Author Archives: Gary Little


Only in Glasgow can you use two positive words to mean a negative. These words are, Aye,right!!

Last week at a gig, as I stood shamelessly, trying to sell my DVDs (ideal Xmas present),a guy came up to me. Get the sale pitch ready, I thought” want to see the look of disappointment on a loved ones face pal? then buy this DVD” (2 available). Guy stared at me, pointing at his face. It’s hard to describe the look of rage, but imagine a pit bull eating a bit of toffee. This is what this contorted face looked like.
He still hadn’t said anything. “yer holding up the queue mate” (there was no queue) He pointed at his face again. He then went on to tell me how fucking raging he was, due to the fact I was headlining the gig. Turns out he was under the impression some other act was to close the show. He pointed at his face again. Raging.
He thought I could see him from the stage, his wee raging face,raging like a good yin. I didn’t see him. He was telling me he was that angry, he couldn’t even hear me! Aye, right! Every cunt(person) can hear me,raging or no raging.
Now some of my critics (yes you 2) might understand his disappointment at having to listen to me, but in between telling me how raging he was, he also added he had seen me before, so he knew I was good! But his rage wasn’t going to let him dwell on that good memory.
Why the fuck did you stay to the end then, I asked. ” I was just so angry” he replied. What a fucking dick of a man.
The best was still to come. Turns out he was given the tickets free. He also knew at the start of the night that I was closing, and had already complained to the manager. But rather than fuck off, he decided to stew all night with a fantastic rage. What a complete prick, and I’d imagine he smashed his house to fuck when he got home.
Now just to show I had no bad feelings towards him, I asked him simply “are ye buying yer good lady a DVD?” He wasn’t for building bridges…

Raging man

Raging man

I remember a time when it was acceptable to get a knitted Arran jumper as a gift (Haircut 100 days,google it kids). Can you imagine that now? “here Darron, I knitted you a jumper for yer Xmas” What was more mental, was some knitters,asking for you to pay for the wool! I got bumped for £45 once. I could have bought a fuckin sheep for £45. I worked with the woman, so it’s always hard to refuse in that situation. There was never a time I wasn’t fucking roasting with that jumper on

Happy arse with an Arran

Happy arse with an Arran

Just remember folks, when it comes to presents, that it’s the thought that counts. Unless it’s about £50 less than what you spent on them. Then yer entitled to be raging…

Movember in the Mountains

So it’s that time of the year. The time when grown men get to act out their 70’s porn star look. It’s Movember!! I know the beardy mob get a hard time, but I can see why they grow them. They might not have a chin, or maybe a big mars bar on their face, or just no personality. All good reasons to grow facial hair, but the moustache? I see a guy with a moustache outside November,and I immediatly think Question marks!! Who is this tool?

I have to put my hands up here and admit that I once sported a moustache. It was back in 1994. I had been sent to the jail for the first time. Obviously I was a bit nervous, so I thought growing a tash would not only make me look older, but also less attractive to my fellow inmates. How wrong was I! Turns out I look sexy as fuck with a moustache. The memories of those 3 months still haunt me,and to this day I only use liquid soap…

new prison
Me looking sexy as fuck

I was gigging up Aberdeen last weekend. This gave me the opportunity while I was up that way, to climb a couple of Munro’s ( big hills) I’ve climbed 98, so I wanted to do 2, to get to the 100 mark. I find it quite therapeutic when I’m up the hills. I get time to come up with material that I hope will make people laugh.

I could wax lyrically about the wonderful mountains, the amazing scenery and the feeling of being at one with myself, but that’s not the memory I have of the day’s walk.

In all the time I have been doing the hills, I have seen loads of great wildlife. Wild Hares in their winter coats, rutting Stags clashing during mating season, and a wee mouse thing that shat itself when my dog almost stood in it. I’ve never though, seen a Golden Eagle. Sometimes I’ve thought I seen one, but the distance it was, meant it might have been a Buzzard.

On Saturday I did see one though. This majestic king of the sky, soaring above me, surveying its territory. Oblivious to the walker beneath him.

Now you might think that this was a special moment for me, but not on this occasion.

I was watching the Eagle from behind a rock, which was why it never spied me. The reason I was behind the rock was I doing a shite.

My bed and breakfast I stayed in, had a shared toilet, and I wasn’t going to be the “smelly cunt fae Glesga” that stunk the toilet out (I might have to go back there, when my successful Scottish tour includes Forfar) So for this reason, I hadn’t done my normal morning business( shite).

