Part Four of Eight.

(My life as a clown)



* Granite’s mine
Mining is big in Australia, particularly in Western Australia and The Northern Territory. The promise of good money has lured many a man and women into the industry. The bigger mines have bars called wet messes where they occasionally put on entertainment.
Mines these days aren’t like the Wild West of old. They’re now very institutionalized with strict rules. In return workers get gyms, three cooked meals a day, neat and tidy air-conditioned accommodation, TV's, and great pay (compared to other industries). And in return again they also get kicked out and banned from working at other mines sites in the country if they misbehave (i.e. fighting, failing the morning breathalyser). They even have sexual harassment lectures where people are flown in to teach the blokes how to talk and interact with women. It’s mainly based around what not to say to women. I.e. you can’t say ‘nice ass, Karen’ anymore at the work coffee machine. If reported, you’ll get sacked.
And then someone books me to come in and do an act!
The bigger the laughs I get with my act at mines, the more management sit up the back wondering who is responsible for booking me.
Not many mines have me back twice.
‘He’s just undone every rule that was drummed into the team at great expense at last week’s seminar!’ is what I presume they’re thinking.
Particularly the time where I got the lesbian sexual harassment liaison officer up on stage (whom I later found out everyone was shit scared of because she's so strict) and innocently strapped a balloon dildo on her and asked her to root some guy who’d I’d tied a strap on vagina on to. To the crowds surprise and delight she loved it.
Anyway, I can remember talking to a few girls who were in their 40’s one night after a gig at The Granites mine in the Tanami desert in Northern Territory. I asked them what they thought of the strict sexual harassment laws where a bloke could be kicked off site for saying something like, ‘Nice tits’.
They took a sip of their beer and then one of them piped up.
‘I’ve been working on and off the mines for about fifteen years now and I think the rules have gone too far’.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Well it’s boring. The guys are now too scared to flirt with us now!’ she lamented.

* Hedland.
Port Hedland, W.A, ain't the honeymoon capital of the world or known for much else other than what's in the ground there.
The Pier Hotel in the centre of town has a unique world record though. It's the pub with the most recorded stabbings in one night anywhere in the world. On this eventful night back in the nineties, there were eighty-three recorded stabbings, which included six bar girls.
I don't know what happened that night between the two bikie gangs involved but I imagine there was one guy maybe on the mic going, 'come on Port Hedland, we've had 76 people stabbed. Six more and we've got the world record!'

* Halls Creek.
Halls Creek is on the only paved road through the Kimberley Ranges, located up the top of Western Australia. The nearest towns either side (Fitzroy Crossing and Turkey Creek) are over 200kms away.
Locals at Halls Creek affectionately call their town, 'Hell's crack'.
Anyway, the back bar of The Halls Creek Hotel known as the 'Animal bar', is the roughest bar I've seen anywhere in Australia. And I've seen a few. The publican took me around. It was midday. The bar looks like a cross between a fallout bunker and a chook yard (but can be hosed down easily). Outside are a whole lot of 'Long-grassers'.
Long-grassers are groups of Aboriginals who live in the long spinifex grass. They are generally either talking, drinking, laughing, fucking, fighting, passed out or cooking (e.g. a goanna on some burnt fence palings).
A lot of white people look down on certain groups of Aborigines due to their lifestyle choices.
I think deep down its just jealousy though.
How many white guys do you know who have the guts or ability to turn their life into one never-ending bux party!?
The publican says the 'long-grassers' either buy green cans (VB) or Red cans (Emu export). He introduced me to a guy called Ewok who smiled and grunted. The publican said he was born without a tongue. Fuck he could drink though.
I asked a local if there was much tension between the blacks and whites in the town.
‘Na', he said 'The white's fight with the white’s and the blacks fight with the blacks'.

* Mildura.
Aside from the sex, a bit of one-on-one female company is something I love and crave. Especially as a contrast to the huge amount of male group energy I'm always around while working in pubs while on the road.
The girls I love most are the ones who have the confidence and ability to be open about who they are with me straight away -plus have internet, a shower, a bed, a day job to give me some solitude to plan my tour and some condoms.
Relationships for me are not difficult just different. Despite what it may appear to a few people, I don't get laid heaps.
Many a time I've rocked into towns like an old mangy dog looking for a feed, which as any male knows can become a vicious circle...
Sometimes I can go so long without being touched by a girl that the only thing in recent memory I've got to wank over is the slightest touch of a service station attendant who accidently brushed my hand when she handed back my change back to me three states back.
Australia is a big country. Not many pubs employ me. Each year while on tour around Australia I average 75000 kms a year which is about 200kms a day.
Getting love on the run ain't always easy. When I get it after a long dry spell though, I lap it up like a bulldog with its face in a custard bowl (Sorry, I love that phrase. I had to put it in somewhere)
One such girl was Katie from Mildura. She worked as a nurse during the day. We met playing two up on Anzac Day. We shagged and I hooked up with her about four times over a couple of years when I was coming through town.
And I admired and appreciated her like every girl who gives me shelter and love in her house, trusting that I'm more 'harmless guy with a few stories looking for affection' than 'lone traveler out of Wolf Creek'.
It can still be nerve-racking too sometimes for me as a guy going back to a girl's house for the first time after I've just her though.
There are always risks on either side.
After all, as a male you never know when you're going to be used by a girl to make the psycho boyfriend who is coming around later jealous?
Or be used by the jealous ex-boyfriend who has no idea that the relationship between him and the girl you're sleeping with is over.
The first night at Katie's place, we were in bed when suddenly there was the noise of a whole lot of rocks hitting the roof.
'What's that?' I asked waking up.
'Ohh probably just some school kids throwing rocks'.
'At 3am?' I asked again.
'Yeah, they're just bored. It won't last long.'
I slept with one eye open that night, and then things got comfortable for four days.

Anyway, I remember driving back across the Nullabor after doing my first trip to W.A.
I was on my way back to Sydney.
It was November. Last time I saw or spoke to Katie was in January that year.
Before I texted her, I remember she said something about wanting to go to New Zealand for a holiday that year when I last saw her.
So I tailored the text. ‘Hey Katie, coming thru town next week. What you been up 2? Get to NZ? x Jimbo’.
She replied in text: ‘No. Bit of a change of plan. I met a guy, we're engaged and I'm having his baby in four months’.
We'd always been honest with each other.
So I knew there was only one response I could text back to her without her thinking I'd changed.
'So I suppose a root is out of the question?'
I never heard back from Katie.

