Wanda Keenan is David Brent - CBS, FOX NEWS, CNN

I do declare - Wanda Keenan - my manager for over 12 years is infact:

THE TOTAL INSPIRATION for 'The Office' hero DAVID BRENT.

Wanda began dating Ricky Gervais (she was on the rebound from being dumped - By Blind Ernie) during the late 90s. Immediatley Wanda became suspicious of Gervais's intentions. He jotted down everything she said.... and filmed her dancing.

So after a whirlwind romance she snapped him off - with (she promises) only the occasional phone call regarding their daughter.

Wanda led me a merry dance - hiding these 'Brent' traits until I forced her into a corner.

A preverbial corner - where she unleashed her sweaty patronising ways.

Once Wanda returns from the Priory, I may fire her. If she hasn't changed....

Her Priory consultant (Aid) assured me Wanda had picked up an eating disorder - silver linings.....

The spirits failed me this time - usually they gleefully inform me when I meet A-holes.

Fini

Fat Kitten V Cannonball - Wanda's Summary

Strutted
Screamed
Yelled
Charmed
Innocence
Vulnerability
Childish
Womanly
Manly
Arrogant
Loud
Dirty
Wild
Fair
Shocking
Predictable – never
Thrusting
Alive
Alive
Awake
Alive

Fat Kitten V Cannonball - pt1 written by Manager Keenan

OMG - crowds were loud and fierce. Only half the audience had seats.

Both teams were scared.

James from Fat Kitten was pumped with anxious Adrenalin… adding to his alertness by using the energy properties of Red Bull… wired him to the edge.

Cannonball’s Chris vanished, normally an affable and exuberant chap – he diminished under the lights and responsibility of ‘comedy genius’ expectation (do we have another Ruby Wax on our hands?).

I was anxious and excited. I decided that morning that Hosting shows is the way I want my comedy path to lead. It’s the easiest way for me to get on a stage and get big laughs. I’m allowed to be noisy, arrogant, selfish and blisteringly pompous!

James questioned my ‘warm-up’ plans for the night – offering his troupe to get the audience going. I rebuffed the offer… warming up an audience is my skill…

Hey the frostier the audience the more exciting journey for me!!!

Jumping on stage once the teams were cowering in the corner… I roared. Thundercats style. The Roar continued – the call of the wild got men roaring alongside.

My energy level was at 85% during this show.

My flat 5% energy displayed
Work 40% energy displayed
Impro Workshops 50% energy showing
Near Alan Marriot 55% energy show
Normal Friends Parties 60% energy displayed
Actor Friends Parties 62% energy displayed
Family events 70%
Stand-up 72% energy displayed
Improvising in front of an audience 75% energy displayed
FAT KITTEN V CANNONBALL 85% energy on show
88% energy show while dancing in a club to FANTASTIC MUSIC
Adult content & near death life saving experiences from here on….

Fat Kitten V Cannonball... how it started for my manager

1 week ago my Manager - Wanda Keenan lost a bet at the Phoenix Bar.

She had a choice - Truth or Dare.

For my honour she accepted Dare. To become the guide/host/chaperone of a ‘gentlemen’s’ fight.

In the creative community we have many Comedy ‘Squads’. A Squad is a unit of pairs/trios of comediennes. Members of the Squad bond together usually by shared comedy values – or in this instance – a shared dislike of an apposing comedy ‘Squad’.

To settle the differences – between these two Squads (Fat Kitten and Cannonball) a dark dank room was found near London Bridge.

They invited a raucous semi-dressed rabble, a panel of Judges straight from Acas and the Circus Ring Leader.

Due to Swine Flu – the booked Circus Ring Leader – Ivor Begkoc, had to pull out….

Meanwhile.. Wanda had spent a long innocent day in Soho bars, discussing politics and fashion. Accepting the offer of ‘one for the road’ she stumbled down the steps of the Phoenix Bar. Her ‘date’ the well love army comic Greg McHugh caught her just after she’d hit her head through a Japanese Screen Partition.

…Like Alice following the white Rabbit – this accident thrust Wanda and Greg into a Poker game..

