Dan has now given himself the position of “Pete’s Wingman”. This basically means that he is on a constant search to set me up with a lady friend. He is quickly finding out that this is a thankless and fruitless task (because of my general contempt for the opposite sex and use of terms such as “lady friend”).
Dan’s club strategy is to talk and joke with a female and then pass her off onto me to start loving. This way any awkwardness or rejection is neatly handled by Dan and gives me the opportunity to chastise him for behaving in such a way (to make it look as though I am too cool to be trying desperately to talk to women). There have been many failures with this approach that are largely down to me. However, on engaging a young lady standing close to us wearing an obviously fake fur coat, the failure was all hers.
Dan’s opening joke backfired as follows:
Dan: “I like your coat. What animal is it made from?”
Lady: “It’s fake”.
Dan: “What kind of animal is a Fake?”
Lady: “No, it’s not real”.
Dan: “ Oh right it’s from a zoo then.”
Lady: “No it’s fake”
Dan: “Yeah you said. What kind of a mammal is a Fake?”
At which point she turned around and said to her friend “I think that guy just had a go at me for wearing fur”. I then became extremely protective of my semen. If any were to escape and inseminate her then I would receive an idiot baby.
Pete
Monday, 29 December 2008
Friday, 19 December 2008
How to insult someone safely (the non sequitur insult).
When I was 19 I discovered a great way to insult people who have power over you. At the time I worked for the KC Stadium in Hull in the presidential suit (I will let you in on a secret. No president ever visited that suit, only football managers and egotistical sponsors). Every drink I served was on the house and went to major sponsors and mangers/chairpersons of the respective clubs. I think one of the reasons I was given the job of working in that bar was that I was completely ignorant of who these people were (due to my general dislike of most sports) which meant that I never asked for autographs or acted like a cock.
Anyway, of all the people I came into contact with there was one type which was the worst, the sponsors. The reason for this was that they felt the need to exercise as much of their power as possible to highlight their own importance. They would always try to mock bar staff in order to make themselves look like they were in charge and were they big man. Due to the fact that I wore glasses and looked about 12 years of age a common directive I got was “Hey Harry Potter can I have a [shit drink]”. It wasn’t long before I got really fucked off with people abusing me in such an ignorant manner. What was I to do? If I was to say “Hey fuck you cunt!” I would be fired.
My solution was this. Whatever they would mock me with (or order me to do in a cock like fashion) I would come back with something that did not correlate with what they said at all. For example, after serving a couple of drinks I may have been met with something like “I bet you have never kissed a girl”. My response would be as follows “No, not on a Tuesday”. The other two bar staff would laugh to support the non sequitur and the dickhead would be left feeling like he misunderstood an awesome joke, rightly putting him in his idiot place. He could complain to whomever he liked. Repeating what was said wouldn’t place me in the wrong. It would only make him look drunk or like he had misheard.
You don’t need the support of others around you to enforce the non sequitur insult. The fact that you think you have won and laugh at them is enough to totally fuck them off. You can’t beat someone who thinks they have won. Insults require a mutual understanding of the dialogue for there to be a just winner. If you disrupt that and assume you are the winner then you win.
I will note that you need some correlation to the insult to win. If someone says “Mate you look like a dickhead” and you respond with “Yeah but cucumbers are green” you will look like a total douche. A good response in this situation is “Yeah but at least my forehead isn’t 15 inches in circumference [you then laugh at your joke]”.
Here are a list of examples:
Insult
“Why don’t you fuck off”
Response
“I would but I don’t really want to go Costa Rica [laugh at own joke]”.
Insult
“Pete you are a complete turd”
Response
“That’s exactly what your Dad said 4 months ago [laugh at own joke]”.
Insult
“Peter, if you don’t start arriving at work on time we may need to revisit your terms of employment”
Response
“That’s what I said to my gynaecologist [laugh at own joke]”.
Pete
Anyway, of all the people I came into contact with there was one type which was the worst, the sponsors. The reason for this was that they felt the need to exercise as much of their power as possible to highlight their own importance. They would always try to mock bar staff in order to make themselves look like they were in charge and were they big man. Due to the fact that I wore glasses and looked about 12 years of age a common directive I got was “Hey Harry Potter can I have a [shit drink]”. It wasn’t long before I got really fucked off with people abusing me in such an ignorant manner. What was I to do? If I was to say “Hey fuck you cunt!” I would be fired.
My solution was this. Whatever they would mock me with (or order me to do in a cock like fashion) I would come back with something that did not correlate with what they said at all. For example, after serving a couple of drinks I may have been met with something like “I bet you have never kissed a girl”. My response would be as follows “No, not on a Tuesday”. The other two bar staff would laugh to support the non sequitur and the dickhead would be left feeling like he misunderstood an awesome joke, rightly putting him in his idiot place. He could complain to whomever he liked. Repeating what was said wouldn’t place me in the wrong. It would only make him look drunk or like he had misheard.
You don’t need the support of others around you to enforce the non sequitur insult. The fact that you think you have won and laugh at them is enough to totally fuck them off. You can’t beat someone who thinks they have won. Insults require a mutual understanding of the dialogue for there to be a just winner. If you disrupt that and assume you are the winner then you win.
I will note that you need some correlation to the insult to win. If someone says “Mate you look like a dickhead” and you respond with “Yeah but cucumbers are green” you will look like a total douche. A good response in this situation is “Yeah but at least my forehead isn’t 15 inches in circumference [you then laugh at your joke]”.
Here are a list of examples:
Insult
“Why don’t you fuck off”
Response
“I would but I don’t really want to go Costa Rica [laugh at own joke]”.
Insult
“Pete you are a complete turd”
Response
“That’s exactly what your Dad said 4 months ago [laugh at own joke]”.
Insult
“Peter, if you don’t start arriving at work on time we may need to revisit your terms of employment”
Response
“That’s what I said to my gynaecologist [laugh at own joke]”.
Pete
Monday, 3 November 2008
To Hull and Back
Here’s another review of our double bill show with the Scarlet Lights in Hull.
Hull’s Edinburgh Heroes: Double Bill
This show contrasted the routinely overstated Scarlet Lights against the routinely understated Ladma; though somehow this worked as evidenced with the show’s finale when all performers shared the stage with a rousing Chicagoesque number.
First up were Ladma, whose calmly confident delivery and squabbling had the majority of the audience in creases. The new Ladma logo and fourth member of the group material sailed very close to the wind though went down well. Ladma routinely addressed pretty much all of the taboos with a set that appealed mostly to the teenagers in the audience, and much less so to those easily offended; the content too strong for one audience member to stomach as they left halfway through.
Despite an array of deranged characters, the live comedy outshone the videos and it is in parodying themselves that could give Ladma future.
Scarlet Light’s Edinburgh show was a no-holds barred story of modern relationships, female insecurity and male indifference. The polished performance was applauded by the many Scarlet Lights fans in the audience and at times shocking for the newcomers to this group.
It seems clear that first and foremost Scarlet Lights are group of actresses, rather than comedians and although their principle characters do play to Hull-lass stereotypes, the energy and timing leads the audience to laugh when they are meant to.
The show’s finale steals the show as we see a new bride self destruct through the medium of a track borrowed from Grease 2 - the perfect closer to compliment the opening orgasmic scene.
In summary, this double bill wasn’t for the fainted hearted, wasn’t ground breaking, but it was pretty darn funny.
Reviewed by Hull Comedy
I’d like to say Hull was the first time someone walked out of our show, but sadly it’s not. A few people did walk out of the show in Edinburgh only to return a couple of minutes later having been to the toilet. Everyone else had the foresight to go to the toilet before the show. Anyway, I later learned that the woman who walked out of the show in Hull was actually a clairvoyant. It makes you wonder why she spent £6 on a ticket when she knew the show was going to be shit? Or maybe she just needed to go to the toilet? Either way she should've seen it coming.
Dan
Hull’s Edinburgh Heroes: Double Bill
This show contrasted the routinely overstated Scarlet Lights against the routinely understated Ladma; though somehow this worked as evidenced with the show’s finale when all performers shared the stage with a rousing Chicagoesque number.
First up were Ladma, whose calmly confident delivery and squabbling had the majority of the audience in creases. The new Ladma logo and fourth member of the group material sailed very close to the wind though went down well. Ladma routinely addressed pretty much all of the taboos with a set that appealed mostly to the teenagers in the audience, and much less so to those easily offended; the content too strong for one audience member to stomach as they left halfway through.
Despite an array of deranged characters, the live comedy outshone the videos and it is in parodying themselves that could give Ladma future.
Scarlet Light’s Edinburgh show was a no-holds barred story of modern relationships, female insecurity and male indifference. The polished performance was applauded by the many Scarlet Lights fans in the audience and at times shocking for the newcomers to this group.
It seems clear that first and foremost Scarlet Lights are group of actresses, rather than comedians and although their principle characters do play to Hull-lass stereotypes, the energy and timing leads the audience to laugh when they are meant to.
The show’s finale steals the show as we see a new bride self destruct through the medium of a track borrowed from Grease 2 - the perfect closer to compliment the opening orgasmic scene.
In summary, this double bill wasn’t for the fainted hearted, wasn’t ground breaking, but it was pretty darn funny.
Reviewed by Hull Comedy
I’d like to say Hull was the first time someone walked out of our show, but sadly it’s not. A few people did walk out of the show in Edinburgh only to return a couple of minutes later having been to the toilet. Everyone else had the foresight to go to the toilet before the show. Anyway, I later learned that the woman who walked out of the show in Hull was actually a clairvoyant. It makes you wonder why she spent £6 on a ticket when she knew the show was going to be shit? Or maybe she just needed to go to the toilet? Either way she should've seen it coming.
Dan
Saturday, 1 November 2008
Having a Hull of a Time
We’ve just returned from our second Hull Comedy Festival and, like last year, we thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks very much to everyone who came to the show and thanks very much to the wonderful Scarlet Lights who we performed with. They did all the leg work up in Hull and without them there wouldn’t have been a show. Big shout out also to festival director John Gilbert who helped organise our show and got us the venue for free.
It was nice to perform Ladma vs The World for the last time. It’s been great fun doing the show in Brighton, Manchester, Edinburgh and Hull but now we’re looking forward to writing new material and developing new projects. I think we’ve performed the show something like 30 times (not to mention the countless rehearsals!) so the material was becoming a bit stale and it was hard to keep the performance fresh. Anyway, we’ll leave the final words on the show to a review from Chortle, the King Dong of comedy websites. We were initially a bit disappointed with the review (particularly the criticism of some of the films) but, considering Steve Bennett sees loads of professional comics, it’s not bad for our first year of performing live. We can also use the quote “inappropriately hilarious”. I think at least half of that is true.
Dan
Show: Hull’s Edinburgh Heroes
Part of the second Hull Comedy Festival, this double bill gave friends and family the chance to see what local performers got up to during the Edinburgh Fringe – and offers the sketch teams themselves at least some exposure outside the festival hothouse.
Ladma are a confident all-male trio, introducing short films they’ve made for the internet with some traditional stage banter; while Scarlet Lights are a loud five-women troupe for whom the adjective ‘brassy’ could almost have been coined.
The gents went first, in matching black shirts and colour-coded ties: Chris, the obligatory team leader imposing his scant authority on his underlings; Dan, the dumb-but-jolly one; and Pete, the cheeky, eager, woefully naïve foil. If you’ve seen Pappy’s Fun Club, there are shades of the same characters here.
Like many such groups, their interaction is inescapably artificial, but it can lead to some good gags, especially when they flirt, faux-innocently, with hideous bad taste. Their opening skit, introducing some hilariously inappropriate new branding, is especially fine. They can’t maintain the quality, but as live performers, they’re likeable lads with some promise.