* Manly
It was towards the end of my set at The Manly Boatshed. I had literally just mentioned the word 'Mother' in a joke.
A lady down the back suddenly yelled back over the crowd in despair, 'Don't talk about mothers, my mother's dead!'
I replied back, 'So what, we're all in the queue!'
It didn't shut her up though.
She kept on yelling out, 'My mum's dead!'
The crowd by this time was becoming nervous.
The whole tone of the evening was coming down and I remember thinking, 'I'm a comedian not a shrink and I'm now in a tough corner. To get a laugh from this I'm going to have to go a bit left of centre'
She then yelled out again, 'My mum's dead!'
So I looked at her and said, 'Yeah, well how about I go dig her up and fuck her!'
It got a laugh, a big laugh, mainly from people who were also vomiting into their beers. The lady then weaved her way through the crowd and tossed her wine in my face. Luckily it was white wine.
I then looked at the crowd and said, 'Thank you. I'm going to remember this night and so will you. Thank you. Good night!'
I then walked straight up to the girl in the crowd, gave her a big hug, thanked her for giving me a great finale and then asked her what the story was with her Mum.
She said, 'Oh don't worry about that, she died ten years ago, I'm just a bit upset tonight because I broke up with my boyfriend this week'.
She stayed for a quick drink and then left. The next day the agent who booked me who wasn't at the gig rang to tell me that the owner of the pub who wasn't at the gig either had rung the pub to complain about the comedian who was making jokes about 'digging up someone's mum and fucking her'.
She then said, 'Jimbo, you've gone over the line again'.
I then got into a philosophical debate with her about how there is no line in comedy because what makes people laugh what makes people is individually subjective.
As long as most of the people are laughing at my joke, who cares, if it's not someone else's cup of tea?
I wasn’t getting anywhere in my argument though.
I then said, 'Look it wasn't like I'd said, I'd stick her femur up my arse while I came into her skull! Where's the line now!?'
Anyway the line went dead and I went touring in Outback W.A again.

* Guerie
A lot of people often ask me, 'Have you ever had your head kicked in at a gig, Jimbo?'
The answer is ‘no’ but I've come close a few times.
One such time was the Mitchell Inn, located in the small town of Guerie in the middle of NSW. It was a good crowd of about 100 locals packed into the front bar. As usual, I tried to loosen the crowd up with a bit of local banter at the front of my set.
In most small towns there's usually a place where the locals sneak off for their first fuck or kiss etc.
In Guerie, when I asked, I found out pretty soon this place was under a local bridge.
The whole crowd seemed to be boasting about it by yelling out how they'd been there and who they’d fucked etc.
It was a good lively response but I tried to regain focus by pointing at one bloke and saying 'How about you mate, have you had a fuck under the bridge?'
He proudly yelled back, 'yeah!’
I then replied with what I thought was an obvious gag, 'What was his name?'
The crowd laughed and I kept jabbing the crowd, feeling a good rhythm and connection happening for a fun gig ahead.
That was until the guy I'd been talking to, weaved his way through the crowd up to my mic and picked me up by the collar.
He then pushed me through the male toilet door which was beside me and all of a sudden I was pinned me up against the inside wall with him saying above me, 'Stop calling me a poofter!'
I cut to the chase and said, 'Sorry'.
I wasn't sorry for what I'd said but I was genuinely sorry for upsetting him. After all, I'm a comedian. My job is to make people laugh not make them upset.
He accepted my apology more out of surprise I think than anything and then put me down and let me go.
I’m not saying this always works but not acting scared or aggressive to some being physically threatening, I think is the best option.
A genuine ‘sorry’ is always a good disarmer too.
Even for guys who are angry, ‘sorry’ can be a surprising response which is hard to punch. We all want to be listened to and by saying 'sorry' it shows at least you are at least recognising that they’re upset and won't do it again.
I then dusted myself off and we walked out and suddenly again I was back in front of 100 people who were watching a comedy show.
How do I get them back with a laugh while addressing what had happened inside the toilets?
I was going to say 'Look he just told me to stop calling him a poofter. Anyway, after I sucked him off he seemed to calm down....'
I didn't though because I wanted to live.

* Dunedoo.
Dunedoo is a town near Dubbo in NSW. The town was once going to put up a big Dunny in the main street to attract tourists, just like Coffs Harbour does with the Big Banana and Ballina does with the Big Prawn etc.
In Dunedoo however the idea was narrowly voted down by the farming gentry in the surrounding area - much to the disappointment of local shopkeepers and stoners.
I arrived to my gig at The Dunedoo Hotel early and wandered out the back. Two greyhounds were chained up. I walked up to them.
I’d done some miles that month and the two dogs sitting there forlornly looked liked they needed as much affection as I did at the time.
I started patting one of them. He loved it. I then went to pat the other one. The first one jumped across and bit me on the wrist. It wasn't a bad bite but it did draw blood. I went inside and asked the owner for some band-aids and showed him what his dog had done to my wrist.
He looked at my injury and said without emotion, 'Is the dog okay?'

The gig's highlight was a guy in the crowd who generously let me mine his personal life for laughs during throughout the show. He'd been married five times. He told me and the crowd that he'd left his second wife and then married her sister.
'What was that wedding like?' I asked.
'The best thing about my third marriage was that I didn't have to meet any new in-laws, that time.' he replied.
I then asked him, 'Did the sisters taste the same?'
Straight away he shot back with, 'There is a difference between vegemite and marmite'.

* Werribee Hotel.
Joey Jnr from the Werribee Hotel told me he'd 'seen and heard it all' working there.
'Give me your best story?' I asked.
He sucked on his cigarette. 'There was one couple who drank here. Anyway she was shagging someone else on the side. When the boyfriend found out she told him to go and stab the guy who she was shagging on the side coz she said she didn't like him. So the boyfriend stabbed him. When the other guy went to hospital, she then left her boyfriend and went to the hospital to say she wanted to be with the guy who she'd ordered the stabbing on. She then put an AVO on her old boyfriend. He kept on trying to get her back until the cops intervened and told him to stay away. Eventually he stopped contacting her. And that's pretty much the sign that a romance has died around here’, continued Joey, 'when an AVO is obeyed both parties know it's over'.

* UFO
One night at The Corrigin Hotel we were all called outside onto the street to check out what was happening on the street. A couple of guys had rigged up some garbage bags with some light wire around the rim of the bags entrance and crossed over in the middle where they'd tied a fire lighter. They then stood it up, lit the lighter and one by one the garbage bags rose into the air like a flotilla of mini hot air balloons.
Fifteen minutes later they were each like a bright planet drifting off into the distance. It was quite a sight, all ten of them.
Apparently they'd once done it from a backyard in Perth which resulted later that night in their flying machines being on the nightly TV news report. Hundreds of people had rung in asking what they were. The 7pm news reported them as ‘Unidentified flying objects’.