Wanda is as Wyle coyote as the next Essex girl and managed to lose only her Jacket, Blouse and Bra…during the Live Poker Tournament however when the stakes increased.. to Truth and Dare – her luck changed.

Stood on the centre of the Poker Table, with a shot glass balanced on her head and between her knees they shouted at her…. Truth or Dare.

Wanda bellowed Truth.

They asked her if I, Miss Orla had slept with all the presenters of Most Haunted. Well luckily Wanda has a moral code – and knows where her breads buttered.

Wanda whispered… DARE!

Her dare was to Host the Snuff Show – Fat Kitten V Cannonball at The Miller, London.

Lust Time

I'm in Lust - thinking about him turns me on.

Thinking about him thinking about me turns me on.

Imagining him thinking about me thinking about him thinking about me turns me on.

Is this normal? Christian? Decent? Kind?

Thinking about his mouth turns me on.

Thinking about his mouth on me turns me on.

Thinking about my mouth on his mouth turns me on.

Thinking about his mouth coming close to my mouth so my mouth is on his mouth turns me on.

Is this healthy? Should I talk to someone? Should he be scared?

Up a Blind Alley

Extreme surgery causes me bi-monthly blindness.

Over 8 years I've managed this blindness by BRAILing and learning 'listening'.

Both skills helped during blind and non blind days.

However I report this simply because I've just come out of 'Alice's little hole.....'

I didn't take drugs... my hell was created by subliminal satanic Brail rants that appear on uneven surfaces....

Apparently accessed easily, accidentally and often intentionally by the 'blind' fraternity.

While scaring the innocents and unsuspecting weaker minds and me.

Early August 2009 I was sliding around my Kensington aparment... blindly patting my padded walls and polished floors - enjoying fun recreationional sliding - good for spirits.

THWACK head hits 15th Century French Chifforobe. I hit back. My open hand slid across grainy surface..

Scream SCReam SCREAM - I read a Brail RANT.... Dimpled onto Chifforobe - Hitler/Satan my house keeper McMac? Who wrote this?

Words evocative and smelly, cruel and intelligent, salty and Vinegar....

I ordered McMac to drag me to my room, wrap me up and close the curtains around my bed. Sleep came hard.

Word on the Blind Alley - it's a conspiracy to encourge world domination.

...it's blindingly obvious.... Satan is forcing me to become the Brailinator

Robin Ince doesn't believe.... in me.... CURSES

At the five star apartment complex.

Enjoying tattie eggs... or some such Scottish delight - with Tea.

A beautiful sunny morning in Edinburgh - overlooking Glastonbury Tour's uglier rockier cousin... Lenny the Bruce Rock, Arthurs Needle... i'm not sure of its name - or even if that's what I can see.

Yesterday I got a smack - a big, damp, open handed wallop in the mush.

Robin Ince and his verbal boxer 'Gobby'.

Not only does he NOT believe in Psychics, but as he looked straight through me... I see that he doesn't believe in me!

He has no interest in the Spirits of our ancestors and Robin's anger and ignorance is equally distributed onto the beautiful people of the cloth - ie Miss Orla, ie Me ME MEEEE.

Was I upset? Well.... would a GOD be upset if a Beetle died and smeared it's entrails on the Gods shoes? NO! Dissappointed, regretful of creating such a selfish Beetle... but not UPSET.

Being upset would mean I cared. Would I care for some big brained MAN? Some book reading, friends of Scientist, Communist, break-dancing, fat thumbed, CLARK?!?!?

I'm not stupid, I care for wise and gifted people - all of which care for me FIRSTLY. I'm in their prayers..... can Incy say the same....

Anyway - I had a party in my suite last night. A whole room of Widowers gathered around my burning ring, Candles flickering as the spirits of Pan and Pam, whispered and stroked knowing moments of love to all the old women. Cheekily undressing the ladies of their earthly burdens.

Pearls, Gold, Dignity and Murrgh... a humble exchange for peace and restful sleep.

Miss Orla

Karaoke Circus - 100 club - no Photos?

