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.