* Woody.
Woody was the first publican who gave me a gig in W.A in 2005. He was the publican of The Corrigin Hotel. After the gig he said I could stay in one of the rooms in his pub in between all my other gigs, I'd got after driving around the W.A wheat belt.
I’d got these gigs after spending a week driving through every town in the SWest of W.A hustling them up.
I went on to spend a lot of time at The Corrigin pub thanks to Woody's generous offer. Woody and I became mates, despite being totally different people. e.g Woody was an accomplished drinker. Up there with the best of them. I mainly sat on one wine when drinking with him and his mates. Woody always served it to me in a full schooner glass though, just so I didn't 'look like a poofter'.
Anyway, Woody took over running The Corrigin Hotel with his girlfriend Jodie when he was 24. He said he was the youngest Licensee in W.A at the time. Woody and Jodie worked as a team. She worked mainly behind the bar. Woody worked in front of the bar.
Woody's theory on running a good pub was this: Most guys usually drop in for three or four beers after work and then go home. He figured if he could get into shouting rounds with guys and nudge them in the process into having five or six beers, they'd then stay for 10 or 12. And it worked.
Turnover of his pub soared. After most nights apparently Woody would turn up to bed absolutely pissed at 3am having been in shouts with twenty different guys all night.
He would then placate an upset Jodie by saying, 'Just keeping the business running baby', before patting his stomach, ‘Doing it for us, honey, doing it for us honey...’
In four years since he was License, Woody said he'd put on over 50kgs. One morning I found him hobbling down the hallway. I asked him what was wrong. He said he had gout.
I said, 'But Woody, isn't gout an old man's disease from drinking too much piss?'
'Na, not in my case, it's hereditary', he grinned back, 'My brother got it at 21 and he doesn't even drink. I've been lucky'.
I was still in shock though. Later that day, I ran into one of Woody's mates on the street.
I said to him, 'Woody's 28 years old and got gout'.
His mate looked at me and said, 'Yep, a bloke could only dream of getting it that early'.
In Corrigin, gout wasn't a disease - it was an achievement.

I was the first person to hear a few weeks after my first gig at The Corrigin Hotel that Jodie was pregnant after ten years of trying together. Woody told me proudly that he was going to be a Dad for the first time, one night after the bar had shut while passing me a Canadian Club.
Jodie was told she couldn't have kids by the doctor years ago. Woody went on to tell me that he reckoned she got pregnant when he ‘rooted her’ on the night of my show.
He then added while passing me another Canadian Club, ‘I reckon you're a good luck charm Jimbo’.
He then said if the kid was a boy he wanted to call it Jimbo and if it was a girl he wanted to call it Jimboleena before handing me another Canadian Club.

Lucky for the kid, Jodie over-ruled Woody and called their daughter Jasmine. I was staying with them on the night of Jasmine’s birth. Woody woke me up and said, 'She's about to blow. I'm driving her to Narrogin'.
I knew it was a long drive and out of phone range. I left a message on their answering machine while trying to contact them half an hour later saying, 'I hope you don't hit a kangaroo', which I realised didn't make much sense when I finished the call because they'd probably get my message when they stopped driving.
They did hit a roo that night. They killed the kangaroo, dented the radiator but they got to the hospital okay. Woody heard the message later on his phone and reckoned I'd jinxed the accident.
'So much for my lucky charm!' he said.

Eighteen months later, Woody rang me up while I was in Perth one Sunday morning. He said Jodie was hassling him again to get married the night before over their second bottle of wine.
'Anyway', he said, 'I've made a few calls this morning to organise it in the gardens near the fountain at The Burswood Casino and you're the last call. Wanna be my best man?'
'Sure' I said.
And then I tried to think about my responsibilities for such an honour 'Does that mean I've got to organise a bux party?'
I knew most of Woody's mate's in town and so knew it would be easy to organise.
'Fuck no!' he said. 'The wedding is going to be next week with just you, one of Jodie's friends and family. I want it done on the sly before anyone in town finds out’.
‘Right so no bux party, Why not?’ I asked
‘Jimbo’, he stated clearly, 'there's no way I'm having a bux party because I know what they'll do to me! What I want you to do though is organise four quilts for all the boys at the wedding coz apparently I've got Scottish blood in me somewhere down the line, so it's going to be a Scottish Wedding theme.'
'What size are you all?' I asked.
'Big', he replied.
'But....’ I stammered back.
'Don't worry about it Jimbo, it's only a wedding, just get some big kilts, we'll fit into them. Anyway, Jas is screaming. I'll email you the address of the caravan park we're staying at the night before. We'll meet you there'.
He then hung up. I went to about ten fancy dress places that week. And the best I could find were four mismatched vaguely big quilts with matching puffy white shirts that hadn't been ironed.
I rocked up to the caravan park on the night before the wedding to meet Woody and Jodie, the parents and a brother and sister and Jodie's best friend all sitting around drinking. After a few hours and a few more Canadian Clubs, someone suggested a fit out.
I was nervous. I’m used to dressing like a clown. I wasn’t too sure about the bridal party looking like clowns though. Anyway, the four blokes kitted up. When finished, we looked like we'd been dressed at a jumble sale by kindergarten kids. If fact only three of us were in kilts because Woody's brother said we looked ridiculous and didn't want to take part in the ‘fancy dress party we were having’.
‘I’m wearing my jeans tomorrow’ he insisted, ‘there’s no way I’m wearing that shit’
And he had a point. All the boys were all laughing though and having a great time until we looked across at Jodie.
She was crying. 'This is not how I want the photo on my mantel piece to look like for the rest of my life', she sobbed.
The next morning Woody and I arrived at the local suit hire place at 8:30am half an hour before it opened, 'Just to keep the missus happy' Woody said on the way there.
Another bunch of guys arrived after us.
They saw us at the door.
One guy came up to us pointing at his friend 'Look fellas, can we go first to be fitted coz he's getting married today'.
Woody said, 'What time?'
'Midday', he replied.
'Well get in the queue’, said Woody, I'm getting married at 11'.
Inside, while measuring us up, the fitting lady started gently berating us for leaving such an important thing so late.
'This is the easy bit', said Woody. 'I still haven't found him a wife yet'.