Big Up the West London, East London, Yate, NI, Yorkshire, Canadian, US, African, Dutch, Wallander MASSIVE!

All the rest of you.... Afternoon.

I went to the Chiropodist. It wasn't my feet that were hurting. I actually had a 'lady' issue which caused overwhelming embarrassment...

So rationally I thought.. Start at the bottom and work up/around to the real problem.

When I finally confessed to the Chiropractic clinician (who, with her colleagues was examining my Xray and Google’ing diseases) I received no sympathy.

My 'lady' issue was poo-pooed...

In a fit of tears and anger I ran out and down Harley street - falling into two clowns.

Foz Foster and Baron Gilvan.

They recognised me (In my former life I was a Roadie called ‘Heffer’ the Human Ballast).

Foz and The Baron dusted me down and loaded their instruments and Amps into my arms. Foz climbed on board and using Husky calls directed me to 100 Club on Oxford Street.

Paying me in Cider I was happily sipping, supping and bupping (burping and bopping to the beat).

Then Mr White, on the stage, with the dagger yelled at me to get up! He spoke about my breasts or made some such crack about me feeding a family of Jackals one winter in Alaska (and!??) as I dragged my booze covered body on stage.

Music started, I was handed the lyrics to ‘Nothing Compares to You’ a Sinead/Prince song.

4oo eyes were on me. I was a little Christian Lion in the Pit with hungry Atheists.

I sung and sung, I clawed for Martin White, he was too fast. Foz teased me with shiny objects, blinding and scaring me. Audience jeered (in tune), pounding drums… All building to a crescendo.

Then an audience CHEER! Sound so powerful and overwhelming I fell back, trembling.

Martin grabbed me to make sure I didn’t damage the stage. I was lowered back to the ground and given a cider. All I heard was the peck peck pecking whisper of…. "You should go on Britain’s got talent…. Go on Britain’s got talent".

Many photo's have come out of that night - hundreds. Yet not one of me. Mother said i've a face for Radio. Father always insisted Masks were in fashion.

Wanda (aka Miss Orla’s Manager)

ISMA ALMAS and EDINBURGH

Wow what a week, what a month.

Every God went on Holiday and where did they visit?

ME!

Even my 'Big Ass' Aura and Soul struggled to cater to the Gods.

ThankGod (so to speak) they were in party frolicking mood.

All the talk in the celestial realms is of ISMA ALMAS.

A stand-up comic sent from HEAVEN to delight and entertain THE WORLD.

Edinburgh at The Stand. Every Day. It's simple - do it, watch it, see it, absorb her, draw in, grow, engulf, smother, wrap, feast, lay with and devour this amazing talent.

America Loved Me - No longer a one way affair

So - the Americans have taste.

First Barack and now Miss Orla.

I came and conqured that country. As Paul Revere rightly said 'The British are coming, The British are coming' - yes - came and conqured.

'Violins play softly'

*nod head to beat and click fingers*

Perhaps this little lady Brit didn't get her hands on all their real estate - but if you could measure hearts and minds...I'd say Miss Orla bagged herself a multi-verse of hearts and minds....

...a multi-verse which if you built on...

...buiiiiiltttt ONNNNNNN....

...is bigger than America....

...yeah?....

..Yeah...

...and my multiverse got no recession....

...my multiverse is full of naked men..... that talk like women.... and cook like McDonalds... but don't have calories..... the food that is... I don't want no skinny man..... just naked men.... plural... and multiples... everything must multiple.... apart from me... I don't want to multiply... well not in my kingdom of naked men.... Miss Orla babies crying and embarrassing... no.. I got nude men to wash.. clean down and up... conquered...

ATTENTION - that last extract was from a Miss Orla Jazz RANT. Can be heard on Virgin Records USA JAZZ

ImprovBoston 21st June 7.10pm

Miss Orla is doing America and i'm starting at the capital of Tea Parties - BOSTON!

Come down and see me on Sunday 21st June at Improv Boston:

ImprovBoston, 40 Prospect St. Cambridge, MA, USA, 02139Phone: 617-576-1253

You may be asking what's a Singing Psychic doing at an Improv night - well it's very simple.