They are accomplished film-makers, too, and the bulk of their show comprises screenings of their professional-looking output. However, the content is shakier – taking easy, familiar subjects and doing little with them.
A spoof educational film introducing Southerners to their mysterious Northern cousins is clichéd and slow, only really garnering a laugh with a subtly-executed gag about needing translators. It feels like something Harry Enfield would have done a decade ago, only much better.
The mockumentary about internet porn, on the on the other hand, feels like a reject from People Like Us, complete with droll Chris Langham-style commentary. But the subject is too obvious with the supposed jokes coming simply from mentioning X-rated material.
Their Pet Hates short is much better; parodying the genre of ‘taking heads’ list programmes, it allows for a brisk list of observational one-liners which is hit-and-miss, but pacy and with a fair smattering of unexpected laughs.
All the films are well-shot and expertly edited; the Ladmas just need to bring their writing skills up to match their directorial ones.
Scarlet Lights storm on to the stage in an explosion of noise and energy, and don’t let up for an hour, from the opening fake orgasm scene that makes When Harry Met Sally look demure to the gruesome prison musical number at the end.
But a bit of light and shade wouldn’t go amiss: the relentless high volume, aggressive delivery and extravagant overacting does become wearing. To a woman, they all bring a forceful physicality to the stage, which can be impressive, but often it’s papering over some very ordinary writing.
Unlike some all-girl groups, who aim to be deliberately asexual, Scarlet Lights ensure that all their sketches are about being female. The result can be mixed – banging on, even tongue-in-cheek, about their vaginas is as cheap as blokes obsessed with their knobs, but they are also very good at capturing the insecurities and bitchiness some women fall victim to..
Their better sketches step back a bit from the brashness, and nudge towards the realisitic: the drunk girl slagging off her ‘friends’ around the table or the singleton fretting after receiving an unexpected text from an ex. This partisan audience do go for the bigger performances, but the team might be best to remember the adage that sometimes less is more.
Reviewed by Steve Bennett, Chortle
It was nice to perform Ladma vs The World for the last time. It’s been great fun doing the show in Brighton, Manchester, Edinburgh and Hull but now we’re looking forward to writing new material and developing new projects. I think we’ve performed the show something like 30 times (not to mention the countless rehearsals!) so the material was becoming a bit stale and it was hard to keep the performance fresh. Anyway, we’ll leave the final words on the show to a review from Chortle, the King Dong of comedy websites. We were initially a bit disappointed with the review (particularly the criticism of some of the films) but, considering Steve Bennett sees loads of professional comics, it’s not bad for our first year of performing live. We can also use the quote “inappropriately hilarious”. I think at least half of that is true.
Dan
Show: Hull’s Edinburgh Heroes
Part of the second Hull Comedy Festival, this double bill gave friends and family the chance to see what local performers got up to during the Edinburgh Fringe – and offers the sketch teams themselves at least some exposure outside the festival hothouse.
Ladma are a confident all-male trio, introducing short films they’ve made for the internet with some traditional stage banter; while Scarlet Lights are a loud five-women troupe for whom the adjective ‘brassy’ could almost have been coined.
The gents went first, in matching black shirts and colour-coded ties: Chris, the obligatory team leader imposing his scant authority on his underlings; Dan, the dumb-but-jolly one; and Pete, the cheeky, eager, woefully naïve foil. If you’ve seen Pappy’s Fun Club, there are shades of the same characters here.
Like many such groups, their interaction is inescapably artificial, but it can lead to some good gags, especially when they flirt, faux-innocently, with hideous bad taste. Their opening skit, introducing some hilariously inappropriate new branding, is especially fine. They can’t maintain the quality, but as live performers, they’re likeable lads with some promise.
They are accomplished film-makers, too, and the bulk of their show comprises screenings of their professional-looking output. However, the content is shakier – taking easy, familiar subjects and doing little with them.
A spoof educational film introducing Southerners to their mysterious Northern cousins is clichéd and slow, only really garnering a laugh with a subtly-executed gag about needing translators. It feels like something Harry Enfield would have done a decade ago, only much better.
The mockumentary about internet porn, on the on the other hand, feels like a reject from People Like Us, complete with droll Chris Langham-style commentary. But the subject is too obvious with the supposed jokes coming simply from mentioning X-rated material.
Their Pet Hates short is much better; parodying the genre of ‘taking heads’ list programmes, it allows for a brisk list of observational one-liners which is hit-and-miss, but pacy and with a fair smattering of unexpected laughs.
All the films are well-shot and expertly edited; the Ladmas just need to bring their writing skills up to match their directorial ones.
Scarlet Lights storm on to the stage in an explosion of noise and energy, and don’t let up for an hour, from the opening fake orgasm scene that makes When Harry Met Sally look demure to the gruesome prison musical number at the end.
But a bit of light and shade wouldn’t go amiss: the relentless high volume, aggressive delivery and extravagant overacting does become wearing. To a woman, they all bring a forceful physicality to the stage, which can be impressive, but often it’s papering over some very ordinary writing.
Unlike some all-girl groups, who aim to be deliberately asexual, Scarlet Lights ensure that all their sketches are about being female. The result can be mixed – banging on, even tongue-in-cheek, about their vaginas is as cheap as blokes obsessed with their knobs, but they are also very good at capturing the insecurities and bitchiness some women fall victim to..
Their better sketches step back a bit from the brashness, and nudge towards the realisitic: the drunk girl slagging off her ‘friends’ around the table or the singleton fretting after receiving an unexpected text from an ex. This partisan audience do go for the bigger performances, but the team might be best to remember the adage that sometimes less is more.
Reviewed by Steve Bennett, Chortle
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
The Ladma Business Plan
HSBC rang me the other day to enquire if the Ladma business account required more credit. As the unofficial Ladma accountant I am proud to say that we have always been in the black so I refused the offer. Anyway the HSBC representative asked if expanding was in the Ladma business plan. I suddenly realised that we have never officially drawn up a buisiness plan. Making comedy was always a secondary objective when compared to making a lot of money so it's strange that we left this vital step out.
I have never drawn up a business plan before but have tried my best to put on to paper what we all have discussed is the future for Ladma and us as indivuduals working within the business.
Pete
I have never drawn up a business plan before but have tried my best to put on to paper what we all have discussed is the future for Ladma and us as indivuduals working within the business.
Pete
Sunday, 12 October 2008
The Toilet Inspector
My mother’s sister (hereby known as auntie or aunt) had a very important job throughout my youth. She did something that as a child I knew was very important. She was a toilet inspector.
Whenever we were on a family outing, periodically she would see a public toilet block and proclaim that this toilet in particular was a rare one that needed to be inspected immediately. I never actually questioned what exactly she was inspecting or how. As far as I was concerned the camera she took in with her completely validated her status as a toilet inspector. Why else would you take a camera into a toilet with you?
From the ages between 7 and 12 I fully believed that my aunt was a toilet inspector. It is only recently as an adult that I actually worked out the reason for the deception. My aunt had devised a very good solution to a common problem. On family trips it is perfectly acceptable for children to demand that they need to go to the toilet irrespective of when a toilet was last encountered. They need not justify themselves. An adult on the other hand has trouble even admitting in front of children that they need a piss.
My aunt had two choices. She could either stop the car that she was driving and state to all the children present that she needed a “dump” or she could state that she had just spotted a rare toilet that needed inspecting. She chose the most respectful option. An option that most people don’t know they have.
Pete
Whenever we were on a family outing, periodically she would see a public toilet block and proclaim that this toilet in particular was a rare one that needed to be inspected immediately. I never actually questioned what exactly she was inspecting or how. As far as I was concerned the camera she took in with her completely validated her status as a toilet inspector. Why else would you take a camera into a toilet with you?
From the ages between 7 and 12 I fully believed that my aunt was a toilet inspector. It is only recently as an adult that I actually worked out the reason for the deception. My aunt had devised a very good solution to a common problem. On family trips it is perfectly acceptable for children to demand that they need to go to the toilet irrespective of when a toilet was last encountered. They need not justify themselves. An adult on the other hand has trouble even admitting in front of children that they need a piss.
My aunt had two choices. She could either stop the car that she was driving and state to all the children present that she needed a “dump” or she could state that she had just spotted a rare toilet that needed inspecting. She chose the most respectful option. An option that most people don’t know they have.
Pete
Saturday, 4 October 2008
Popularity
We keep an eye on our YouTube account to make sure we don't accidentally miss the fact that we are online superstars. One thing we take note of in this endeavour is the popularity of our videos. We have noticed that our most popular videos have one thing in common. It's not the satirical style nor the production value, it's the fact that we have "rape" in the title and tags.
Our film Safe Blokes is a comedic educational guide based on premise that all men appear or are rapists. We have taken clips out of this and put them on YouTube to keep under the 10 minute limit. These are by far our most popular videos but are the least commented or favourited. This leads us to the conclusion that they are many people out there who believe that searching for "rape video" on YouTube will net them something other than a comedy short featuring three white men (and no actual rape). I don't know why someone looking to source a video of an act of rape would choose YouTube over other less regulated areas of the internet but there you go.
With this in mind we have decided to give out Safe Blokes out to schools, not as a comedy but as an actual guide in avoiding thinking about rape.
God bless you all out there.
Love
Peter
Our film Safe Blokes is a comedic educational guide based on premise that all men appear or are rapists. We have taken clips out of this and put them on YouTube to keep under the 10 minute limit. These are by far our most popular videos but are the least commented or favourited. This leads us to the conclusion that they are many people out there who believe that searching for "rape video" on YouTube will net them something other than a comedy short featuring three white men (and no actual rape). I don't know why someone looking to source a video of an act of rape would choose YouTube over other less regulated areas of the internet but there you go.
With this in mind we have decided to give out Safe Blokes out to schools, not as a comedy but as an actual guide in avoiding thinking about rape.
God bless you all out there.
Love
Peter
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Why don’t you go take a running jump?
It is approaching two years since we made our first video “Sebastien Foucault: The Life of a Freerunner”, the success of which spurred us on to create all our other videos. If you haven’t seen it, it is a short and bafflingly ill-constructed mockumentary on the sport of ‘free-running’ and its creator Sebastien Foucan (changed to “Foucault” to emphasise the faux-philosophical tendencies behind the “sport” which is essentially just running and jumping around everywhere).
Despite being quite technically inept and completely nonsensical, “Seb Fou” (as we have taken to calling it) will always have a special place in our hearts. For better or worse, it has been hawked around the place more than any of our other films and has had the most plays on the internet. We would prefer something like “Look North!” to get the same amount of exposure, but there you go. We have had lots of nice feedback from people on the film, which has been great, but there is one audience who are quite polarised in their opinions of it: Freerunners.
Some freerunners absolutely love it. These articulate, reasonable, handsome people often leave us very nice messages and don’t mind us poking fun. However, mainly the free running community has responded by saying: ‘your all jelous twats’ and ‘watta twat get out and get a life you freaks’. They have even had the temerity to accuse people who like us of being ‘fat people who sit around doing nothing but jacking off to photo's of horses.’ Our negative feedback from freerunners hasn’t been exactly constructive. In fact, it has really only told us two things. These are:
· Freerunners are easily confused, and very easily angered.
· They are fiercely proud and defensive of their “sport”, but have trouble communicating this on account of their borderline literacy skills and inability to proofread.
If any freerunners are reading this, I implore you – please, please do not think we had originally intended to attack what you do in any way. That being said, judging from your messages, most of you do thoroughly deserve an attack of some kind. You could also do with a proofreader, a GCSE in English and less free time.
