tommyiscooldotcom

Well I've had a bit of an ideas drought, so I've scraped the bottom of the barrel once again and gotten my good friend, Mac Uni alumni, writer of the PEA and Canterbury Gang-Rapists fan Matt 'Shootz' Sampson to write me a shitty article bagging me out Anyway, here it is, he didn't give a title so I'll just call it

YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE?!#*$@!
An essay

When Master Tommy asked me to write something that could actually be construed as entertaining to resurrect his floundering web log, I can not say that I was surprised. Long has it been that I have been a respected pillar in the comedy writing field and, despite an unsuccessful yet brief stint writing for the fourth season of Becker, my record is flawless (I was responsible for the episode in which Becker received an unexpected sex change operation, only to have it reversed before the end after spending the majority of the time raising funds by selling compromising photos of Mary Steenburgen. We really just put the camera in front of Ted Danson and the thing wrote itself). Fortunately, I had just had some free time open up, having just been retrenched from my previous job, sitting out the front of train stations and yelling obscenities at my own penis. It’s all business politics, you wouldn’t understand. So, it just seemed like this was all meant to be.


An artist's impression of my previous job

However, which is just a fancy word for ‘but’, I was still at a loss as to what I could write about. Could I write about national economics or the global biosphere? Falling house prices or rising sea levels? Could I write about the fascinating complexities of the human brain, or the emerging discontent with Western regimes in the Middle East? Or would I write about the immensely popular, contemporary and not-at-all-overdone topics of how stupid George W. Bush is, or how Mark Latham was a bit of a yobbo, and then tack some mp3’s on?

In the end I got a bit dizzy from thinking about it all, and possibly also from the McChicken I ate before sitting down to write this, which I suspect was not fresh, seeing as I fished it out of a bin next to a methadone clinic. Actually, I’m not even sure that ‘McChicken’ adequately describes the burger, more like ‘used and discarded prophylactic’. I quickly decided that it was time to fall back on old writing standbys, which make it easy to seem like you’re a good writer, even if you have no talent at all or, as in this case, are quickly sliding into anaphylactic shock.


I AM FREAKIN’ OUT, MAN

Unfortunately, I found that most of the cheap gimmicks I am usually able to rely on had been stolen from me..
- Briefly summarising a news article, whilst adding no real commentary of my own.. taken.
- Using jokes that I probably heard on Rove and adding a bad impression of a world leader.. taken.
- Using jokes that I probably heard on Rove and not even attempting a bad impression of a world leader.. taken
- Raping the memory of one of Australia’s greatest screen actors, whose credits include the immortal role of ‘Gramps’ in Charlie the Wonderdog.. taken.
- Harping on about how Fred Basset is not funny.. taken.
- Some crap about wrestling cause wrestling is easy to write about.. taken.

So it looks like I’m fucked and, instead, I’m going to have to fall back on my failsafe – writing about how I can’t think of anything to write about and then just pour absolute drivel onto a page and serve it up as if it was chicken parmigiana (or chicken condom, as my palate has become adjusted to). That seems to be an affliction Master suffers from as well.