25 years ago when ImprovBoston began - an accident occurred on stage that caused the brutal death of an Improviser.

They were creating a scene in the style of a Western Genre - Tumbleweeds, Saloon, Whores, Spitting.... The Gun Fight.

One of the improvisers - not fully understanding the rule of 'imagination' and 'performance' pulled out a real gun and shot the other performer.

Even though the guy with the real gun had pulled his gun slower than the improviser with the 'imagined' gun, tragically that imagined bullet couldn't disarm his opponent - infact it antagonised the real gunman.

Over the last 25 years that slain improviser has been a quiet spirit - only interrupting a few late night performances with flickering lights and eery smells - but recently he's upping the anti.

Pushing the limits of health and safety! (I’m vociferous in my hatred for Health and Safety expunctionists) ....taking batteries out of smoke alarms, pouring water on tiled floors!

He's also interfering with shows - making performer’s fluff lines, throwing in swear words etc.

So I - Miss Orla - have been called in to X'ise the venue, the stage, the hardware, software, people etc.

Come watch me, come touch me, come b me, come come come. Come Comb Come...

Tidal Wave of Lust

Slipping out of the bath I chanced upon a tall Japanese man. As I was in my locked bathroom I was a tad surprised till I noticed he had no feet.

Izanagi handed me my deep purple satin robe and carried me into my bedroom.

As a spirit guide he'd made me stiff and immobile - so I succumbed to his delicate soothing touch as I listened to his concerns.

Shinto Kami Impurity... that's the main points for the western reader - let's just say we need to balance the books. It's not quite a snappy as Ying Yang but it's the same deal - we need to get balanced.

War and Nuclear Bomb building is tipping us on the side of Yang and we need a good dose of Ying. Or mass indigestion and migraines will befall us.

This comes from Izanagi. I'm in no place to question that 'God'. (and yes ladies… he is!)

His solution is simply 'Lust Dust'. He will be sitting on a cloud and “Dust” us with “Lust” – “Dust Lust”.

So people - you heard it first - i've warned you.

Personally I say "Bring it On!"

Boys'R'Toys

Out and about and in and out

Sunny shining evaporate drout

Rivers of Bliss and Mountains of Winks

Summers here

Yes! Muckspredder stinks



When tired of jam and tea, stretch ones legs, pop fingers, grind jaw to the whistling silence of a summer dawn

Smell me in the garden, field me on a bridge, hug me from woodglade trip, bite hard to my rosy lips

Sandals pinch of sand delights, Puppies yap in dusky fright, all the world is out tonight, sleep and lover winter, elope on diamond kite

Aretha and Dusty Springfield entered Manager Wanda

My Manager/Agent/Mentor and sometimes lover (in your dreams Miss Orla) has followed the ways of her number 1 client.

Winning a prestigious pagan event called 'Kareoke III' and beating the likes of Phil Jupitus and Ben Miller.

You decide if (like me) you think she resembles Hitler riding a Pig.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaBQ0MJ5lhs
Her proudest moment.... which doesn't say much.

Sylvester Stallone's Agent Is in Da House

Just as I was leaving aunties - via the bar and 3 G&T's I bumped into a distinguished chap. Had an accent from 1940 Hollywood (if you know what I mean ladies!).

Could I restrain myself? Barely!

While helping 'Jimmy' dab off some red wine - using spit and towelling - he whispered that he had a difficulty.

Being secure and sheltered in the cubicle - I urged him to speak freely - I am - if nothing else - a quintessentially trust worthy friend, mentor and confident.

His 'client'. Mr Sylvester Stalion needs a new Kidney. Not for health reasons - purely recreational endurance.

I understood everything and felt supremely confident within his arms.

The difficulty Jimmy had was with the provenance of the organ.

As you probably all know those clever science bods in Yankyville have perfected ‘Willie Wonker/Star Trek’ beam technology.

I.e. the ability to break an item into billions of pieces and re-create that item – perfectly formed, feet, yards or even miles from pick-up.

The computing/light…. thingy processing is so enormous that the Science Bods do keep the samples small and simple. Like a Willie Wonker Chocolate Bar or a human organ.