From ‘stop being a little bitch’ to ‘I hope you die...’ to ‘gay gay gay’, most of the advice was just expressing heartfelt anger at the film. Some however, were of a violent or threatening nature. ‘Gays’ or ‘bitches’ we might be, but we certainly don’t deserve to be physically beaten. What if one were to find me and go through with his wish to: “fuck u up like littal pussies yu r”? Never mind that he used two different spellings of the word ‘you’ in the same sentence, he’s angry. Even verbal abuse would be enough. I keep thinking any minute now a freerunner is going to leap from a tree branch into an upstairs window, vault over a couple chairs, roll into the hallway, slide down the banister and run out the front door shouting: “you disgrace this sport this is the best sport ever how do you dare to call that freerunning you asshole...DON’T FUCK WHT THIS SPORT!!!” As he ran down the street (probably shouting that last part) I would probably be shaking my head and thinking something like: what have I done?
My favourite ‘violent’ threat is one that stops just short of describing what he will actually do by using an ellipsis:
u r asholes sebastien is my favourite freeruner u r gelous beatches do not take the piss out of him again because i will......dont fuck with us
Sorry, you’ll what? Well obviously I’ll....erm....I’ll...look, just don’t fuck with us, okay?
So much more articulate (and fond of emoticons) are the ones that like us. These cheerful and erudite runners expressed their admiration the proper way, with a colon and a ‘D’:
lol im a freerunner but i still find this realy funny :D
he said: "Dimitri, never give your cat chocolate, it make him very sick".
omg hilarious ;D
Funniest shit on youtube! :D
There was also one comment which was quite neutral but did give some constructive feedback:
its some kinda funny but sebastien isn’t white
Thanks for that. We’ll make a note of it for next time.
Chris
Despite being quite technically inept and completely nonsensical, “Seb Fou” (as we have taken to calling it) will always have a special place in our hearts. For better or worse, it has been hawked around the place more than any of our other films and has had the most plays on the internet. We would prefer something like “Look North!” to get the same amount of exposure, but there you go. We have had lots of nice feedback from people on the film, which has been great, but there is one audience who are quite polarised in their opinions of it: Freerunners.
Some freerunners absolutely love it. These articulate, reasonable, handsome people often leave us very nice messages and don’t mind us poking fun. However, mainly the free running community has responded by saying: ‘your all jelous twats’ and ‘watta twat get out and get a life you freaks’. They have even had the temerity to accuse people who like us of being ‘fat people who sit around doing nothing but jacking off to photo's of horses.’ Our negative feedback from freerunners hasn’t been exactly constructive. In fact, it has really only told us two things. These are:
· Freerunners are easily confused, and very easily angered.
· They are fiercely proud and defensive of their “sport”, but have trouble communicating this on account of their borderline literacy skills and inability to proofread.
If any freerunners are reading this, I implore you – please, please do not think we had originally intended to attack what you do in any way. That being said, judging from your messages, most of you do thoroughly deserve an attack of some kind. You could also do with a proofreader, a GCSE in English and less free time.
From ‘stop being a little bitch’ to ‘I hope you die...’ to ‘gay gay gay’, most of the advice was just expressing heartfelt anger at the film. Some however, were of a violent or threatening nature. ‘Gays’ or ‘bitches’ we might be, but we certainly don’t deserve to be physically beaten. What if one were to find me and go through with his wish to: “fuck u up like littal pussies yu r”? Never mind that he used two different spellings of the word ‘you’ in the same sentence, he’s angry. Even verbal abuse would be enough. I keep thinking any minute now a freerunner is going to leap from a tree branch into an upstairs window, vault over a couple chairs, roll into the hallway, slide down the banister and run out the front door shouting: “you disgrace this sport this is the best sport ever how do you dare to call that freerunning you asshole...DON’T FUCK WHT THIS SPORT!!!” As he ran down the street (probably shouting that last part) I would probably be shaking my head and thinking something like: what have I done?
My favourite ‘violent’ threat is one that stops just short of describing what he will actually do by using an ellipsis:
u r asholes sebastien is my favourite freeruner u r gelous beatches do not take the piss out of him again because i will......dont fuck with us
Sorry, you’ll what? Well obviously I’ll....erm....I’ll...look, just don’t fuck with us, okay?
So much more articulate (and fond of emoticons) are the ones that like us. These cheerful and erudite runners expressed their admiration the proper way, with a colon and a ‘D’:
lol im a freerunner but i still find this realy funny :D
he said: "Dimitri, never give your cat chocolate, it make him very sick".
omg hilarious ;D
Funniest shit on youtube! :D
There was also one comment which was quite neutral but did give some constructive feedback:
its some kinda funny but sebastien isn’t white
Thanks for that. We’ll make a note of it for next time.
Chris
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
So, how was Edinburgh? I want to know ALL the details...
Of course you don’t - you want a brief summary before you lose interest and navigate away. It’s alright, I’m not offended. Well we’re back from Edinburgh and, as some people may have noticed, we failed in our efforts to bring you a blog entry every day. After we realised we had an awesome show, the success went to our heads. We were suddenly far too busy rocking out and doin’ hot babes to care about writing the blog anymore*. We didn’t keep that promise. And so our blog, like some online, text-based Maddy, was unthinkingly neglected whilst we enjoyed our holiday.
Luckily for us though, it is still here and it’s simply desperate to have more entries put in it. I would like, in this one, to mention our review from Three Weeks and reprint it. We were very happy indeed to get a lovely 4 stars from them. In fact, we were so happy that we just wanted to shout it from the mountaintops! We then realised, though, that this would be an inefficient and impractical way of informing people and that a blog posting containing the review would be more appropriate. Here it is:
Ladma Vs. The World
Ladma
Get rid of that archaic 'it's free so don't expect much' attitude; this is gold, and it's lying about in a stuffy little room above a pub on the Grassmarket. This show features films (not your standard grainy shot-from-a-mobile YouTube variety, but skilfully produced television-worthy ones) and sketches with a bit of banter. I'm not one for hysterics, but the film about pet hates had me in fits, and my only criticism is that people were laughing so hard they blotted out some of the jokes. A Southerner's take on 'the North' produced some priceless mockumentary genius, while the live element of the show, featuring a scarily believable life coach sketch amongst others, is well executed. Highly recommended free comedy.
Beehive Inn, 2 - 23 Aug, 18.30pm (19.30pm), free non-ticketed, fpp 69
tw rating: 4/5
Chris
*Actually we were eating soup, playing Grand Theft Auto 2 and watching Terminator 2 but it’s basically the same.
Luckily for us though, it is still here and it’s simply desperate to have more entries put in it. I would like, in this one, to mention our review from Three Weeks and reprint it. We were very happy indeed to get a lovely 4 stars from them. In fact, we were so happy that we just wanted to shout it from the mountaintops! We then realised, though, that this would be an inefficient and impractical way of informing people and that a blog posting containing the review would be more appropriate. Here it is:
Ladma Vs. The World
Ladma
Get rid of that archaic 'it's free so don't expect much' attitude; this is gold, and it's lying about in a stuffy little room above a pub on the Grassmarket. This show features films (not your standard grainy shot-from-a-mobile YouTube variety, but skilfully produced television-worthy ones) and sketches with a bit of banter. I'm not one for hysterics, but the film about pet hates had me in fits, and my only criticism is that people were laughing so hard they blotted out some of the jokes. A Southerner's take on 'the North' produced some priceless mockumentary genius, while the live element of the show, featuring a scarily believable life coach sketch amongst others, is well executed. Highly recommended free comedy.
Beehive Inn, 2 - 23 Aug, 18.30pm (19.30pm), free non-ticketed, fpp 69
tw rating: 4/5
Chris
*Actually we were eating soup, playing Grand Theft Auto 2 and watching Terminator 2 but it’s basically the same.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Minute man
I recently phoned up Virgin as our Internet was down and we wanted to play World of Warcraft. I hate talking to tech support as they treat you like an idiot. I understand their problem, most of the people they will be advising won’t have a clue what they are doing. My ‘advisor’ was particularly disdainful.
After I had explained the Internet was down but he still spent 10 minutes making me unplug the router and modem and conect it all back up again. He forced me on both occasions to wait a full minute when it was unplugged. What are you supposed to do when you are waiting on the phone for a full minute with a stranger? The first ten seconds was the worst. I quickly generated some stock small talk to fill the void.
“It’s been really bad weather this summer hasn’t...” No he is in India he won’t know what the weather has been like here.
“So what’s it like being from Ind...” Actually he might be in another Asian county. I don’t want to be racist.
“I actually work in IT so I know it is your line which is at fault not my internal netwo...” No, I will sound like a cock, even though I am totally right.
“So what’s it like being brow...” That’s just racist. Why did I even think that?
In the end I just kept silent until he told me to turn it on again. When all that failed he finally looked at the local exchange and told me their network was down.
Pete
After I had explained the Internet was down but he still spent 10 minutes making me unplug the router and modem and conect it all back up again. He forced me on both occasions to wait a full minute when it was unplugged. What are you supposed to do when you are waiting on the phone for a full minute with a stranger? The first ten seconds was the worst. I quickly generated some stock small talk to fill the void.
“It’s been really bad weather this summer hasn’t...” No he is in India he won’t know what the weather has been like here.
“So what’s it like being from Ind...” Actually he might be in another Asian county. I don’t want to be racist.
“I actually work in IT so I know it is your line which is at fault not my internal netwo...” No, I will sound like a cock, even though I am totally right.
“So what’s it like being brow...” That’s just racist. Why did I even think that?
In the end I just kept silent until he told me to turn it on again. When all that failed he finally looked at the local exchange and told me their network was down.
Pete
Pete's got M.E.
It’s out. Everyone now knows I've got ME. People started picking up on it a few weeks ago. I would get to work and have no energy all day. I was constantly tired and lethargic. I couldn't concentrate on my job or Ladma for more than about half an hour which has lead both to suffer.
I got ME about 2 months ago. I must say it is life changing. It first came out on the Xbox 360 in November and I heard it was good but when it came out on the PC I thought I would give it ago. I usually hate console ports and this looked bad as it is a third person shooter. It is the best game I have ever played. It is well written and has the perfect blend of action and storytelling. I play it until around 4am every night before work. Not even the World of Warcraft gets that attention. Having ME has never been better.
Pete
PS We were supposed to update the blog everyday we were in Edinburgh. We managed a pitiful 5 out of 24. Sorry.
I got ME about 2 months ago. I must say it is life changing. It first came out on the Xbox 360 in November and I heard it was good but when it came out on the PC I thought I would give it ago. I usually hate console ports and this looked bad as it is a third person shooter. It is the best game I have ever played. It is well written and has the perfect blend of action and storytelling. I play it until around 4am every night before work. Not even the World of Warcraft gets that attention. Having ME has never been better.
Pete
PS We were supposed to update the blog everyday we were in Edinburgh. We managed a pitiful 5 out of 24. Sorry.
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Edinburgh Day #5 - Ladma’s best and worst fan
One problem with doing a free comedy slot at a pub is that you inevitably get inebriated audience members. This can either be a good or a bad thing. Some drunk people will laugh at anything, some fall asleep or mock you. Today it was all. The audience member in question was a middle aged Scotswoman from Loch Loman. All throughout the show she provided hearty and regular laughs even to events that were mundane, such as picking up a hat.
However, there is a small amount of audience participation in the show where all that is required is gleaning the person’s name. The woman in question was asleep when first asked. She then said her name was Michael and then gave a response that word for word was Dan’s punch line. This didn’t faze Dan as he had a backup punch line. That bit of interaction finishes with Dan handing the audience member his half drunken bottle of Volvic. When the bottle was returned it was empty. She ended up donating ten pounds. Not bad for half a bottle of Volvic.