So I’m in the wilds of the mountains, needing a shite. No big deal you think? Maybe so, but even out in the wilderness, you still get a bit para that someone will see you. A mountain rescue team out practicing, a laird of the estate, swanning about like a dick, or worse, a group of hill walkers like myself. Picture that scene…”hi ya! Just oot walking eh?”
It’s the feeling of vulnerability.

See that’s the thing about doing a shite. No matter who you are, what position in life you have, when you do a shite…you are vulnerable.

So I’m there behind the rock watching the Eagle, but I don’t feel good about it. I’m embarrassed.

I know I’m seeing something special, but I can’t enjoy it. I’m even thinking ” what if that Eagle spies me with it’s wee Eagle eyes?”

I know the Eagle hasn’t the cognitive skills to be thinking ” fuck sakes, check that baldy fucker dain a shite behind that rock! Whit a brass kneck” ( Scottish Eagle) but I still can’t enjoy what should have been a magical moment.

golden eagle 7701

Golden Eagle flying above my rock

I’d like to finish off by saying no cunt likes a whistler. No matter how good you think you can whistle, it annoys every fucker around you. So please stop


Just Fuck

For most of my life I’ve never given a fuck, I’ve always found it easier to just say “Fuck it! I don’t give a fuck”. I knew there were people out there who gave a fuck, and I always thought that it must have been really hard to continue to give a fuck, when you knew most people didn’t give a fuck. Even though I never gave a fuck, I admired these people for giving a fuck.
That all changed though, a couple of years ago. Something happened that made me give a fuck. For the first time in a long long time, I genuinely gave a fuck.
I sensed as well, that a lot more people were giving a fuck, people who like me , who never gave a fuck before. It felt as everyone around me was giving a fuck, as if I was only gravitating towards people who gave a fuck.
It was amazing times, thinking that we could really change things by giving a fuck.

That’s not how it works though. Just giving a fuck isn’t enough. The people who had given a fuck for years knew that.

It turns out that giving a fuck isn’t enough to change things.Not when you have people at the top who don’t give a fuck , except to make sure that there is enough people at the bottom who don’t give a fuck.

People at the bottom with fuck all, except the capacity for believing bullshit.
The same people who give a fuck about the next door neighbour on disability, with a motor, but doesn’t give a fuck about George Osborne’s pal making 20 million on Post Office shares.
The same people who give a fuck about the junkie wearing pyjamas at 3 in the afternoon, but don’t give a fuck about cunts getting fracking rights for Scotland.

The people with fuck all,but worried that if they gave a fuck, they might get less than fuck all
These people who only give a fuck about nothing.

I suppose I could have just started with” I’m gutted at the referendum” but that would have left me with loads of empty space.

I still give a fuck

I did a gig this week and someone came up at the end, and asked if they could book me for their party. Turns out it’s a house party and I’ll be playing in the garage. It’s an up and over door she added, knowing full well that would be the clincher for the deal. That was until she told me it was only a one motor garage and the freezer and other stuff was in there. I don’t want to sound like a diva, but surely at this stage of my career I’m a 2 car garage act?

Remember the times when owning a large penis, meant guaranteed work when you left school? Changed days.

Mirror,indicate,go mental

If there is one thing I know, and when I say know, of course I mean think, and not know, It’s when a guy gets in his car and turns on his sat nav, it’s already a challenge.
248 miles in 4hrs and 14minutes? Aye!,very good TomTom. I’ll be shaving off they 14 minutes to start with.
That was the plan anyway as I started the journey to Congleton( near Crewe)(near somewhere else you might have heard of, but I can’t remember)
Take yer time Gary, straight road, nae traffic lights, just the boring m74 then m6. Records will be smashed! Can probably even drink a few cans.
The drive started to go wrong just after Carlisle . Turns out there had been an accident 2000 miles ahead and 3 days earlier,but they still had a backlog!
6 1/2 fucking hours later I was still driving. Shouting ,looking as if I was having an argument on the hands free, but only trying to take my mind of the fact I needed the toilet. It was excruciating . Having tanned all my food and drank all my drink, the inside of the car was a tip. It’s amazing how angry you can get with a traffic report on the radio. At one point I thought I would have to drive straight to the gig , instead of my hotel ,where I usually “freshen up”( full scrub down with Dettol and Brillo pad)
30 minutes later things had changed dramatically.
1.I had pished myself,something that I had always wondered what it would be like,but hoped it would have been in a more controlled setting.
2.The back seat was on fire, it looked mental, but the looks on other drivers faces was funny
I tried to calm down and think of positives
1. I had probably beat the record for slowest average speed over that distance.
2. I now had more time to work out how I could get away with murder
Anyway I got to my hotel with 30 minutes till the gig. I shaved,showered, shat and ironed at the same time,thus saving precious time. The gig was 16 miles away. TomTom told me 26 minutes…

View from my car

View from my car

My Edinburgh show ended on Monday and although I was pretty pessimistic about the whole thing,it turned out pretty good. Decent crowds, decent reviews and home in Glasgow every night. I learned a few things with the reviews. If I don’t want every review of my show to start off with how I look,then I’ll have to start looking differently! If I want reviewers to review the show the way they had hoped it would be , then I will have to meet up with them before, so they can tell me how they want the show to be.

