it's off Ride the Lightning (it's "Creeping Death" if you're interested), so it has guaranteed ginger riffs. I mean RIFFZ. Sorry again.