Pete
However, there is a small amount of audience participation in the show where all that is required is gleaning the person’s name. The woman in question was asleep when first asked. She then said her name was Michael and then gave a response that word for word was Dan’s punch line. This didn’t faze Dan as he had a backup punch line. That bit of interaction finishes with Dan handing the audience member his half drunken bottle of Volvic. When the bottle was returned it was empty. She ended up donating ten pounds. Not bad for half a bottle of Volvic.
Pete
Monday, 4 August 2008
Edinburgh Day #4 - Easy Money
Today I received the following email from Mr Raha Ali Musa. It was marked urgent:
Greetings to you, I am Mr.Raha.Ali.Musa. the Account Manager of Late Mr.Morris Thompson in here in Burkina Faso. Recently I discovered a Dormant Account with a huge amount of Money Valued USD14,000,000.00 (Fourteen Million Dollars only) that belongs to one of our late Customer who died in a plane crash.
During our investigation and auditing in this bank, my department came across a very huge sum of money belonging to Late Mr. Morris Thompson an American great industrialist and a resident of Alaska, who unfortunately lost his life in the plane crash of Alaska Airlines Flight 261 which crashed on January 31 2000,including his wife and only daughter. The fund has been dormant in his account With this Bank without any claim of the funds in our custody either from his family or relation before our discovery of this development.
The Banking law here stipulates that if such money remains unclaimed for Ten years, it will be forfeited to the Bank treasury as an unclaimed bill.It is only a foreigner that can stand as a next of kin and It is upon this discovery that I decided to contact you to collaborate with you to pull out this dormant fund.
In order to avert this negative development, I on behalf of my trusted colleagues now seek your permission to have you stand in as next of kin to Our late Customer so that the fund will be released and paid into your account as the beneficiary´s next of kin now that the bank is still expecting a next of kin or relative of the deceased ,Late Mr. Morris Thompson.
In fact we could have done this deal alone but because of our position in this country as civil servants, we are not allowed to operate a foreign account and that would eventually raise an eye brow on our side during the time of transfer since I still work in this bank, this is the actual reason why I required a second party or fellow who will assist me forward claims as the next of kin and also provide either an existing bank account or to set up a new Bank a/c immediately to receive this fund, even an empty a/c can also serve for this purpose.
On smooth conclusion of this transaction, you will be entitled to 40% as gratification for your assisting me, and the remaining 60% will be for me.
What I want from you is for you to act as the deceased next of kin. I have in my possession, all the necessary informations to successfully accomplish this operation. Bear in mind that this proposal is 100% risk free.Further Information will be given to you as soon as I receive your positive response. I suggest you get back to me as soon as possible stating your interest to enable us proceed.I await your Urgent Response.
I replied with the following email:
Dear Mr Raha Ali Musa,
Thank you very much for getting in touch and furnishing me with the information regarding the unfortunate demise of Mr Morris Thompson. But I have some information for you. Mr Morris Thompson (the great industrialist and resident of Alaska) was actually a distant cousin of mine and, as a result, I am his next of kin and am entitled to 100% of his wealth! Indeed, I was wondering why I hadn't seen him since 30th January 2000 - we'd just spent a family Christmas together in Skegness. Do you know Skegness, Mr Musa? It is very nice, you should definitely check it out next time you're over. Anyway, shut up about Skegness, it's beside the point. I am eternally grateful for you bringing this (horrific) event to my attention and I am willing to offer you a deal. I am proposing that I receive 60% of the money and you receive 40% as a gratification for helping me. How does this suit you, boy? Further information will be given to you as soon as I receive your positive response. I suggest you get back to me as soon as possible stating your interest to enable us to proceed. Details of your bank account would also be useful. Please bear in mind that this proposal is 100% risk free.
Yours,
Dan Smith (formerly Thompson, on my mother’s side)
I await his (urgent) response.
Dan
Greetings to you, I am Mr.Raha.Ali.Musa. the Account Manager of Late Mr.Morris Thompson in here in Burkina Faso. Recently I discovered a Dormant Account with a huge amount of Money Valued USD14,000,000.00 (Fourteen Million Dollars only) that belongs to one of our late Customer who died in a plane crash.
During our investigation and auditing in this bank, my department came across a very huge sum of money belonging to Late Mr. Morris Thompson an American great industrialist and a resident of Alaska, who unfortunately lost his life in the plane crash of Alaska Airlines Flight 261 which crashed on January 31 2000,including his wife and only daughter. The fund has been dormant in his account With this Bank without any claim of the funds in our custody either from his family or relation before our discovery of this development.
The Banking law here stipulates that if such money remains unclaimed for Ten years, it will be forfeited to the Bank treasury as an unclaimed bill.It is only a foreigner that can stand as a next of kin and It is upon this discovery that I decided to contact you to collaborate with you to pull out this dormant fund.
In order to avert this negative development, I on behalf of my trusted colleagues now seek your permission to have you stand in as next of kin to Our late Customer so that the fund will be released and paid into your account as the beneficiary´s next of kin now that the bank is still expecting a next of kin or relative of the deceased ,Late Mr. Morris Thompson.
In fact we could have done this deal alone but because of our position in this country as civil servants, we are not allowed to operate a foreign account and that would eventually raise an eye brow on our side during the time of transfer since I still work in this bank, this is the actual reason why I required a second party or fellow who will assist me forward claims as the next of kin and also provide either an existing bank account or to set up a new Bank a/c immediately to receive this fund, even an empty a/c can also serve for this purpose.
On smooth conclusion of this transaction, you will be entitled to 40% as gratification for your assisting me, and the remaining 60% will be for me.
What I want from you is for you to act as the deceased next of kin. I have in my possession, all the necessary informations to successfully accomplish this operation. Bear in mind that this proposal is 100% risk free.Further Information will be given to you as soon as I receive your positive response. I suggest you get back to me as soon as possible stating your interest to enable us proceed.I await your Urgent Response.
I replied with the following email:
Dear Mr Raha Ali Musa,
Thank you very much for getting in touch and furnishing me with the information regarding the unfortunate demise of Mr Morris Thompson. But I have some information for you. Mr Morris Thompson (the great industrialist and resident of Alaska) was actually a distant cousin of mine and, as a result, I am his next of kin and am entitled to 100% of his wealth! Indeed, I was wondering why I hadn't seen him since 30th January 2000 - we'd just spent a family Christmas together in Skegness. Do you know Skegness, Mr Musa? It is very nice, you should definitely check it out next time you're over. Anyway, shut up about Skegness, it's beside the point. I am eternally grateful for you bringing this (horrific) event to my attention and I am willing to offer you a deal. I am proposing that I receive 60% of the money and you receive 40% as a gratification for helping me. How does this suit you, boy? Further information will be given to you as soon as I receive your positive response. I suggest you get back to me as soon as possible stating your interest to enable us to proceed. Details of your bank account would also be useful. Please bear in mind that this proposal is 100% risk free.
Yours,
Dan Smith (formerly Thompson, on my mother’s side)
I await his (urgent) response.
Dan
Sunday, 3 August 2008
Edinburgh Day #3 - Toilet Troubles
We have now entered the third day in our Edinburgh flat. You probably know that already if you’ve read the title, which you have, so sorry about that. The flat on the whole is very nice. The only downside is the bathroom. The shower is less effective than pissing on yourself, the lock doesn’t work and the light is operated from outside. This means that a common occurrence when wanting the toilet is to walk up to the bathroom door, switch the light switch and open the door to find someone on the toilet in the dark.
Pete
Pete
Saturday, 2 August 2008
Edinburgh Day #2 - Ladma's Drink Problem
There are a number of props which we use in our act – including a bottle of Volvic, a juicebox, a copy of the Guardian and a can of Special Brew – which we couldn’t see the point carting up from Brighton and thus decided to buy them in Edinburgh. We didn’t think sourcing any of these products would be a problem. Particularly the can of Special Brew.
Anyway, for some stupid reason we’d left acquiring these props until the day of our opening show. The first three proved relatively easy but the Special Brew proved a stubborn mistress to conquer. Everywhere we tried refused us service – Sainsbury’s, Tescos, Scot Mid, Costcutters. Each one of us tried and each one of us failed. No I.D so no sale. But we’re 23-24 years old! So what if none of us have a driving license or had brought our passport, does that mean we’re not real people who should be able to enjoy a nice can of Special Brew like everyone else? Clearly it does.
As the time of our show approached we became increasingly worried. What if the Special Brew joke was the only good one in the show? What if the whole show fell flat because of its absence? In the end we decided to approach one of the many tramps festooned across the Edinburgh landscape. We explained our predicament to a young tramp with matted hair swept across his face and asked if we could buy his can of Special Brew for £5? After intially refusing us sale because of our lack of I.D, he eventually backed-down.
“Aye, sure,” he said before downing the rest of the can and handing it over. We thanked him and beat a hasty retreat to our venue.
As for the show, we were happy with our opening night. We got 8 people in which wasn’t bad and everyone seemed to enjoy it. Someone even donated a ten pound note! Although it was a Scottish note so it doesn’t really count. We got laughs consistently – despite the small turnout – and all the rewrites worked well. We did make a few mistakes and missed a few lines but, overall, we’re pretty happy with the first day. We’ve always known numbers were going to be the biggest problem so hopefully, if we keep up the flyering and the P.R, we’ll be able to build up a bit of momentum. We’ll just have to wait and see how the audience figures look mid-week.
Dan
Anyway, for some stupid reason we’d left acquiring these props until the day of our opening show. The first three proved relatively easy but the Special Brew proved a stubborn mistress to conquer. Everywhere we tried refused us service – Sainsbury’s, Tescos, Scot Mid, Costcutters. Each one of us tried and each one of us failed. No I.D so no sale. But we’re 23-24 years old! So what if none of us have a driving license or had brought our passport, does that mean we’re not real people who should be able to enjoy a nice can of Special Brew like everyone else? Clearly it does.
As the time of our show approached we became increasingly worried. What if the Special Brew joke was the only good one in the show? What if the whole show fell flat because of its absence? In the end we decided to approach one of the many tramps festooned across the Edinburgh landscape. We explained our predicament to a young tramp with matted hair swept across his face and asked if we could buy his can of Special Brew for £5? After intially refusing us sale because of our lack of I.D, he eventually backed-down.
“Aye, sure,” he said before downing the rest of the can and handing it over. We thanked him and beat a hasty retreat to our venue.
As for the show, we were happy with our opening night. We got 8 people in which wasn’t bad and everyone seemed to enjoy it. Someone even donated a ten pound note! Although it was a Scottish note so it doesn’t really count. We got laughs consistently – despite the small turnout – and all the rewrites worked well. We did make a few mistakes and missed a few lines but, overall, we’re pretty happy with the first day. We’ve always known numbers were going to be the biggest problem so hopefully, if we keep up the flyering and the P.R, we’ll be able to build up a bit of momentum. We’ll just have to wait and see how the audience figures look mid-week.
Dan
Friday, 1 August 2008
Edinburgh Day #1 – Ladma make a new friend
Today I was flyering our show for the first time and discovered, to some confusion, that I didn’t know as much about comedy as I thought I did. I don’t pretend to know very much mind you, having only been doing it for a couple of years. Still, you’re learning all the time and today was no exception.
The revelation itself came from an elderly lady who seemed to be in a spot of bother, shaking her head and muttering about something. I tend to be very reluctant to talk to people I don’t know, a barrier which she quickly overcame by suddenly launching into a fierce monologue about banks and everything bad about them.