The Provenance of Sylvester’s Kidney comes from pre-death, death row inmates. These young fit lads are perfect hosts… their meals and exercise is ordered and consistent. The lads are in peak condition.

One day they wake without a Kidney.. if they wake at all? They give something back to society (wealthier members of society) and I’m sure somewhere in their feral brains they feel a stab of pride.

Sylvester's issue is - he doesn't want an organ from a bad person... he feels it's sullied, dirty... I suppose you could say - tinged with Evil?

I insisted Jimmy take me to Mr Stallone at ONCE. I'd never heard anything so flim flam feeble before. And coming from a big Hollywood bod!

18 hours later I was laying by the Pool of Jimmy's Cottage (only Americans could call a 18 bedroom Mansion a Cottage:0) . Sheepishly and distracted Sylvester strutted in.

I tapped a towel covered stool - beckoning Sylver to join me.

I whispered "Do you like Steak?"

Sylve laughed - such an silly question to ask an American muscle man. He assumed I was a simpleton...

I was the master of this verbal chess game.. Slowely Slowely Catchee Monkey...)

I got dressed into my silk LA pjs and led Sylv to the table. My cook - Mr Eagle - was BBQing steaks. The smell was intoxicating.

"When you eat that rare steak, with Worchestershire Sauce and mushrooms, and you chew it in your mouth - how do you feel?"

Sylvester got close to my face "A man eats meat - meat is good"

Mr Eagle served two fat rare steaks. Almost as big as a mans fist. My mouth salivated as I tossed my eyes from Steak to Sly to Steak to Sly.

Sly and I stared at each other as we chewed and cut and fed ourselves.

Swallowing hard I cleared my mouth. As I wiped the juice from my chin I said "What if this steak came from a bull. A bull that went wild and stampeded. In that stampede the Bull killed a small child. Would the steak be bad?

Sly laughed an open and full mouth laugh.. The laugh of Goliath as David appeared with a sling.

I let him roll his eyes and pick his teeth then I jabbed again "So the meat isn't bad. The meat isn't condemned for the actions of the Bulls brain?"

"No you strange Brit - of course not" Sly smirked

"So why dismiss the organs of a Convict? That Kidney didn't break the law... it was the brain - the brain that did wrong. As a modern society we must be able to seperate the organs from the brain. The skin from the bones." I dazzled Sly using my Obama nation style.

Sylvia was dumb struct. He leant over and with a mouth full of mushrooms he kissed me full on the mouth. I felt like a little bird being fed by its mumma.

Cut off in my Prime

Hello Devoteas

I was called away suddenly - not the spirits - more random than that - it was a CELEBRITY.

I'm back at Old Aunties - stirring troops and summoning dead commissioners - when a tall Scottish hunk began wittering on...

"oh i'm looking for a printer, where's my printer... I need a printer"

While eyeing up my equipment I thought - I KNOW YOU - YOU'RE A CELEBRITY.

I should be a detective - as like Sherlock Holmes I deduced:

1) I recognise Him
2) He can't be friend or family because I don't know any black haired Scottish men
3) My luck was in

So coming to his rescue - I helped this whitterer - glowing with English rose radiance and the residue of a particularly pumping gym session.

He said "Thankyou - you're very kind"

I agreed, he's observant even if printer retarded.

I pressed the buttons for 2 copies and put the paper into the machine (yes he'd fecked that up - trying to shove the paper into the air cooler!)

Genetically speaking - he's attractive, tall, fit. He's a celebrity so 'Talented' smart and 'Show' Business savvy. But he's also cack handed and dufus-like.... Breeding potential - ummm - Scottish men are well known around my end - to be generous if hesitant lovers... hey i'le give him a shot.

Father of my first born - may allow that.

I'le keep you posted...

...he's probably irritating the tits off his wife - i'm not that much of a feminist to come to her rescue and take him off her hands - and if she's a Scottisher she probably thrives and swells on adversity and suffering.

Rascist Rant over - that's why my last blog was cut short.

Another Ibiza ditty that shot out of me was a future warning to a tight clothed actress who presented herself on her knees...