*Bankstown cop.
My ‘I fucked a goat’ t-shirts always get such different reactions. The best reaction for me is when someone buys one. I often wonder where people wear them though when they wake up in the morning after one of my shows and realise what they’ve bought (or what they’ve done if they can’t remember).
No-one really tells me though coz I rarely ever see them again. One guy did. He said how he was once walking down the street in Bankstown Sydney in the middle of the day with my shirt on. A cop pulled over his squad car and went up to him.
'Where did you get the shirt? I want one. I want one'.
Anyway you can order them by sending me an email on jimbo@jimbo.com.au

* Thongs.
It was Australia day. I was in Boulder, W.A and had just finished hosting the wet t-shirt competition. It was a big crowd and a queue of people were lining up to buy my, 'I fucked a goat' t-shirts. Every now and then a guy would buy one and call me a poofter. It's an occasional greeting in Australia and generally just as friendly as the heckle 'I've fucked your Mum'.
When the fourth guy had said it to me in a row though, I checked with him to make sure it wasn't personal.
'Mate, why is everyone calling me a poofter today?' I asked.
He then looked down at my shoes. 'You're wearing Crocs mate. It's Australia Day. Where are your thongs?'
I then laughed while explaining that my sister had sent them over to me as a present before realising this guy wasn't giving me a friendly rib. He was genuinely upset that I was wearing Crocs and not thongs on Australia Day.
He then paid me $20 for my 'I fucked a goat' shirt, grabbed it and walked away with a snarl on his face.

* Langtrees
Langtree's in Kalgoorlie is perhaps Australia's most famous brothel. So famous that a large part of its income now comes from tours it runs through its premises during the day, to middle class tourists. Mostly couples.
There's no live action to be viewed on the tour though, through the variously fitted rooms (such as the one that looks like it's at the bottom of a mine shaft) but plenty of interesting stories.
The best one was about an effeminate boy who grew up in Kalgoorlie in the 1970's. He was continually bullied at school and like a lot of gay country Australian males ran away to Sydney at his first opportunity. He then had a sex change and became a dancer with the famous Les Girls troupe as well as a being a prostitute on the side.
Years later he/she moved back to Kalgoorlie and worked at Langtrees. Anyway, story has it, that one night when he/she was in the line-up one of the guys who used to bully her at school picked her out. While he was fucking her, she looked up at him and thought 'If only you knew!'
She now works as a prominent council member for Kalgoorlie.

* Observations from my South African standup tour.
In 2007, I got invited over to South Africa to do some gigs for a month.
I got the gig from Alain de Woolf who was a South African hypnotist I’d worked with on my Big Night Out show in 2003. We’d kept in contact over the years. He’s always said he’d get me over there in the odd phone conversation we had over the years.
I always thought ‘sure’ but also ‘as if’ and then sure enough, four years later he convinced an agent to fly me out there to do gigs while I stayed at Al’s place with his family.

Here are my observations from the trip which I wrote in my blog at the time:

The first thing I noticed here in South Africa is that they think that all Australian's fuck sheep. This segue-wise has been a gift from the comedy gods for introducing myself to crowds, getting a laugh and selling my t-shirts.
"Australians don't fuck sheep....we fuck goats."

The second thing I've noticed here in South Africa is the perception that Australian people are a very hard-working, well behaved, orderly bunch of people. I.e. we stick to the speed limits, we pick up rubbish and we basically do what the government tells us to do.
This is a safe, good and lucky Australian trait in many ways but I think the carefree, cheeky proud self-perception by Australians that we're a bunch of lay about larrikins who take creative short cuts at work, support the battler, think outside the square and who thumb our nose at authority is something we can no longer boastfully claim these days.
It's a bit like saying that America still gives a green card to the world's 'huddled masses'. Australian's don't fuck sheep but since the property boom in the early 90's are we perhaps starting to act like them?

The third thing, I've noticed in South Africa is that the cultural facade of white South African life is very similar to Australia's cultural facade in many ways (e.g. the weather, television shows, food, beer, BBQ’s, chit chat, the desire to keep up with the Jones's). The similarities stop there though.
And I benefit from it greatly on stage as the comedy scene here is a lot less conservative than in Australia.
That's because in South Africa, comedy also takes people away from the aftermath of apartheid, the extraordinary levels of violent crime still going on, the huge difference between rich and poor, the barbed wire and electric fences around each middle class home in the suburbs, the threat of being car-jacked at every traffic light, the thought that someone could kill break in and rape you, every time you go to sleep.
Therefore a comedian swearing and talking about sex on stage is the last thing a Johannesburg audience will get indignant about.
White South Africans often ask me 'why did you come over here to work when we all want to go over to your country and work!?'
I've been telling South African crowds though that in Australia one in seven people are on anti-depressants which is a far higher level than Sth Africa where there's probably more reason to be filled with anxiety and depressive thoughts.
One coloured guy said to me in response to my desire to find the answer to this peculiar disparity: "Depression! That's a white man's disease! When you live in a two bedroom house with ten others, you got no time to be depressed!"
And a white girl in another audience also gave me an interesting response to this fact.
She said that when people in Johannesburg get back to their houses/security compounds each night after work "we are always filled with such an incredible sense of joy and appreciation that we're still alive. Maybe you don't get that in Australia at the end of the day because things are too comfortable?!"

The fourth thing I noticed here in South Africa is the amount of bribes/tips you have to give to people who do things for you which don't need to be done for you in Australia. Things like tipping someone who fills up your petrol tank or pointing out where a spot is in the car park is. I can see why it's done though. It's a trickle down of wealth from people who have a lot more than those who don't, from a political system that’s doing it's best to correct itself while trying not to become an economic basket case like Zimbabwe.
Accepting tips is also more dignified than begging and eases people into the modern workforce culture where there wouldn't otherwise be an opportunity. In South Africa though, there is a fine line between tipping someone for a simple task and feeling intimidated which took me a while to get used to.
For example, when I went to collect my excess baggage from the cargo section at Johannesburg airport I was accompanied by two big burly blokes who kindly carried my bag to my car (which was out of CCTV range). They then got into my car and asked me for 500 Rand each ($200). It's amazing though, how stand-over men in any country who are trying to assault/intimidate/collect a bribe/get a tip off you, can be instantly reduced to giggling schoolboys just by giving them an 'I fucked a goat' shirt each.