I’m in Lancaster now, just the 6 hours before the gig. I like to get here early to get a feel of the place. Or I’ve driven from Yorkshire gig last night and have fuck all else to do. Delicious kedgeree though. Look for the positives.

I hope while reading this you can imagine how bored out my skull I am. There’s only so long I can stay in TK Max looking at jumpers for the winter. Or using WH Smiths as my own magazine library. ” aye mate I might be buying it, I’m just seeing if it’s got that thing I’m kidding on I’m looking for”
I see other sad lonely men browsing Trains Monthly. Losers

Just Keep The Clothes You Have On

Sometimes when watching something on the telly, and seeing a big fat ugly character, or a wee skinny ugly character, or even just a character(I dont want to get on at heavy holes),I think to myself that the person must have been sent a script for that part with the description “fat and unnatractive character”

I wonder how their thought process goes, do they think “I will use all my acting skills to convey the uglinesss and obesity needed for this part” or do they just think “yes! I’ve nailed the fat ugly bastard again”

I thought of this again last week when I filmed a bit of my stand up. It’s the classic dog in the park routine that’s loved by literally 10’s of people around my scheme.
In the routine I needed someone to play a paedophile. As I was asking favours from fellow comics I then had to decide which one of them looked the most sex offenderish (made up word). This was more difficult than I thought, as a lot of them looked like beasts.

Eventually I decided on my good friend Allan to play the part. I may have detected hesitation in his voice when I asked him to play the role, but I just ignored that.

On the day of filming he turned up with a bag of what he thought a paedo would wear. I told him though that he was fine with the clothes he had on.

It’s weird that most people, if asked what a paedophile looked like, would probably have the same image.
Glasses seem to be a must for yer beast. Jumper is also in the wardrobe,summer and winter. Sandals with socks are a winner,with the arrival of Crocs in the summer,still with socks.

Plastic carrier bag with assorted knick knacks finish the look off.

I’m sure there’s some paedo reading this saying “I look fuck all like that!” while fingering his Hugo Boss polo shirt

I have one last preview of my Edinburgh Festival show on the 3rd August at the Edinburgh Stand. I’ve done two in Glasgow that both went well. I know these two have lulled me into a false sense of security.
I was thinking of doing a daily blog while at the festival. There will be certain descriptions that I should explain now

“Intimate crowd” is another way of saying “fucking empty!”

“listening crowd” means “not laughing crowd”

“the shows not for everyone” meant “the show wasn’t for anyone”

“the reviewer is entitled to his opinion” means ” if I see that wee cunt,I’m going to kick his fuckin
head in!”

“the Festival was a good learning process” means “I’ll never fucking do that shit hole again!”

I do hope I see some of you in August. Cheers

Lord of The Flies

I always think Bluebottle flies are the cooler version of normal flies. Like the housefly,but with a leather jacket and shades. It probably gets hated by other flies for it’s attitude,”flying in here, eating all the good shite, getting the dead stuff first”

I’m only mentioning the Bluebottle cause I’ve just killed one. Whacked it with a jiffy bag. See, although I think they are the cooler of the flies, I still think they are manky things. Plus it also goes to show you are never too cool to get whacked.

wee cool fly

Had an eventful gig last week when 800 hairdressers and a bad sound system showed no respect for my comedy talent! It’s a bad gig when you have to shout someone from The Only Way Is Essex up onstage to give you haunners! This worked for 13 seconds.

The night ended with someone headbutting another person. Both female.Police were then called. I couldn’t have asked for anything better to happen. No one was talking about the shite comic.

In preperation for my Edinburgh Festival show I will be doing a couple of previews in Glasgow next month. This is a request for Glasgow people who fancy Edinburgh, but apathy and hatred of street performers,means you won’t be coming through. Come to the preview then.

After talking about the Beaver last post I remembered another story of taxidermy. It’s also a harsh warning of going into an antique shop while still a bit out of it from the night before.

