The random views of Scott KissingerI love a good laugh. We’re not blessed with a lot of options for live comedy in Singapore, but as with most things cultural there has been steady improvement. Unfortunately, in one respect at least, comedy itself has taken a step backwards.
I am very difficult to offend, and the F-bomb does not, in an of itself, bother me at all. But judging by the comics we saw last night, if you’re not dropping that bomb every other word then you’re either a newbie or consigned to the Catskills / Poconos circuit. Is it not f*#king possible for these f*#king people to express their f*#king selves without saying “f*#k” or some f*#king variation of it six f*#king times in a f*#king sentence? For f*#k’s sake, I’m not f*#king offended by it, I’m simply f*#king annoyed by it. I mean, how f*#king hard is it for you, you f*#k, to read this f*#king sh!t? You get pretty f*#king weary of this pretty f*#king fast, don’t you? f*#king right. And after a while, you start counting the times they say “f*#k” instead of listening to what they’re saying.
Don’t get me wrong, these comics were funny. Seriously funny. Hilariously funny. (At least 4 out of the 5 were. The Aussie, who curiously was the Scottish comic of the year, was uneven at best, and not coincidentally he used “f*#k” most liberally and crudely.) Some gags had people on the verge of rolling in the aisles, literally. And some of the funniest lines made judicious use of the F-bomb. But the fact is, “f*#k” is no longer shocking and, by itself, is rarely funny. So I don’t understand why they feel the need to sprinkle it liberally about their routines.
And that’s all the f*#k I’ve got to say about that.
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