“Do you know…” she spat, “I’ve been going to that same bank for a hundred years and they still ask me for ID? I mean, really! So of course I had to go all the way back and blah blah blah and they wouldn’t accept that so blah blah blah…”
As it happened, we shared a mutual hatred of banks and so I started to agree with everything she was saying. Until the conversion took a slightly odd turn.
“I hear some of them aren’t even based in the UK anymore. A lot of them have their headquarters in all sorts of places. Is it Barclays? – I think it’s Barclays – actually have their headquarters in Spain!” She thought for a moment and then cautiously intoned: “And you’ve got to be very careful about something like that.”
I had meant to suggest that I was simply uncomfortable with the general level of incompetence in high street banking staff, but now I found myself apparently teetering on the brink of a big racist whirlpool. If this woman had such negative feelings about the Spanish it was probably best not to bring up anything that might cause her to use the word ‘coloureds’. I decided to take a different tack and tell her about a positive experience that I had when banking, which was when I had to go in to do my bit in setting up a business account for Ladma. You see, when you have a personal bank account you are, in your bank's eyes, a kind of money generating livestock. You are part of the seething mass of plankton that feeds the banking whale, and you have no individual rights or identity. If you have a business account on the other hand, they greet you as if their whole lives had been completely pointless up until the time they finally got to meet you. The manager (who deals with the business accounts) would probably even give you a blowjob if you asked, although I haven’t tested this.
She then wanted to know of course, what my business was. I said that Ladma is a comedy group that I am part of and held up one of the flyers to show her. Before I continue I should add that we don’t really make money from what we do, we once won a competition for which we got some money and so we had to have somewhere to put it. Anyway, when I said that I was in a comedy group, her face suddenly lit up.
“Oh how exciting!” she cooed. As it turns out, she had spent her life in theatre as a singer and actress and all kinds of things, probably calling everyone ‘darling’, singing all the time, criticising other people and doing all the other things that hardcore thespians do. She also seemed to have quite strong views about comedy that were heartfelt, if not a little out-of-touch.
“I don’t care for a lot of these young comedians these days,” she said solemnly.
“There is a lot of rubbish out there,” I replied.
“I just can’t stand some of them. What do you think of that Stephen Fry?”
Judging from her face, she didn’t much care for Stephen Fry in particular. I gave a very neutral, noncommittal response to this and the conversation moved on. I actually quite like Stephen Fry, but I wasn’t about to cause a rift between us, particularly when we were otherwise getting on so well. She began to ask what sort of thing we did in our group and I said sketch comedy. I wanted to give her a point of reference that would be familiar, so I said “a bit like Monty Python”. She acknowledged this without approval, presumably because they also ranked among those other youngsters who had ruined comedy. She went on to enquire what else we did, so I said we did some music as well and I was responsible for that. She liked the sound of that very much.
“Oh how wonderful!” she beamed. “I expect you wear white face paint don’t you?”
She expected wrong. I replied in the negative.
“Ah…” she said, shaking her head. “Lazy!”
In our defence, we had no idea that we were supposed to wear white face paint. I can only say that we haven’t been doing this very long and we’re still complete amateurs in many respects. But are we also lazy?
"Yeah, we are a bit," I replied.
Chris
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
Suspicious Minds
Today I was nearly kidnapped. For reasons I won’t go into, I had been shunted from Hove to Brighton and back to Hove by Brighton & Hove City Council. Having walked miles and miles in the blistering heat I was sent to an office in Kemp Town (just outside Brighton) only to find, again, that I’d been sent to the wrong place. I should, in fact, have been at Brighton City Hall. Now, without being rude, I explained to the man in the Kemp Town Office that I’d been sent to numerous incorrect offices and thought the council service was poor (bear in mind I’ve actually worked for the council for over a year and know how shit they are). Just as I was leaving to return to Brighton City Hall a man who had overheard me interrupted.
“I can give you a lift, if you want?” he said.
I was hot and annoyed so didn’t really think about what I was saying so I just thanked the man and accepted the offer.
“I’ll only be a couple of minutes,” the man continued, “I’ve just got some business to finalise”.
So I sat next to the man in the waiting area and we began chatting. He was a tall, broadly built man – much bigger than myself – who spoke in a deep booming voice. He began telling me how he’d been evicted from his council house without notice and that council workmen had smashed up furniture which he had bought.
“But I filmed it all. I filmed ‘em doing it. Got the date and time on it and everything. And I’ve still got the receipts for the furniture. There’s nowt they can do.”
Suddenly I started thinking. Why had I accepted the invitation to get in a car with a complete stranger?! Not only a complete stranger, but someone who was much bigger than me and enjoyed filming things being smashed up. How foolish I had been! Never trust people, Dan. That’s the first rule of civilised society. Keep yourself to yourself. Keep your head down and try not to attract attention. But what had I done? I’d done the exact opposite. Firstly, I’d been overheard by a stranger. Then I’d spoken to a stranger. And very soon I was about to get into their car and be driven to Godknowswhere. If I wasn’t careful, this stranger was dangerously close to becoming an acquaintance. I had even sat down next to him – there was no getting away now. And then I started to panick. What if the guy’s a complete nutter? What if he kidnaps me and takes me to a secluded old warehouse and abuses me? He might cut me up into little bits and send them to my parents. But what could I do? What’s worse than being kidnapped, tortured and murdered? Well, being rude. I couldn’t just come out and say to this person “oh sorry, I don’t want a lift actually because I’m scared of you”. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. There was, after all, a small chance that he was perfectly normal.
In the end, I opted for the safe option.
“Are you waiting to see someone?”
Brilliant, I thought. He’ll say that he’s waiting for someone then I’ll be able to say I’m in a rush a beat a hasty retreat.
“Yeah, but to be honest I don’t need to I’ve got the footage”
Shit, I thought. He turned to the receptionist.
“Tell Mr Robinson I don’t need to see him. He’ll be hearing from my solicitor.”
And with that, the tall stranger stood up and left the office. I followed him out into the hot afternoon sun and approached the car. I had to be on my best behaviour now. Don’t antagonise him, Dan. Just agree with what he says.
“Sorry, it’s a bit messy in here,” he said as I slipped into the passenger seat. I laughed. Loud. Too loud really. Could he tell I was scared? But what does a psychopath care if you’re scared? They probably like that. The problem would be if he’s a borderline psycho and all he needs is some terrified person in his passenger seat to push him over the edge. I had to act. Quickly, make a friendly remark, I thought.
“Haha, don’t worry about the mess – you should she my bedroom!” Why did I say that? What a stupid thing to do. Not only had I got into his car but I’d invited him back to my place!
He laughed and pulled out of the carpark.
“Where do you want to be? I’ll just drop you by the Pier shall I?” he said. Very clever. That’s right, lull me into a false sense of security before you butcher me. I clung onto my seat belt and began wondering how I could break free of this metallic fortress. Foot through the windscreen? Elbow through the window? He might smother me too quickly.
We drove slowly along the front, passing a pub.
“Ah, The Legend. Great pub! You ever been there?” he said.
“No,” I replied.
“Used to spend a lot of time in there when I was younger.” Damn, I thought. Bring in some witty banter, Dan. Break the atmosphere of fear.
“Haha, propping up the bar, I guess?”
“Yeah, shouldn’t really talk about it though, I used to have a bit of a drink problem. Well, not a bit, it was quite serious really.”
No! I was stuck in a car with an alcoholic nutter who was going to rip off my balls and feed them back to me. What a way to go! All I’d wanted to do was pay my council tax! Just as I was about to barge open the door and roll into the road, the stranger pulled the car into the verge and popped the doors.
“Here OK for you?”
“Yes, great ,“ I said, “thanks very much for the lift. Bye”.
He drove off and I wandered up to the City Hall. I felt ashamed. Why had I been so suspicious? Why had I thought the worse of someone? And why can’t people do a nice deed without being accused of being a psychopathic murderer?
Dan
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
Our first stalker
If you're anything like me you'll spend most of your time searching your name on Google. Well, I was Googling Ladma this morning when I came across our Comedy Blaze account. Imagine my delight when I discover that our film, Look North, was on the Comedy Blaze homepage as one of the top four rated films. Right up there with Ben Stiller of all people!
I checked the Ladma Channel on Comedy Blaze and saw all our details - along with accompanying picture and blurb. All our other films were also up there. Yet, for the life of me, I couldn't remember signing up to the site. I tried our username with all our usual passwords. I couldn't get in. I tried requesting the password to all our usual emails. I couldn't get in. So I emailed Comedy Blaze saying that we couldn't access our account and could they tell us which email we signed up with? But they didn't reply.
I checked the Ladma Channel on Comedy Blaze and saw all our details - along with accompanying picture and blurb. All our other films were also up there. Yet, for the life of me, I couldn't remember signing up to the site. I tried our username with all our usual passwords. I couldn't get in. I tried requesting the password to all our usual emails. I couldn't get in. So I emailed Comedy Blaze saying that we couldn't access our account and could they tell us which email we signed up with? But they didn't reply.Suddenly it dawned on me, I had never even signed up to Comedy Blaze. A quick cross-reference later, and neither had Pete or Chris. So who the hell has signed us up to Comedy Blaze? And who wasted their time entering all our details? Could it be that we have a fan that is so obsessed with Ladma that they go around creating profiles for us on comedy websites and uploading our films? A fan, not just of Ladma, but of all the laborious administration which is required to forge an internet presence. Yet, like with all stalkers, there is a downside. Along with five genuine Ladma videos on Comedy Blaze, there is one which has absolutely nothing to do with us. The video in question is entitled 'Arab Lebanese Wog Sex Hotline Ahmad Sabra by SKIITZAPHERENIKZ Ahmad Sabra' and features a half-naked Asian man eating an apple. We would like to categorically state that this video has nothing to do with Ladma and its appearance on the Ladma Comedy Blaze Channel is completely unauthorised. Indeed, as far as we can tell, the Ladma Channel itself is completely unauthorised.
As you can imagine, this is a very alarming concern. Either someone has created a profile on our behalf or stolen our log-in details (but we still can’t remember making an account). I feel like a white middle-class lawyer who's had their identity stolen by a bin thief. But instead of spending all my money on themselves they've put down a deposit on a really nice house - the only drawback being they've decorated the house with Nazi memorabilia and insist on lynching black people in my back garden. If anyone’s got any ideas, please let us know. We appreciate the plays and being featured on the main page, but this racist video just isn’t cricket.
Dan
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
Nazis in Training/Recycled Material
Last weekend I went to Glastonbury. For some reason it reminded me of World War Two. Maybe it was the endless queues for banks echoing the super-inflation of the Weimar Republic. Maybe it was the segregated waiting area at the train station or the uniformed officials ushering us along walkways. Maybe it was the endless fields of mud and the scorched earth of the last day as the revellers retreated. Or maybe it was the specially timetabled trains which took us to a walled site in the middle of nowhere. Who knows?
Despite the World War Two parallels, it was a great festival and I fulfilled a lifelong ambition to see Kevin Eldon live (as the poet Paul Hamilton). I was, along with my girlfriend and Dad, part of the site-wide crew (the recycling crew to be precise). And, as a party cadre, we enjoyed the benefits of two meals a day, a private campsite, backstage access and a free ticket. In return all we had to do was a daily 6hr shift of back-breaking labour starting at 6am (I know what you’re thinking, forced labour camps...). During our litter picking duties we found a total of £24.65 (consisting of a £20 note, two £2 coins, two 20p coins, one 10p coin and three 5p coins). Considering the three of us did 24hrs work in total, we made approximately 35p each per hour. That means scavenging a field at Glastonbury Festival is more economically rewarding than playing online poker (Pete and I make around 3p a day if we’re lucky) or working in a sweat-shop in Indonesia. I know which one I’d choose. Pass me that Nike trainer…
Dan
PS: I only wrote this blog so I could use the pun 'Nazis in Training'.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Trapped
An aspect of animal life that doesn’t relate to human life in any regard is the fear of death through being trapped. When I was child I opened a black plastic bin at the bottom of the garden to find three frogs in various stages of starvation next to a sludge of dead frogs and frog skeletons. The horror they had endured was largely due to their own stupidity. There is one basic rule that they could have followed to have avoided death. Namely, don’t go anywhere you can’t get out of. Now unfortunately today due to a lapse of concentration I had neglected this very basic rule to embarrassing consequences.