I had ordered a chinese takeaway,which happened to be next door to the aforementioned antique shop.
While waiting on curry I popped into the shop. This was a shop I spent a lot of money in. As soon as I walked into the shop I seen this stuffed wild boar. Horrible, but in my out of itness (from night before) I thought it was a fucking belter (still a 90’s catchphrase).”fuck sake” I said to the owner.
“never mind that,come in the back and see the rest” he replied.

What he had in the back amounted to half the seringeti,mounted. He had Water Buffalo horns, Gazelle horns and fuck knows whatever else horns ( that’s not an animal,just a phrase). All these mounted with plaques saying Colonel Fuckwit shot this poor bastard in 1909 in Zimbabwe. Or words to that effect.

My immediate question was “how much for the lot?”
Now what you should know folks is I didn’t live in a mansion, or even a hunting lodge. I lived in a Glasgow tenement.
£1200 for the lot he said.
I had £200 on me. “I’ll give you this as a deposit”
“ok,but you’ll have to take the Boar with you just now, as all the Asians are getting pissed off with it outside the shop”
So that’s how I ended up walking up Albert dr with 2 curry’s and a Wild Boar.
It did allow me to come out with the great line”I hope yer fucking hungry” when my girlfriend answered the door.
Obviously when I woke up the next day I realised what a complete arsehole I was. For the next 3 months I just body swerved the shop.
I ended up leaving the Boar in another persons flat.

Choose life.

Want to buy a Beaver?

Want to buy a Beaver Gary? I would hazard a guess not one of the many people who are reading this (23 people) have ever been asked that question. Even if yer names not Gary,still don’t think so.

Want to see ma Beaver? Possibly been asked. If yer 13.

There’s the problem with setting yourself up as someone who will buy anything stolen, you have to buy fuckin everything.

I should make a disclaimer here by adding this isn’t true (it is)

If you knock back stuff then people will stop offering you it, and word gets around “I took a fucking Antelope to the cunt and he didnae buy it, fucking raging by the way, fucking Springbok Gazelle, or something like that, it was a fucking belter!”

Oh aye, in case you are thinking I only specialised in exotic animals, they were rare purchases. It was mostly car stereos,and other opportunist items.

Open window?that’s handy…

I was only 18 at the time, and living at my mums meant I just didn’t have the storage space for the Antelope (Personly I thought it was a Thomsons Gazelle)

The beaver was a more managable size. It had been stolen out of a pub in Glasgow and the guy selling me it said it was a fuckin belter!( this was just at the start of the 1980’s when fucking belter was used to describe lots of things)
He also added his dog had pished on it.

As you do when owning a Beaver, you have to name it. This one was Boaby

Boaby the Beaver

I was 18 and knew nothing of Taxidermy cleaning, but I still bought it. Who wouldn’t?

This was years before Internet so I couldn’t Google the price of a stuffed Beaver, so it ended up just getting swapped for Acid and a bit of dope.


Ma man Dan…

I’ve gigged with a lot of “character acts”. These comics will dress up in some outfit, change their accent, and then do their stuff. There are some cracking acts out there.

Last night I did a gig with a guy who isnt a comic but just a tribute act. Dasak Dan is a Borat lookalike but due to legal challenges,can only call himself Dasak Dan. Now I’m not here to slag the guy off (but I will) as I’m sure he is a decent guy (I’m not sure,for sure) but the thing was, he was in character the whole fucking night.

I understand him doing this when walking about the room getting his photo taken, but sitting next to me for dinner was too much. “ayyyyyeeeee leek your stand up verry goooodd” Aye nae bother mate! I’m trying to have a normal conversation and he’s kissing both my cheeks while sounding like Manuel from Faulty Towers.

Are you gigging much Dan? ” eeeessss veeery ard to make the Skotish lovely people” look Dan I’m not lowering my intelligance by having this conversation with a cunt that’s no been on the telly in 5 years so be prepared to be blanked!

Dae you know any plasterers looking for a bit of casual work? See this is the normal shite we will talk about. You doing a power with the wummin Dan? Normal stuff.

I’m not 12 so it is pretty insulting him thinking I’m going along with this. I’m just an act like you Dan so lose the accent and lets hear “Fuck sake Gary I’m fucking sick of this Borat pish! Every night after a gig I go home and hate myself a wee bit more for having to act like a fucking imbecile in front of these steaming cunts! I was happy selling insurance, before some cunt said I looked like Borat”


To be honest I dont think he would use the word cunt as many times as I’ve imagined.

There must come a time though,when our carreers will run parallel. People telling me I’m not funny and people asking him who Borat is? No business like showbusiness. Well possibly Plastering.

Big man in a jaiket….