The fifth thing I've noticed here is the amount of white people complaining about the racist policies of the BEE (Black Economic Empowerment) which insists a minimum number of black people be employed in every company in South Africa. It's the same merit vs. political correctness argument that John Laws used when women started getting job opportunities in the second half of his broadcasting career. This similar 'reverse-racism' and 'political correctness gone mad' argument from white South Africans, makes certain whites feel marginalised from all angles. Even when they go overseas, white South Africans still get vilified about their racist past from other whites.
Anyway, on this issue, I want to firstly say that I don't see any whites cleaning black people's houses in South Africa.
And secondly, I also want to make another point, which I hope people re-read carefully again if it upsets them: As a white Australian, the main difference between white South Africans and white colonialists elsewhere in the world is that we (Australia, New Zealand, America and Canada) managed to kill off our indigenous black people to a 'manageable' level while it was still internationally fashionable (i.e. before TV).
And rightly so too because 'these savages' had spears that could really fuck your leg up!
And when we in Australia did get the Aboriginal population (compared to the white population) down to an appropriate level, THATS when we let them vote (1967).
And there-in lies the essential difference between Australia and South African's historical treatment of blacks by white people. In South African history, whites seemed to more intent on segregating blacks and using them for labour in mines, agriculture and their homes.
In Australia we didn't segregate blacks and whites or make Aboriginals our maids, gardeners or lowly paid slaves. Although I'm pretty sure white Australians tried. (Why else would we still today stereotype Aboriginals as lazy? - It's because they didn't play ball!).
So instead of getting the locals to work in Australia, white Australians killed Aborigines (most notably in Tasmania) and pushed the remaining ones, out of mind and out of sight, into towns bordering the inland deserts where they still mostly congregate today (Wilcannia, Morree, Meekathara, Cunumulla, Katherine, Laverton, Ceduna, Halls Creek).
And that's the thing that genuinely impresses white South Africans about white Australians the most. World cup or no world cup, we've still got our country whereas they are losing theirs.


* Boulder
If I hadn't explained by now, my outback pub show basically consists of me setting up my P.A in the corner of the front bar, doing some jokes, inciting heckling and then having an audience talent quest to see who can win one of my ‘I fucked a goat’ t-shirts.
By the end of the two hours, Karaoke stripping is what my show normally turns into. The last time I was at The Rock Inn in Boulder, W.A, the winner of my talent quest was a consortium of four guys and one girl who stripped naked, jammed some toilet paper up their arses, lit it and then ran around the roundabout located outside the pubs front door while the rest of the pub watched from the window. The time before that a couple of girls simulated dildo sex on the bar with my balloon animals.
Sight gags work well in my show, especially when the crowd are all on their tenth drink or more. When they’re like this they generally want to have fun more than just listen to someone who is funny.
The time before the dildo sex incident I compared the wet t-shirt comp on Australia Day.
Anyway by this particular time in Boulder, I was a little bored of seeing the same type of thing win the talent quest: namely a guy come up and burn his pubes.
So I asked the crowd ‘Is there a chick in here who wants to come up and burn her pubes, for a t-shirt? I’ve never seen it done before’.
A slightly plump girl of about 25yrs put her hand up and walked confidently down the side of the bar to where I was in the corner next to an old broken poker machine. ‘Yeah, I’ll give it a go’, she said confidently. ‘I haven’t had a root or a shave in a year, so ‘fuck it!’
Next, she was standing beside me with her pants around her ankles looking nonchalantly out at the crowd. I then pulled two young guys up from the crowd who had lighters and told them it was their job to 'light the forest'.
Just to make sure there were no Occupational Health and Safety issues I got them to clump up a bit of her fur in their hands so it stuck out. I then got one of the boys to take the fire extinguisher off the wall and hold it, just in case the back burning got out of control.
As well as being careful, I was also milking the visual of a girl standing down the end of the bar with her box out while holding here hands on her hips.
After a couple of minutes, the girl was onto me though.
She turned around to me and yelled ‘Are you gunna hurry up and burn me pubes or what!?’
A guy getting his cock out in a pub is nothing special but a girl standing there exposing her bush is quite a site, even for me.
Even the topless bargirl seemed surprised. I’m not to sure whether it was because she felt redundant or shocked.
Anyway the guys torched up the pubes, there was a flame and then she patted it out, pulled up her pants and walked back to her friends with one of my ‘I fucked a goat’ shirts in her hand, which she'd proudly grabbed off me while the rest of the bar cheered. She knew no-one would beat that.
Coming back after a ten minute break, I said to the crowd, ‘If a girl has burnt her pubes on stage in the first half of the show, what the fuck is going to happen in the second half of the show!?’
Just then another girl jumped up and grabbed my mic and started speaking to me and the crowd. She said, ‘Jimbo did you know that crabs is the only sexual disease which is now decreasing?'
I said, ‘No’.
She said, ‘it’s because so many chicks are shaving now which means that the crabs have no place to live’.
I said, ‘so it’s a bit like the Orangutans in Malaysia: their numbers are being decimated due to deforestation of their natural environment’.
She said ‘Exactly’ and then sat down while I mentally noted to myself to put that gag in my next show.
I then went back to the talent quest.
I said, ‘because this is such a special crowd, (and because I’d run out of material) I’m now gunna put up one more t-shirt for anyone who can top the crab burning we saw in the first half of the show’.
Next minute I had a young guy lying down on the ground in front of me with his cock out for all to see. He then started to open a packet of beef jerky he'd got from behind the bar and put the bits of meat around his cock. He then asked me to whistle over the pub dog to see if it would have a feed.
Not many things on stage make me genuinely laugh but this was one of those moments. Not so much what this guy was doing but just the look of the people around the bar on this quiet Thursday night in Boulder.
'Whatever these people’s worries were, they weren’t thinking about them now', I thought.
The funniest thing for me though was watching the dog came over, have a sniff and then fuck off.
I then patted the disappointed guy on the shoulder and said, ‘Mate, when the pub dog won’t even go near your cock - that’s rejection!’
He got to his feet.
No-one beat him or was game to try after him though.
So I said at the end of the show ‘Mate, you’ve won the shirt but I should get another one made up for you to give to the next girl who gives you a blow-job which says, ‘I sucked the cock that the pub dog rejected' and when she asks, ‘what’s this about?’, just pat her on the back and say ‘Long story’.

* Aussie slang.
Guys in Australia often say, 'Harden up, ya soft cock' which has evolved to 'Go drink a can of harden the fuck up ya soft cock'.
What do girls say to each other I wonder?
'Moisten up ya dry cunt?'

* Touché.
A guy came up to me when I was selling my shirts after a show in Darwin with this really intense look.
He then stuck his face right into mine while pointing to my, 'I fucked a goat' t-shirts and said, 'you’ve fucked a goat, ya soft cock, whatever. If you were fair dinkum it'd say, 'I fuck goats'. You've fucked ONE goat!'
He then walked away and I was left feeling like some people maybe feel when they see my shirt.
He’d freaked me out to the point where I had no idea whether he was joking or being serious.
I love when that happens.

* Cunumulla.
A guy was telling in Queensland about 'a couple of friends he knew' in the Outback town of Cunumulla.
Apparently they were bored and kicking and throwing rocks on the outskirts of town one day when they came across a wild goat which they managed to catch.
One said to the other, 'How about we fuck it?’.
His mate looked at him strangely.
He then said again, ‘come on, how about we both just fuck it!?’
He then continued with his frenzied enthusiasm, ‘What else are we going to do out here, it's no big deal, come on lets just do it, no-one will know, lets just root it, what do you reckon?’
The other guy finally shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Why not?’
The first guy then went, ‘yeah!.... Well you go first and I'll follow'.
Then as soon as the other guy stuck his cock into the goat he ran into town pissing himself and told everyone.
‘How Australian is that!’ I thought.
We never dob our mates in...... unless it’s fuckin’ funny.