I had worked late for reasons that are too boring to go into, meaning that no one was left in the office when I left. Now I work in an old building that is just about big enough to get lost in if you don’t know what you are doing. I usually leave via the front entrance through a set of double doors. The inner door is always open due to a broken buzzer system that is activated by the receptionist to let you in. Today it was fixed. On passing through the door on my way home I noticed that the heavy outer door had been locked with a key I didn’t have. At the exact time I spotted this I head the click of the door behind me. On pressing the now working door buzzer I saw the light activate by the now empty receptionist’s chair. Fair play the electrician had done his job. The system now worked perfectly.
I found myself in a situation that wasn’t dangerous; the worst that would happen is that I would be trapped for about 13 hours. Is that enough justification to pick up the small table that resides in that space and smash my way through the shatter proof glass (you know the stuff with the little wire squares in it) to freedom leaving the office reception in disarray? No it isn’t. This meant that the only option left was the more embarrassing one of calling for help. Cries for help when danger is involved is perfectly acceptable. When you have trapped yourself in a 4 foot glass room it is embarrassing. I decided quite quickly that shouting “help!” was not an option as it sounded too alarmist. I would have rather stayed in there all night have been caught shouting that. The cry I went with was “hello!” and occasionally “is there anyone there?!”. Far more dignified I think you will agree.
I was in there about ten minutes when I realised that I could not be heard. One option was to stick my fingers through the letter box and cry for help at passersby on the street outside in the hope that they would come to my aid. I don’t know what they would do exactly, probably phone someone. Phone someone? I have a phone! I then rang a colleague who later said that when I spoke to her I sounded “really scared”. She then got someone who was still in the building to let me out. Pete Allen will live to fight another day.
If only those frogs at the bottom of the bin had used mobiles to phone me to let them out of the bottom of the bin then they would have avoided the horrors of starvation and death. I was lucky in the fact that I didn’t have to endure the decomposing bodies of workmates who had been trapped previously. Unlike the frogs however I probably wouldn’t have tried to have sex with them.
Pete
I had worked late for reasons that are too boring to go into, meaning that no one was left in the office when I left. Now I work in an old building that is just about big enough to get lost in if you don’t know what you are doing. I usually leave via the front entrance through a set of double doors. The inner door is always open due to a broken buzzer system that is activated by the receptionist to let you in. Today it was fixed. On passing through the door on my way home I noticed that the heavy outer door had been locked with a key I didn’t have. At the exact time I spotted this I head the click of the door behind me. On pressing the now working door buzzer I saw the light activate by the now empty receptionist’s chair. Fair play the electrician had done his job. The system now worked perfectly.
I found myself in a situation that wasn’t dangerous; the worst that would happen is that I would be trapped for about 13 hours. Is that enough justification to pick up the small table that resides in that space and smash my way through the shatter proof glass (you know the stuff with the little wire squares in it) to freedom leaving the office reception in disarray? No it isn’t. This meant that the only option left was the more embarrassing one of calling for help. Cries for help when danger is involved is perfectly acceptable. When you have trapped yourself in a 4 foot glass room it is embarrassing. I decided quite quickly that shouting “help!” was not an option as it sounded too alarmist. I would have rather stayed in there all night have been caught shouting that. The cry I went with was “hello!” and occasionally “is there anyone there?!”. Far more dignified I think you will agree.
I was in there about ten minutes when I realised that I could not be heard. One option was to stick my fingers through the letter box and cry for help at passersby on the street outside in the hope that they would come to my aid. I don’t know what they would do exactly, probably phone someone. Phone someone? I have a phone! I then rang a colleague who later said that when I spoke to her I sounded “really scared”. She then got someone who was still in the building to let me out. Pete Allen will live to fight another day.
If only those frogs at the bottom of the bin had used mobiles to phone me to let them out of the bottom of the bin then they would have avoided the horrors of starvation and death. I was lucky in the fact that I didn’t have to endure the decomposing bodies of workmates who had been trapped previously. Unlike the frogs however I probably wouldn’t have tried to have sex with them.
Pete
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
Putting my foot in it
I’ve just kicked a hedgehog. Not on purpose, I’m not a hoodlum, but by accident. I was running out my house to put the bin out but just as I strode out the door a hedgehog ran out in front of me. It was too quick and too dark for me to notice before my foot smashed into my spikey little friend. As my foot began to bleed (that’s right, I didn’t have any socks or shoes on, who are you feeling sorry for now?) the hedgehog rolled down the garden path and rolled into a ball (see below). I watched over him for a while (from the kitchen window so as to not disturb him) as I was worried that he might be seriously injured. After lying still for a couple of minutes, it washed its little face and scuttled off into the night.
Dan
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
You know you've made it when...
It doesn't get much better than that (although admittedly our ranking is solely down to us having a video called 'Men, Women, Rape and Sex')Dan
Saturday, 7 June 2008
Bill Gates loves Linkin Park
While I was writing the last post I had Windows Media Player randomly playing the 1389 mp3s I have in My Music folder. Now I will admit I have one Linkin Park album in there for reasons I can't remember. Even though it is set to random, Windows Media player decides to play Linkin Park at least every other song. The only conclusion I can come to is that Bill Gates is a massive Linkin Park fan and has programmed it to play them any time it is set to random. I don't even like Linkin Park. Fuck you Bill Gates.
Pete
Pete
A comedy of errors
When we started gigging we expected that our first show would be the worst. We assumed that once we got underway we would iron out the kinks, end up word perfect and the show would be better for it. Somehow the opposite has been true. The more we do it the less we seem to know. Wednesday’s gig in Manchester was proof of this being technically the worst but somehow more fun than the rest.
The only words that I need to get right are my opening lines. They are also the words I have spoken the most as they open the whole show. Of course on the night I just said something completely different which messed Dan’s actions which relied on them. The sound also didn’t work which meant that Chris had to sort it out mid show. It’s alright though because I managed to cover for him by dancing for the audience while he was gone. We are lucky to have my dancing skills in the group otherwise I don’t know where we would be.
In our defence we had never seen the venue of the set up and had virtually no time to set up the props and sound. The atmosphere was so warm however, that we could just relax and mess around a bit more than we were used to. In past gigs if the sound had failed I would have dealt with it swiftly by running off the stage crying.
We also did a few things that we had done in rehearsals but didn’t have the balls to do on-stage which was nice. Ironically one of these was me hitting Dan and Chris in the balls as I ran past. Actually we had never really rehearsed that. All of which proves that planning and preparation get you nowhere. Next year we won’t bother writing a show. We will just turn up, fuck around for an hour and end on us all kicking each other up the arse.
Pete
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
Brighton Fringe: From Washout to Sell-out
A week is a long time in politics. It’s even longer if you’re a Daddy Long Legs and your average lifespan is 24hrs. But in comedy, a week can be a roller coaster.
After months of writing, re-writing, cutting things out, rehearsing, putting things back in, publicising, fliering, hoping and shitting, all our hard work comes down to two gigs in one fine week in the middle of Brighton Fringe Festival. One fine week prefixed by Chris losing his voice, Pete’s inexplicable nose-bleeds and my unfortunate rash. From our point of view, the first gig was a bit of a washout. Despite hours of fliering and my ridiculous headgear we only got 13 people through the door. And most of those were people we knew. We were initially taken aback by the turnout (and I think this was reflected in our energy at the start of the show) but the material was well received, we got consistent laughter, and the delivery and performance was good. We were just pissed off that no-one was there to see it, although with the show being at 22:00 on a Tuesday we were always going to struggle for numbers (despite being comedy pick of the day in the local newspaper and the fringe email!).
The second show couldn’t have been more different to the first. Demoralised by the first show, we threw caution to the wind and gave up on fliering and rehearsing. Instead we hired our resident heavy, Jon, to force people to come and utilised the power of Facebook to network our way to success. It worked. The second show was a sell-out. More chairs had to be brought into the theatre and the show had to start late as a result. The energy levels were good all the way through, the material consistently went down well and it was much more enjoyable than the first gig. Because of the first gig we went into the second a bit more relaxed and confident which allowed us to play around with the material a bit more and ad-lib some extra material. As the gig went on, however, I think we became a little bit more self-conscious and because of this (and lighting and sound issues) we missed out a couple of sections and lines. This was really annoying as we reference them later in the show and some good material was lost.
Overall, the festival was a great experience. I think our performance was more solid in the first gig – we performed the material well and without (much) mistake but the second gig was much more enjoyable and allowed us to gauge the quality of the material more effectively. The bigger audience also allowed us to establish a better rapport and atmosphere – because of the small audience at the first gig this was very difficult. Most of all, we’ve got a better idea of what works and what doesn’t in the show. We’re playing around with the material a lot more now which means we’re writing new bits and improving sections. The familiarity also means the performance is getting better. But there’s still a long way to go before Edinburgh. The show will be further road tested in Manchester, London and Brighton before then. It’ll be polished, refined and tweaked but rest assured we’ll return infantile, silly and slightly obscene.
Dan
After months of writing, re-writing, cutting things out, rehearsing, putting things back in, publicising, fliering, hoping and shitting, all our hard work comes down to two gigs in one fine week in the middle of Brighton Fringe Festival. One fine week prefixed by Chris losing his voice, Pete’s inexplicable nose-bleeds and my unfortunate rash. From our point of view, the first gig was a bit of a washout. Despite hours of fliering and my ridiculous headgear we only got 13 people through the door. And most of those were people we knew. We were initially taken aback by the turnout (and I think this was reflected in our energy at the start of the show) but the material was well received, we got consistent laughter, and the delivery and performance was good. We were just pissed off that no-one was there to see it, although with the show being at 22:00 on a Tuesday we were always going to struggle for numbers (despite being comedy pick of the day in the local newspaper and the fringe email!).
The second show couldn’t have been more different to the first. Demoralised by the first show, we threw caution to the wind and gave up on fliering and rehearsing. Instead we hired our resident heavy, Jon, to force people to come and utilised the power of Facebook to network our way to success. It worked. The second show was a sell-out. More chairs had to be brought into the theatre and the show had to start late as a result. The energy levels were good all the way through, the material consistently went down well and it was much more enjoyable than the first gig. Because of the first gig we went into the second a bit more relaxed and confident which allowed us to play around with the material a bit more and ad-lib some extra material. As the gig went on, however, I think we became a little bit more self-conscious and because of this (and lighting and sound issues) we missed out a couple of sections and lines. This was really annoying as we reference them later in the show and some good material was lost.
Overall, the festival was a great experience. I think our performance was more solid in the first gig – we performed the material well and without (much) mistake but the second gig was much more enjoyable and allowed us to gauge the quality of the material more effectively. The bigger audience also allowed us to establish a better rapport and atmosphere – because of the small audience at the first gig this was very difficult. Most of all, we’ve got a better idea of what works and what doesn’t in the show. We’re playing around with the material a lot more now which means we’re writing new bits and improving sections. The familiarity also means the performance is getting better. But there’s still a long way to go before Edinburgh. The show will be further road tested in Manchester, London and Brighton before then. It’ll be polished, refined and tweaked but rest assured we’ll return infantile, silly and slightly obscene.