I bought a leather jacket last week. Apart from wearing one on my motorbike a few years ago, I haven’t owned a fashionable, or even unfashionable one in 20 years. A leather jacket used to be worn by everyone of my Da’s age. Mostly worn at the weekend, when it signified you were going for a night oot. The leather jacket meant business.

Every top man in Glasgow wore a black leather.Brown was for diddy’s

I remember growing up and seeing ma uncle Billy wearing a full length leather! Fuck! I thought. What a cool fucker he looked. The leather combined with the haircut of the day, the feather cut, well he was too cool for cats.

In the 1980’s I spent £800 on a full length leather.This was when E’s were £20. This doesn’t justify spending that kind of money, but it does show you how much a fanny I was. This was the kind of jacket a SS Captain, or a Goth King would have worn. It was a fucking belter. I remember the first night I wore it. Swaggering down Gt Western Rd speeding out my box,I thought I was Mr Fucking Cool. This lasted 5 minutes till I walked by 3 bams who, giving me 50 yards,shouted “haul Batman! Where’s fucking Robin?”
I sold that coat for £30 on Ebay 15 years later. A fat goth is now swaggering about somewhere stinking of petula oil.

I realise as I get older the chances of me being a champion at anything are slim. I’m clinging on to the dream of being a champ in the veteran category in Table Tennis. A dream.
Last week though,I thought I might take a title off an old nemesis of mine, Allan Miller. Allan is not only a funny guy but also holder of the Throwing a Satsuma Furthest title.

I had my first run in, with Allan back in January when I took the Eating A Full Haggis In The Quickest Time title, which Allan had held for several years. Devastated is as good as any 10 letter word to describe how Allan felt losing to me.

Knowing he held the Satsuma title meant it was only a matter of time before I challenged him. Monday then saw 2 warriors in full battle dress (denims and jumper)meet at Springburn Park in Glasgow. A park that had witnessed many battles before today, mostly with bottles, knives and bits of fence.

I’ll be honest and say right now, my naivety in Satsuma Throwing meant I thought it was a formality and my brute strengh( big erms) would see me through. I was wrong! I was beaten by a Satsuma Thrower of the highest quality.

I could go into more detail, but right now I’m boring myself so a photo of the event should do.

Record Satsuma Throw

Don’t call me mate…

I’ve had an eventful start to the week. I was volunteering at a local community centre and I’m trying to get the youth interested in stuff outwith their housing scheme.
Monday saw the arrival of Naomi Campbell, who gave a talk on “racism in the fashion industry”. It was well received, and after it she answered a series of thought provoking questions, such as “did Boaby de Niro shag you?” and “dae you know Pamla Annerson?”

Tuesday saw the arrival of a new volunteer. His name is Paul. he is outgoing, polite,generous and helpful. I’d imagine by the end of the week everyone will hate him.

I think people are genuinely confused when they meet constantly happy people. I know I am. I start thinking “what the fuck are they so happy about?” I’m not saying to people just be miserable, just go easy on the happy, smiley faces.

How easy is it to call every person you meet, Mate? Correct, dead fucking easy! How lazy is it? Well you can guess the answer. It seems as if Mate is now just everyone on the fucking planet. I also get called Chief, Da, Mucker, Pal and the much rarer, Capistrano. These are just variants of Mate and they are not my name. I realise I’m verging on Grumpy Old Men shit here, but just call me by my name, Mate.

Having always owned dogs,people I know assume that I’m a bit of an expert on them. If knowing the dogs not well when it has the shits all over the kitchen floor makes me an expert, then just call me the Dog Whisperer. Many years ago I used to get stuff(code for drugs) from a family who lived in the scheme. Three brothers who stayed with their mum and a dog Lucky. One time I went round to the house to see the brothers all standing outside the house. Turns out wee Lucky had dug up 1kg of stuff(speed) that they had buried in the back garden. Their mum was going mental as she was convinced the dog was going to die. Or at least stay awake for 6 days. They asked me, as an expert, to try and show their mum that the dog was ok.

Their mum was only too happy to let me in the house and examine Lucky. “They bastards have poisoned ma wee Lucky, Gary” I had watched All Creatures Great And Small so I knew what I needed to say. ” whit’s wrang wae it?”
“It keeps going tae the front door and when a open the door it just runs back upstairs,panting”
Like most people I’ve watched Crufts for years so I just kneeled down in front of Lucky,grabbed his head, looked at his teeth. Then I ran my hands down his sides, stood up and confidently announced ” the dugs brand new!”

(Lucky on his comedown)

It’s amazing how people will trust someone if they think he knows what he’s talking about. Cheers