* Weston
I was playing in the front bar room of The Aberdare Hotel in Weston, just outside Cessnock in NSW. Everyone was standing around. There was no formal seating arrangement for a show so as usual I was trying to galvanise the crowd into a bit of heckling so that the crowd could bond.
I did this by asking a young girl up the back a few questions.
A middle aged lady then piped up from the side, 'Careful Jimbo, she's going out with my son'.
I replied back, 'Let me get this right, 'Your son came out of your cunt and now he's cuming into hers'.
The crowd roared.
Even the guys at the bar who were talking before were listening to the show now. The lady then stood up and yelled out over the noise and hooting of the crowd, 'Na, ya fuckin' wrong. I had a caesarian!'
'Full marks to her', I thought.
Not only did she take the joke without offence but she went one step further then me in her reply.

* Snowy River
At the back of the snowy river there's a cute town called Walwa.
Anyway, when I did a gig at The Walwa pub and I found out some interesting information about the real story on 'The Man from Snowy River' after my show by a guy at the bar.
Apparently The Man from Snowy River was born at that 'inbred town of Tumburumba up the road' and the reason he could hold on to the horse down the mountain was because he had fourteen fingers.
It seems every small town in the world has a town down the road 'where they fuck their sisters'.
You got down the road though and the people are no different.
Except in Tumburumba.

* Vomit.
Being a pub comedian really comes down to one thing with publicans: selling alcohol. Most publicans don't really care how funny I am when they book my show. They just hope at the end of the day to look in their till, pay me my $200 fee or whatever and have more money leftover than they'd normally get on that night of the week. They're businessmen first. Comedy critics second.
I often go into the toilet after my gig. If there's spew in the urinal I know I'm going to get paid.

* Wedding Celebrant.
A few couples have asked me at times whether I'd like to marry them. I told one guy who asked me, 'how about I marry you while I'm holding a goat on stage on a lead, at a gig?'
He said if I could get my celebrants license he would. I looked into it and it cost $300 which I didn't have at the time.
Maybe I'll do it down the track.
Weddings are funny things. They basically seem like an excuse to get you and your friends together and have a party. I can't see myself ever getting married because I’m not into paper work or monogamy.
But one day I might do a surprise wedding invite to all my friends but not tell them who to. I reckon most of my friends would turn up just to find out who it was.
And none of them would be surprised when they saw a goat with garters on.
I would then get my Dad to walk her down the aisle. And my Mum would cry in the front row. Mum and Dad and my two sisters are cool. One of the most common questions I get from people is, 'What do your parents think of what you do for a living?
Neither of them has ever told me to get a 'real job' which, I'm very proud of them for and thankful.
They know I'm healthy, responsible and not hocking their furniture for cash!
What more could a parent ask for?!
Plus they know what I do is essentially an act.
One particular incident confirmed this:
Mum and Dad were once in a show I was doing where I do a gag about how the biggest heckle from going around to pubs in Australia is 'I fucked your Mum!'
I then tell the crowd how, 'last time I saw my Mum, I sat her down and said, 'you slut'. I've gone all round Australia only to find out that you've fucked a guy in every town I've been too!'
Mum then yelled out from the crowd 'Don't tell Dad', while my Dad sat there chuckling.


* My best story.
I always enjoyed playing at Karratha Tavern. They always let me play there and they always let me go for it. The bar was always full of single blokes still in their work gear getting slaughtered on beers then rum.
I don’t enjoy socialising in these environments but I love working in them.
Anyway, on this night as usual behind the bar were an array of topless bargirls or 'Skimpies' as they're called affectionately in W.A.
I did my show which culminated in me giving away an 'I fucked a goat shirt' to a guy who stuck his cock in his bourbon glass. He then told the crowd he was doing a performance piece called 'The Aquarium'.
I remember thinking at the time, ‘I haven’t seen that trick since Wickepin Hotel in 2005’.
Anyway, The Karratha Tavern owned a house down the road where staff and performers could stay. Back at the house afterwards I was having a beer with one of the Skimpy's.
Somehow the conversation turned to sex.
'My first sexual experience was when I got fucked up the arse by a dog when I was eight', she said out of nowhere.
I'd been on the road for a long time and thought I'd heard it all.
'This was certainly new', I thought trying to neutralise the shock I was feeling. I didn't want here to see the shock though because I wanted her to elaborate with details of her story and not clam up embarrassed.
So I took a sip of my drink and then tried to say in the most casual manner possible I could, 'Ohh yeah'.
She then said a little bit shocked herself, 'I've never really told anyone that before'.
I then said, 'So how come you told me?'
She replied, 'Well you've been down the pub for two hours telling everyone how you fuck goats on stage'.
I was silent. She had me there.
'Well have you?' she followed up.
I desperately wanted to be honest to her in order to mirror her honesty to me which I thought would get the rest of the story out of her.
So I said 'no'.
But as soon as I said 'no', I felt really bad that she'd told me such a big childhood secret on the premise that I was a goat fucker, so I added 'But I think that's because I haven't met the right one yet'.
There was a bit of a silence again. I knew I was walking a thin line of diplomacy to get this story out but I knew I had to press on and ask questions quick because I knew I'd never be in this conversation with anyone else again for the rest of my life.
'So you and the dog... how did you meet?' I said taking another sip.
She said she grew up on a farm in the country.
I immediately said trying to be cool, 'yeah, I know what it's like on a farm. Animals are shagging in front of you from a young age. It becomes normal....’
She continued, 'I was playing ball with the neighbour’s dog when the ball went over my head. I turned around to pick it up. Anyway, when I was on all fours, it mounted me.'
By this time my eyes were wide opened.
She continued, 'Anyway I was just curious so I pulled my panties down and the dog's cock just happened to go up the first hole which happened to be my arse'.
The beginning of that last sentence changed the whole slant of the story for me though because to me it implied consent.
I then realised I had to now ask the very big obvious question which beckoned on this once in a lifetime conversation.
'Did the dog cum?' I asked.
She said, 'No it just had a few pumps and then I pushed it off'.
Anyway, the comedian in me then wanted to go, 'so not only are you a dog fucker but you're frigid as well'.
But I didn't because I wanted to fuck her.
Doggie style.