Dan
Sunday, 18 May 2008
Anonymous Email
Today we received this anonymous email. It amused us. We thought it might amuse you too:
I was appalled when I accidentally logged on to your website
Those two young men in the bath were obviously severely mentally impaired and to film them during their ablutions was little short of abuse! Does their mother know? She must be a caring mum having taught the boys the intricacies of parts washing in such detail but I am damn sure it wasn't her on the other end of the camera!
Do your films have to be so nauseatingly realistic?
I would love to see a film about a kitten or better still, two kittens frolicking gayly with a ball of wool or a cardboard box. By 'frolicking gayly' I do not mean in the sense of feline homosexuality. In any event, pre-pubescent cats would have little or no notion of that sort of thing. I should not have to explain myself, however, given the sort of material Lamda goes in for, maybe I do have to explain myself. So, just kittens alright, gender is unimportant, wool or cardboard box also unimportant although I tend to lean toward wool as they may get frightened in a box (though no doubt you would think that funny).
And another thing............
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Dan's a Head Case
We’ve recently been flyering for our Brighton Fringe show. Due to the greed of Brighton & Hove City Council it’s now compulsory to buy a pass to flyer. This means that all the small productions (like ourselves) can’t afford to buy a pass because we’ve already forked out on venue hire, fringe registration, entry into the brochure, costumes, posters and fliers. Conversely, all the big productions and commercial outlets can afford to buy passes. The whole point of the pass system is to reduce litter but, when the biggest culprits have always been big productions and commercial outlets and these can continue to flyer at their will, how the fuck is that fair? It creates a two-tier system. The big shows will get bigger because they can publicise more and the small shows will get swallowed up. It undermines the whole definition of an ‘arts’ and a ‘fringe’ festival.
Anyway, there is a small window of opportunity to flyer for free. This opportunity falls during Fringe City on each Saturday during the festival. With three Saturdays and 2, 500 flyers that’s 833.33333333333333 flyers per day! However, due to the restrictions, every other show in the world is out flyering. Therefore, we needed something different to distinguish us from the crowd. We needed something unique yet attractive. We needed something distinct yet inviting. In short, we needed something that makes me look like a bell-end. And so we came up with this:
I originally had the idea when I was pretending to be a beekeeper by putting my washing basket on my head. The idea soon evolved from a beekeeping costume into a PR machine. It has garnered much interest in our show and one person even called me ‘block head’. I’m not sure if that’s bullying or not. The only drawback to my magnificent headdress (apart from being precarious during even slight winds) is the craterous indentations it leaves on my forehead. This can be painful and has caused my forehead to start peeling. But the positives outweigh the negatives. For anyone interested, I will be holding workshops throughout the 2009 Fringe on how to make these head cases.
Dan
Anyway, there is a small window of opportunity to flyer for free. This opportunity falls during Fringe City on each Saturday during the festival. With three Saturdays and 2, 500 flyers that’s 833.33333333333333 flyers per day! However, due to the restrictions, every other show in the world is out flyering. Therefore, we needed something different to distinguish us from the crowd. We needed something unique yet attractive. We needed something distinct yet inviting. In short, we needed something that makes me look like a bell-end. And so we came up with this:
I originally had the idea when I was pretending to be a beekeeper by putting my washing basket on my head. The idea soon evolved from a beekeeping costume into a PR machine. It has garnered much interest in our show and one person even called me ‘block head’. I’m not sure if that’s bullying or not. The only drawback to my magnificent headdress (apart from being precarious during even slight winds) is the craterous indentations it leaves on my forehead. This can be painful and has caused my forehead to start peeling. But the positives outweigh the negatives. For anyone interested, I will be holding workshops throughout the 2009 Fringe on how to make these head cases.Dan
Saturday, 26 April 2008
Jackwert in progress: 50 Curly Wurlys eaten, scenes filmed.
A few weekends ago we filmed “Jackwert” a little epic at just over 20-25 minutes, divided into three episodes. We managed to film over 7 hours of footage, containing some 50 scenes. Of course, back in the day (i.e. last year) we would need 7 hours of tape to make something five minutes long. We’re much more efficient now, mainly because we press the stop button whenever we’re dicking around - thus saving hours of recording time. Shot entirely in one flat and on a shoestring budget, it is currently being edited into a fully-fledged film. What I want to do is tell you some stuff about the making of the film, so that when it comes out you will either a) Forgive us for the quality of the finished product OR b) Be even more amazed by the quality of the finished product. Preferably b).
As usual, our usual share of troubles was dished up sloppily on to the Ladma plate. A shortage of crew, and the presence of a highly contagious (and debilitating) disease meant that filming was harder than usual. The disease was kept at bay by various pills, sniffing fumes from albas oil and guzzling lemsip. We managed to keep it from harming our acting (which, let’s face it, needs all the help it can get). However, despite our best efforts with these medicines, we soon found that we were in the midst of a most pernicious and destructive epidemic. Pete reached “Phase 3” of the disease right during the busiest period of our schedule, but acted so hard that he managed to break through its negative effects. Community life in the flat is close knit and people move around a lot - soon I too began to develop some of the symptoms, such as sneezing. Some several days later I succumbed fully to the illness, but during the filming I was actually alright. We had sound problems too - people kept doing things like mowing their lawn, shouting, setting off alarms and flying planes. I certainly found out that the people of Hangleton, Hove can be a noisy bunch when they want to.
We also endured plenty of other hardships, as is quite typical for filming time. Pete and Dan almost invariably end up with the short straw during films – their roles require them to do things like almost drown in the sea in November, be naked, almost get set on fire, get doused in milk, wear a woman’s dress, eat cold chips and so on. I, on the other hand, mostly get to do the more cushy options like voice-overs. This time both Pete and Dan had to be naked at times, and Dan had to sip cold tea filled with salt (because we had no sugar to use as a prop). Even I wasn’t spared this time, having to eat a bowl of cereal with SKIMMED milk because we had no semi-skimmed.
The budget ran into the tens of pounds. The list of props purchased were: 50 Curly Wurlys (now all eaten), copies of Tomb Raider & Tomb Raider III, a pair of knickers, a key ring, some basic hair products, assorted charity shop costumes, a bunch of men’s and women’s magazines, 12 scratch cards (pilfered from other magazines), and 12 ‘Munch Bunch’ yoghurts.
Because of our current workload, we intend to balance work on the film with preparations for our live show, “Ladma vs. The World”. We have nurtured both projects from tiny idea eggs, then to little half-written hatchlings, and finally to the early stages of comic fruition. Soon, both of them will be big and strong enough to be set loose, so that they can make their own way in the world. Just when we’ll get time to play Tomb Raider I don’t know.
ChrisFriday, 4 April 2008
Post Traumatic Stress
Today we received our neighbour’s post by accident. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem as it’s usually a bill or junk mail. You just go downstairs and stick it through their door. Not in this case. Today we received a catalogue. Shapely Figures catalogue to be precise. With the strap line ‘Make the most of your figure’. A nice sentiment I think you’ll agree but not really something I’d like to consider in association with my elderly neighbour. So what do you do in a situation like that? Bear in mind that it wasn’t a discrete catalogue but plastered with a large picture of a large lady. I couldn’t just post it through their letterbox. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon so, if I posted it, they would know that it wasn’t the postman. They would know that it came from upstairs. They would know that I’d seen my neighbour’s underwear of choice. It’s not that I was embarrassed (which I was) but more to do with the fact that my neighbour might be embarrassed when she knew I’d seen her catalogue (which she wouldn’t have been). So what could I do? Post the letter through her door and leave us both in the knowledge that I’d seen her large smalls? Keep the catalogue myself? Throw the catalogue out in the recycling? (I knew this wasn’t a feasible option because my neighbour might see our recycling and think I’d been stealing her mail). In the end I just took the catalogue to the post-box and reposted it. I know I’m costing the Royal Mail more money but, to save our collective embarrassment, I think it’s worth it. I just hope my next issue of Fat Kids Magazine doesn’t get delivered downstairs by mistake.
Dan
Monday, 17 March 2008
Sale of the century
I was browsing laptops when I came across this incredible saving. I really don't know how some online retailers turn a profit when they slash prices this much.
Pete
Pete
Sunday, 16 March 2008
Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics
We’ve just finished writing 95% of our live show Ladma vs. The World. We know it’s 95% because Final Draft gives us an in-depth breakdown of all statistics relating to our script (even though we haven’t finished writing it). As a matter of interest, we have so far written 8, 595 words. These have been split into 1, 440 paragraphs. That’s an average of 5.97 words per paragraph. Chris speaks 38% of the time and interacts mostly with me. Pete speaks 27% of the time and interacts mostly with Chris. I speak 33% of the time and interact mostly with Chris. As you can see, I’m the only Ladma who’s had the decency to claim my allocation of 33% of the words.
It also does an interesting breakdown of the use of profanity. Pete, Chris and I all have at least one cock. Both Chris and I have a shit but I’m the only one to have a piss during the show. Pete and I have a couple of fucks but unfortunately Chris doesn’t get to fuck. I’m the only one with a dildo. I’m also the one responsible for bullshit appearing in two separate scenes.
Dan
White van
I was travelling home on the bus the other day. I was sitting upstairs, as I usually do. You’re further away from the engine (and usually most of the other people on the bus) so it makes things like reading or listening to music easier. You also get a better view, and it is a view that I saw that I want to tell you about.
I saw two men, clad in similar dull navy jackets, talking about something near the rear of a white van. One of them had a disconcerted look on his face, and was gesturing and saying something to the other. They were evidently in some kind of uniform, and so I took them to be responsible for driving the aforementioned van. As the bus drew nearer I could make out the gestures he was making – a sort of wiping motion, and pointing to the rear doors of the vehicle. They were clearly trying to work out how to clean something off the back of the van. Interested to find out what, I wiped the window a bit more and peered down.
The two men had not seen the funny side of it, but someone had written something in the dirt. What made it funnier was its originality – usually people write ‘clean me’ or ‘also available in white’ or ‘I wish my wife was as dirty as this’, but this comment was much more personalised. The message the two were so frantically trying to find the means to remove was this:
‘I like to probe sheep’s arses with my tongue.’
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
An Anal Barmaid
“I know you love anal sex”. This is a true statement I could have said to a barmaid that I had never met before I asked for a pint. I bet you’re thinking that I had been looking at her arse whilst I was waiting for her to serve me and that I have an unnatural ability to determine if she has anal sex regularly simply from the circumference of her bottom. Well you’re wrong. I knew because Dan and myself were browsing groups on Facebook when we came across one that was entitled “I love anal sex”. Dan recognised one of the members as the barmaid from the pub around the corner from where he works. She had made a comment about how she tried it once with her ex-boyfriend and would like to try it again. I was in the very same pub for the first time the other day and saw her for myself.
The world in which we live is a strange one. There I was ordering drinks from someone who had never seen me before thinking “all I know about you is that you have had anal sex once with your ex-boyfriend and that you would like to try it again”. Although I couldn’t even remember her name, I almost felt compelled to say something as I felt that my knowledge of this fact brought me some sort of proximity to her. I suppose my logic of this is that knowing someone’s sexual heath history is pretty much the last thing you find out about a person after all the boring mundane stuff like their birthday and the names of their brothers and sisters. God had given me the social fast forward button. I was basically her best friend. As she shared a joke with a regular at the end of the bar I felt like shouting out to him “yeah but I bet you didn’t even know that she had anal sex with her ex-boyfriend before they broke up and she wants to try it again at some point”.
