And now we come to comedy in its purest form: stand-up. Or so a lot of rubbish stand-up comics would have you believe. They'll go on and on about the raw power and purity that comes from being able to entertain a crowd simply by telling jokes, and they do have a point: stand-up is very impressive when it works. When it doesn't, you get the following:
Poor Wil. Without the Howard government to rail against, he's been forced to actually be funny instead of just throwing insults around. Beneath that natty haircut and layers of wrinkle prevention cream, however, beats the heart of a bog-standard back room pub stand-up. And those guys don't think yet another crap Wil-pun in the title is enough to justify charging full price for a Comedy Festival show.
Dave Hughes is an everyman. He's a straight shooter who says what we're all thinking, his heart's in the right place, and he doesn't have much time for bullshit artists or wankers. He's your neighbour. He's the bloke propping up the front bar. He's that guy you know from work. He's the mate of your partner's brother. Only thing is, why the hell would anyone pay to listen to the crap that comes out of Dave Hughes' mouth when all these other guys he's supposedly exactly the same as are giving it away for free?
Want to see a Sam Simmons show but missed out on tickets? Don't worry - just grab a dictionary and start reading words out of it at random. It's pretty much the same thing, especially once you start to feel like a dickhead and the awkward pauses come out to play. Just make sure to say "ducks" every couple of minutes - that always brings the house down. Ducks. Hilarious.