CSI Animal

Got a call from my Agent
Got a call
Got a call

He said 'Little Princess'
You're going to the ball

I've got you Animal Rescue
A Feature that will place:
CSI Animal
Insert - Titled with your face

CSI Animal?
I questioned
'What is that?'

"CSI Animal Crimes against...?
Cat, Bat or Rat"

Come Monday Morning
Wardrobe dressed me up
Tight; jeans, Vest Shirt, Lacquered hair
Black Boots worn 4 stirrups

I looked NY chic
LA Glam
I'm a Hollywood Dream Babe
Ready for HD Cam

First shows
Were simple shows
Abattoir and Battersea Dogs Home
Reasons for Deaths - so clear
Even without DNA smear

3rd case was mighty tricky
on A45 to Penge
Hedgehog suspiciously flattened
His death - my duty to avenge.

Rule of thumb when CSI'ing
Hold off assumptions to the end
First impressions can be false
This is no Pretend

On my knees I dusted for prints,
On my back I scoured for motive
On my feet I UV'ed for Blood/Semen
With one of these - I did succeed

Trajectory of Blood Splayed
out from end to end
1.7m diameter
once again - I don't pretend

I photoed every angle
Photos of my looking great
Photos of my mate Johnny
Ooops wrong step I make

I stepped back onto flat Hedgehog
The Director and Producer saw
They’re both animal lovers
Sensitive issue – too raw

They let me finish the ep
Demo’ed how Hog was hoe’ed
Slow-Mo recreation
Using plasticine hog and road

My pretty scaled blood spat image
My pretty butt in tight jeans
My pretty NY chic stirrups boots
No dent – They told me ‘Just Leave’

I was a Doctor - till they cut off my heart and balls

Welcome to the year of the Oxe - 2009 - Bully for me? 'Yes!' Bully for you? "Well let me look at you closer... get closer to your screen.. oooh - Yes!"

You're asking yourself - 'what did Miss Orla do for New Year?'

(Once a Psychic - always a Psychic - ha ha!)

You're asking yourself - 'Was her New Year as good as mine?'

You're asking yourself - 'Is it too late to buy dollars cheaply?'

For all those answers and more... keeeeeeep reading!

New Year 2009

Wow what a night - what dancing - what revelations???

Infront of 17,000 party goers in Ibiza I sung the following trippy skank fiver song lament - bellowed straight from the bowels of Naraka:

I was once a Doctor
Treating the sick and the lame

I was once a DoctorAlas...
never again

I saved a life lesser than human
NO Human Dr can

I save a life of a Zebra
this is how

my pain
began

My husband was dozing beside me
Driving our beautiful Sedan
I changed the radio? Was I lighting a fag?
This is how,
my pain
began.

Hitting a Longleat Zebra
To lazy to run from the horn
To dim to fear metallic roar
travelling faster than a Lion's Yawn

The thwump did wake my hubby
The thwump did dent my car
Zebra limping away
Won't get long away
from bruising my Sedan Car

I sped on foot to the Zebra,
He ran limply away
Back in the car I followed
Won't escape medical prey

Shouting 'Hold the Wheel' hubby
we drove alongside beast
Shouting 'Hold the Wheel' hubby
My own safety in Sedan did cease

Around the neck I did grab
pulling the Zebra to the ground
Rugby as a young girl good training
Forcing my quarry down down

Lame leg trussed with scarf and belt. I slung him
His panting chest.
No fear of mine
Hubby and I lifted him dirtly
Onto front of car - with twine.

Driving to the Exit
(Sign said - don't turn round)
We unloaded our cargo gently
Both hubby and I did not frown

As the smell of the wild excites us
and seeing knowone around
We consumated our effections
txting Longleat - once come down

Unbeknownst to my hubby and I
CCTV within Longleat is key
With head shots, tyre prints, number plate,
HTV showed we could not...
escape

I was once a Doctor
Treating the sick and the lame
I was once a DoctorAlas...
never again

I saved a life lesser than human
NO Human Dr can

I save a life of a Zebra
this is how
my pain
began