* Review.
I get a lot of people reviewing my show, to my face and behind my back. Most either love my show or hate it. I know this and accept both. It's still nice to get good feedback though.
My Favourite show review, if not my only was by a guy who has become a bit of a cult phenomenon on the Sydney live music and comedy scene. He does reviews of music and comedy on the net under the name of ‘Sidney Critic’.
What I like about him is he's anonymous. No-one seems to know who he is. And neither do I.
Anyway, he was apparently in my crowd at ‘The Rude Show’ I did for the Sydney Comedy Festival at The Factory Theatre in May 2008.

This is what he wrote:
There has been a name change since I last saw this show years ago, it used to be called 'The Big Night Out' and is now the more aptly named 'The Rude Show', which describes the show better.
The thing about this show, if you don't know about Jimbo's previous show, is the level of rudeness, it's way ,way, way, way more rude than you could imagine, even the support acts, were taken aback, except Bev Killick.
Jimbo improvises based on the people in the audience. He singled out a group of three girls and stereotyped them as lesbians, trying to entice one to come on the stage and do a hand stand in the nude and 'fill up her box with JB and coke', while the other two girls sipped on cocktail straws while a cocktail umbrella hung out of her ass. Did I mention the show was rude?
The first act in this ensemble act with Jimbo MCing it was so perplexed, after Jimbo’s usual rude intro, he just had nowhere to go. His rudest joke was like a cute fluffy kitten to Jimbo’s utter filth. Bev was next, she is one rude bird, but that's what her usual routine is anyway. How rude you ask, well she explained how a girls undies gets a cake mix like discharge stuck to the inside with the edges drying out to form a Lamington like look, if you didn't wash them often.
Next was Eddie from the U.K.
He said 'I thought I was rude till I meet Jimbo', he stepped up his act and pulled it off.
Jimbo is up to his usual best, but be prepared to be shocked.

* Long way.
I once was doing a show in Lane Cove at a Bowling Club. Before the show a guy about 18 came up to me and said, 'You were the clown at my third, fourth and fifth birthday party'.
I patted him on the back and said, 'If you're a bit shocked tonight, keep in mind mate that my material has changed'.

* Censorship.
By 2008, I had a decent run of publicans who would book me in Western Australia each time I went back.
W.A is also my favourite Australian State for many other reasons.
It has huge, beautiful natural features from the reef at Coral Bay to the massive Karri pines at Nannup to the beaches of Esperance to the prehistoric gorges of Karijini National Park to the absolute remoteness of the Great Sandy Desert to the beauty of a Kimberley Skye.
And that's before you get to the huge Waterslide in the small wheat belt town of Kulin which was bequeathed by a rich farmer who wanted the kids of the town to have somewhere to play after he died.
As with all my favourite places though, it’s the people that make it.
The characters and the laid back attitude (which seem to have faded gradually from the East Coast a bit since the 1970's) brings me back every time to W.A.
Why? The capital Perth is the most isolated city in the Western world.
And when you go to W.A you go to W.A. You don't go there on the way to somewhere else unless you're flying over it on a plane to Southern Africa.
Gig wise the state was particularly good to me mainly because the mining towns had pubs that were full of guys spending money. After sweating all day to earn their pay, there was no censorship needed in my language or ideas.
Ironically, I have more creative control in pubs in W.A than any theatre manager or comedy venue has ever given me.
Anyway, I once booked a couple of theatres (not pubs) in W.A just to see if I could make the step up from pubs with my show after being on the road performing in pubs for years. The first one was a theatre in South Hedland.
I paid the $500 hiring fee and gave them my posters. On show night, they told me I had two paying customers. It was a theatre that held over 400 people. Backstage on the night, I didn't care.
I don’t see the point in getting upset about the people who don't come to your show in front of the people who do. Plus I love a challenge!
Anyway, I remember pacing back and forth backstage on this night thinking, ‘I'm going to give those two people who paid to come and see my show the best night of their life’.
Ten minutes after the show was due to start, I peaked out from the curtains but I still couldn't see anyone in the theatre. I couldn’t even see the sound guy up the back. I then went round to the one lady in the box office.
She said, 'Look, I'm terribly sorry Jimbo but the two tickets booked were accidently booked in your show by mistake by someone in the office a couple of weeks ago for a couple who wanted to see Ross Noble instead. It was our mistake. We swapped the tickets over last week and I forgot to change them on the computer. Sorry.’
'No worries', I said. 'The show must go on though, after all you've come to work and so has the sound guy and the girl in the shop. How about I do a little show for you three?'
'Okay', she said nervously.
I then got the sound guy to hook up my DVD and I took them through some of the footage from the wildest pubs shows, I'd caught on tape.
The guy burning his pubes... the blow-job incident at Parramatta.. the guy lighting his chest hair which then lit a cigarette in his mouth... the guy who drank a schooner of his mate's piss... and some other stuff.
After half an hour the staff said they had to go.
I then went down to the Last Chance Tavern which is the only pub in South Hedland. I had a beer and told the guy next to me my story about my first theatre show in the town and what a raving success it wasn't.
He then told the publican my story. The publican then said I could do a show at his pub in two weeks if I wanted. He said he'd put my posters up and I could take the $10 door charge.
'No worries!’ I said.
The next day, I drove down to the 400 seat ‘Walkington Theatre’ in Karratha where I had another show booked. I was a lot more optimistic about the turn-out to this show though. Unlike South Hedland, I had performed a few gigs in Karratha before at the Karratha Tavern and they had always gone well. So a few people in town had at least heard of me unlike in South Hedland. I.e. I had a minor following of at least more than two imaginary people, I confidently assumed.
The theatre too had advertised me in some papers and via their theatre mailing list. I did notice though before the show that they had advertised me as 'Australia's most all-round comedian - able to play to any audience'.
This was what my website said at the time but it referred to all my comedy. It didn’t refer to this show I was doing, I thought. I had told the lady when I booked the show that this was going to be my R-rated show not my M or G rated show. There had been a mix-up obviously.
'Not to worry', I thought.
As long as people turn up. And they did turn up. Fifty eight of them paying $25 each which meant I at least broke even on this gig when fees and commissions were taken out. Most of them sat up the front too.
During the show, I gave it to them as best I could. I did my jokes, pulled people up on stage, strapped balloon genetalia to them, got them to fuck and showed my footage.
Highlight for me, was when I showed the footage from my show in the only pub in Cranbrook which is down the bottom of W.A. It's the footage of a guy who lights his chest hairs from his belly button which burn up chest until it lights a cigarette in his mouth.
When I showed it to the crowd, a lady gasped particularly loudly in the crowd.
I asked her 'why?’
She said it was her brother. She then said, she had no idea about his ability to do this trick and was a bit in shock at seeing it suddenly in a theatre show.
I said, 'you mean Graham!? Beauty, I'll get his number after, I've been meaning to send him a copy'.
I did too and he was stoked. He said he wanted to get into stand-up comedy. I told him, he's always got a closer to his show if he does. As long as he's got time to regrow his hair back in between gigs.
Anyway, after the show I was told by a slightly upset manager of the Walkington Theatre in Karratha that she had to refund money to six people who left in disgust in the intermission of my show. She said they were regulars from the theatre's mailing list. She then went on to say that when she was trained in theatre school management in England her tutor drummed it into her that you should never give people a refund to a theatre show if they didn't like it because it was art which is subjective – and subjectivity is why theatre exists in the first place.
I then nodded wondering where she was going with her argument.
She went on to say that she'd always wondered why her teacher said this but tonight she had for the first time agreed with the people wanting their money back because she thought my material was totally inappropriate, especially the blow-job footage.
I was a bit taken aback but accepted it. Walking away later, I kept on thinking to myself that when I walk on stage, surely it is my space surely to do whatever I wanted?
Short of violence and getting people to do stuff without their consent that is.
I then got a bit wound up. I had been a good customer to her. I told her what the show was about before, I paid up front in cash, I didn't trash backstage and I was polite to all the staff. '
What I did onstage from that point was surely my business? ‘I lathered to myself as I walked to The Karratha Tavern.
When I arrived, a couple of blokes came up to me who'd been at the show and who'd also seem me performing at the Karratha Tavern as well before. They said they enjoyed my show and bought me a beer.
We chatted for about an hour as I came down from my post gig rush. And then one of the guys leaned across and spoke to me after his fourth beer, 'To tell you the truth Jimbo, I thought your show was good but it was a bit soft compared to what it usually is when you're down here at the pub'.
It then suddenly dawned on me that if I'd toned my show down for the eight or so theatre goers who’d walked out, I probably would have had about 40 walkouts from the people who'd turned up because they’d either seen or heard about me from before.
I vowed then (again) never to censor my show to what anyone else but my gut instincts said again. Otherwise no-one will end up enjoying my show - especially me. And then I thought I’d really be fucked because I’d be broke AND unhappy! Besides, if I'm going to do a job where I have to say what other people think, at least get one that pays better!
I really went off that night. I had three beers.
The next week I went back the Last Chance Tavern in South Hedland to do my show. Sixty payers at $10 turned up which meant I’d made my money back I'd lost to the South Hedland theatre the week before.
I was happy and the publican asked me to call him next time I was in town.
I then pulled out and drove 600kms to my next gig in Broome while The Highwaymen played, 'The road goes on forever and the party never ends'.