I didn’t do that. Instead I took my drinks she gave me and sat down next to my girlfriend. “That barmaid had anal sex once with her ex-boyfriend and would like to try it again” I said. “Why did she tell you that” she replied. “I don’t know” was all I could say.
PeteMonday, 11 February 2008
AutoComplete Truths
AutoComplete is a system that remembers what you have typed in text boxes on webpages and saves them for later use. The idea is that they can save time when having to enter repeated things like email addresses and names. If you double click on an empty text box on a webpage then it will show you everything that you have entered in a box with that name in the past.
If you really want an in-depth psycho analytical review of your life then double click on the Google search box with AutoComplete on and find out what a tool you are.
Mine starts with about 12 empty records which means 12 times I have clicked the Google search button without actually typing anything in. This makes it my favourite Google search term. The following are some of the highlights of the list. Most are too boring and nerdy to list. I have tried to include my incentives for the search if remembered or calculable.
"massive titties yeah"
I can't remember why I needed to research this particular topic. I obviously needed the exact terminology, putting the term in speech marks to get an exact match.
2 girls 1 cup
A friend told me to search for this and to watch the video of the same title. I did this. You should never do this. If you know what I am talking about then you will understand. If you don't then forget I said anything.
alex the kid
Yeah, I downloaded the classic Master System game Alex the Kid and played it to take a trip down memory lane and yeah I still play it daily because it is a damn good game. For those who aren't in the know, you play a kid who has one big friggin' hand. You basically go around hitting stuff with this big hand (as you would do in real life if you had one really big hand) and then complete the level by eating rice cakes. It's basically the unofficial video game of the film Schindler's List.
Antony Worrall Thompson abused
Someone once told me that famous chef Antony Worrall Thompson had been abused as a child by three uncontected people at three different times in his childhood. This search confirmed this fact and his status as unluckiest child alive.
average penis size
After preforming this search I can tell you it's about 6" errect. I have never measured my own penis for fear it is below this figure. "Why not just do it now?" I hear you ask. Well, in your face, Dan borrowed my ruler earlier in the day and now he has gone to bed so fuck you. Anyway rulers are for drawing straight lines not measuring you penis so I probably wouldn't anyway.
cerazette pill can i take any pill in the pack
I think my girlfriend did this one. She takes about thirty pills a day at specific times so it's no wonder she has mistimed one and worried that she might die. Most of them are consumed to stop my 5" penis impregnating her (Pete W (her dad), if you are reading this then that was a joke we don't do that sort of thing, she only takes the pill for hormonal reasons).
fiddle with your penis
Can't remember ever searching for this. It was probably Dan or Chris.
hidden messages in money
There are some crazy people out there. The idea is that if you fold money up in different ways then you get hidden messages. Most revolve around 9/11 and are stupid.
i love sex
This wasn't a search, I was just informing Google about the things I like.
kitten gun
I wanted to know whether someone had invented a gun that fired kittens (safely). No, once again I would have to wait for technology to catch up with my ideas.
pete allen ladma
A bit narcissistic I know but seeing myself on Google gives me a sense of importance that I can't replicate anywhere else. I doubt my dream of just putting my name without "ladma" and being on the first page will ever come true due to the commonness of my name. Although I will achieve this a lot sooner than Dan Smith, which is the only more common name. Speaking of namesakes there is an Amercan stand up called Dan Smith who is a douche. There is also a Kris Marshall comedy actor based here in the UK. There is also a Australian paedophile called Pete Allen so Googling yourself isn't always fun and games.
sexy ladiy
What's upsetting about this is that there was no entry for "sexy lady" which means I gave up quickly, probably moving on to "massive titties yeah".
St Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves
I didn't search for this but thought the concept was funny. The chief reason know I didn't perform the search is that the user used capitalisation. Goggle searches are not case sensitive you douchebag!
Simply skimming over my search history tells me I am an inadequate sex obsessed narcissistic idiot who can’t type but likes scatology. If you currently visit a councillor or psychologist don’t bother, look through your search history instead. That will tell you quite quickly what a messed up pervert you really are. If it doesn’t then fuck you, at least I have two friends you fucking shit.
Pete
Thursday, 7 February 2008
UFOs exist
I’ve just been reading the news because I like to feel informed about the world and stuff. I found this on the BBC news website:
"UFOs exist, says Japan official"
"Japan's chief government spokesman has announced that unidentified flying objects (UFOs) exist."
They actually explain the acronym, and then pretend he means aliens anyway. In other words, he's confirmed that he thinks there is such a thing as flying objects that are unidentified. Like when you look at the sky and think 'Is that a helicopter?...no, it's just a bird.' He believes in them. What a nutcase. He actually thinks that sometimes you see things and you don’t know what they are. Idiot.
They also add helpfully '[a] document revealed that Japan has not yet planned what to do should aliens arrive here.'
Interesting - a document that doesn't mention something. That could be...let's see...any document in the world. If you want to emphasise what a document doesn't do, you can stress anything you like:
"Chris's blog entry shows that he has not yet planned on how he will have sex with farm animals should he find himself on a farm."
See - the above sentence is completely true, while saying nothing of the content of what it’s based on.
I paid my TV license the other day. Just making sure that the BBC have enough money to carry on with the good work. The license mentions a lot of useful information, but it failed to mention the extent to which I'd feel anally violated every time I watch Panorama.
Chris
"UFOs exist, says Japan official"
"Japan's chief government spokesman has announced that unidentified flying objects (UFOs) exist."
They actually explain the acronym, and then pretend he means aliens anyway. In other words, he's confirmed that he thinks there is such a thing as flying objects that are unidentified. Like when you look at the sky and think 'Is that a helicopter?...no, it's just a bird.' He believes in them. What a nutcase. He actually thinks that sometimes you see things and you don’t know what they are. Idiot.
They also add helpfully '[a] document revealed that Japan has not yet planned what to do should aliens arrive here.'
Interesting - a document that doesn't mention something. That could be...let's see...any document in the world. If you want to emphasise what a document doesn't do, you can stress anything you like:
"Chris's blog entry shows that he has not yet planned on how he will have sex with farm animals should he find himself on a farm."
See - the above sentence is completely true, while saying nothing of the content of what it’s based on.
I paid my TV license the other day. Just making sure that the BBC have enough money to carry on with the good work. The license mentions a lot of useful information, but it failed to mention the extent to which I'd feel anally violated every time I watch Panorama.
Chris
Friday, 1 February 2008
Please give up this seat if an elderly or disabled person needs it
But what happens when two people want the seat? One is elderly and the other is disabled? Or one is elderly with a minor disability and one is young with a serious disability. Who gets precedence? It’s a bloody minefield. Just sit upstairs at the back where only youths and able-bodied people can bother you.
Dan
Dan
Sunday, 27 January 2008
He’s not really funny anymore, is he?
For as long as I can remember I have felt like I’m living in a kind of global pantomime, a worldwide farce in which one actor has captivated audiences night after night in his role as villain: George W. Bush. Whenever he comes on (or even gets talked about by the other characters) all the children around me dutifully boo and hiss and they bloody love it.
Except these aren’t children – they’re adults. And it’s all real. We all thought it was brilliant in the early days, and most people still do, but I have to say that I’ve had enough. Watching George Bush do anything now is a bit like watching a modern day clown. He’s unfunny, tedious, slightly unsettling and really has no right or need to exist at all. Yes, we don't like him - but it's getting boring. He's the obvious choice. Obvious things are dull.
In his credit, he has been such a stalwart – so reliably hateable, so inarticulate, hopeless and rubbish. We have been enjoying a veritable orgy of disdain, a parade of contempt that needed only one central premise: we don’t like George Bush. This was all you needed – slap a picture of the Great Satan on to your verbal punch-bag and you’re away. Everything is so simple about it. Finally, something that we can all enjoy. From hippies to yuppies there is no corner of our social world that disagrees. Brilliant. George Bush is rubbish! Yeah, fuck George Bush. Hey, look at me! I know where I stand politically! Give me a pat on the back!
One of the reasons he is so accessible as an bad guy is the fact that he is so uncomplicated. We have been so accustomed to villains as super-geniuses that were on a completely different level to the likes of you and I. The cat-stroking, well-spoken, art-loving psychotics of Hollywood have always remained distant and enigmatic. Sure, they were evil, but there may well have been good reasons for their actions – if only we could understand the things that they knew. Which, not being geniuses, we could never do.
Then finally, a baddy who is also a cretin comes along in real life. We could hate him and feel good about ourselves! It’s two for the price of one! What’s more, he doesn’t just get things wrong in a subtle, unfunny way – he produces comic gems that can be captured in brief sound bites and stills: ripe, pre-packaged nuggets that seem to have been made for Mock The Week and Have I Got News For You. He makes gaffes and blunders like a pie maker makes pies.
Unfortunately, just as you get very bored and sick of eating nothing but pies (or I imagine you would), so have I grown tired of George’s antics. I have a calendar on my desk (bought for me as a Xmas present) called the ‘George W. Bush Countdown Calendar’. As you can guess, it not only has a calendar but also a countdown until he leaves office. Each day you get a fact or quote that will make you tut, shake your head and say ‘George Bush, man. What an idiot.’ Personally, I am counting the days – but mainly because when he is gone we might actually start talking about (and more importantly, joking about) someone else. By the way, there are 359 days to go.
Chris
Saturday, 12 January 2008
Darts
I’ve never really been interested in the game “darts”. However, when the opportunity to take part in this pub “sport” recently presented itself, I thought I might as well have a go. You basically have to throw three darts at a board, and depending on where they land you get a certain amount of points. And that’s all there is to it, really.
You may well protest that it is not a “sport” at all. I thought this too – but after thinking about it logically, I changed my mind. This is basically how I worked it out:
- I am rubbish at sports.
- I am rubbish at darts.
- Therefore, darts must be a sport.
The numbers (that tell you how much a segment on the board is worth) are all over the place – there is no rhyme or reason to the way they are arranged, and no one seems to have a problem with this except me. The middle (!) of the dartboard isn’t even worth the most points. At least in archery they have the sense to make the middle worth loads because it’s a) really small and b) right in the middle. Archers may not be perfect in many ways (for example, they haven’t realised that you can get guns now) but at least they know how to put together a good scoring system. Whoever made darts evidently designed the board after a long night of drinking, and had reached that point where you just love everyone and so decided to scatter the numbers anywhere so at least the most shit player could sometimes land a ‘17’ by accident now and then. In other words, players like me.
Anyway. I was throwing my darts at the board in my customary, haphazard way, when I noticed a craggy old man drinking at a table nearby. He was smiling at me. His expression was kind and careworn, but with perhaps a hint of quiet rage that was tucked away somewhere in the folds of his leathery face. I got the feeling that he wanted to look after me, but yet that process would involve a beating at some stage. I smiled back and continued to play.
After a while he got up, came over to me and just stood a couple of feet away, still nursing his pint and…well, watching. Watching - with eyes that has seen a thousand games of darts. Sipping his beer with a mouth that had sipped a thousand pints. He didn’t say anything, he just watched.
It was getting late, and the pub had become quite full and noisy. The old man decided to lean over and say something to me. Above the pub PA system, and the general hubbub, I could just about hear him say:
“Championship darts.”
What on earth? What could that mean? I thought for several seconds, looking at his inscrutable face and trying to guess what he meant. Championship? Was this some kind of mysterious portent? Maybe I wasn’t so bad after all? Maybe he had observed the rapid progress I was making – the grace with which I had mastered the basic elements of the game in merely half an hour! I thought that I had better get him to repeat it.
“Sorry?” I said.
“Yer rubbish at darts,” he said.
Chris
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