* Fringe Bar.
I was once doing a feature act at The Fringe Bar comedy room run each Monday night in Paddington, Sydney.
During my act, I'd had one heckler who was a drunk guy in a suit. He was sitting with friends on a bar stool up the back. He'd been yelling out stuff during my act. Drunk incoherent aggressive stuff.
I hadn't really said anything to him in return apart from ask him what he did.
He mumbled something about working in Advertising.
At the end of the routine, I asked the crowd if they've got any questions, (which is also my way of giving me a couple of seconds to remember if I've got another joke, I wanted to say).
One person yelled out, 'What would you do if you weren't a stand-up comedian?'
I absorbed the question and gave it some thought, thinking the question deserved a genuine reply.
I said, 'I'd probably still be working as a copywriter in advertising. I'd be really rich, twenty kilos heavier and I'd be sitting down the end of the bar really drunk yelling out stuff to the comedian which he couldn't work with while making asides to the people around me saying 'I could do this shit better than him'.
The crowd then clapped.
‘But instead, I'm doing it’ I added proudly.
The crowd then clapped and whistled.
More at him than me though.
Which I appreciated as I walked back to my mate's couch, smiling to myself while kicking a coke can.

I usually do The Fringe Bar gig when I get back in Sydney. It's one of the few comedy rooms that still booked me. The Fringe Bar is different from all others in Australia for me because it's got more female audience members than male. Stand-up crowds are usually particularly male dominated. On a quiet Monday night in the affluent area of Paddington in the swankily done up Fringe Bar, the ladies flock in.
One time was just after I'd just literally come back from a six month tour of W.A mines sites the day before and hadn't really gone over my set list and made adjustments before I went on stage.
In turn, I had a bit of a tough time this night as I lazily went into auto-pilot of my 'blokey set'. If you don't get a stand-up crowd at the beginning, they can be hard work getting back especially if you don't acknowledge where you'd gone wrong in the first place.
I'd gone wrong by showing them my 'I fucked a goat shirt' in the first five minutes and then followed up the silence by asking whether anyone wanted to buy one off me.
I was a bit short of cash at the time. I was MC and when I sign off my gigs, I usually give them my website jimbo.com.au embedded in a gag. I did this night as that night at the end of the gig too.
The next day I got an email from a girl telling me she'd seen my gig at The Fringe Bar the night before and she had some advice for me: I should stop wasting my money buying those t-shirts and should change my material.
I sent her back a photo of the place I'd last been in Newman, W.A with the 23 guys who'd made purchases after the show, who were all wearing my shirts.
I then said how there is a market for my shirts... but yeah maybe not at The Fringe Bar and I apologised for doing material she didn't like and said I'd adjust it in future. When a crowd laughs well and someone tells me to change my act coz they didn't like it, I get upset. With this particular gig, I agreed with her. I hadn’t done a good one.
We then emailed back and forth to the point where it would have been really easy to become Facebook friends.
And then I thought this relationship really sums up life in the internet age.
In Newman W.A (where a lot of the blokes don't even have an email), if they don't like what I'm saying on stage they'll just yell out, 'Fuck off Jimbo' or 'I fucked your Mum' or 'Get off'.
Whereas at The Fringe Bar, Paddington, Sydney, my heckles were now coming in the form of an email, 24 hours after I'd walked off stage!
Sometimes it's hard to leave what happens on stage, on stage.
You can have such highs and lows in response from crowds from one night of the week to the next.
The tough nights are the ones I learn the most from though, so on intellectual note I find it good to think about why it went wrong despite not wanting to dwell on how it made me feel.
Emotionally I try to internalise each gig until it's at worst a neutral feeling. I.e. when I kill, I save a bit of the euphoria up for when I have tough nights.
This also cuts down on my drug and alcohol bills too... and shop talk to someone who's not interested.
It also means, as a lone traveler, I wake up alive each morning, knowing where my keys, wallet and car are.
It's a total head fuck doing stand-up comedy and that's why I love it.


To be continued....

P.S. Thanks so much to the seven odd people who have indicated that they're got thru this book draft so far!
If there are anymore who have got through it, all feedback (good or bad) is most welcome on my noticeboard or via my inbox.