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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


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.

I’ve got the munchies…

I’m sitting in my hotel room, about to eat a packet of Munchies. Probably something a thousand people are doing right now throughout the country. Or just me.The main thing is I’m about to tan this packet. I’ve not eaten a Munchie for over 40 years. You see,I was an addict. A Munchie addict. A child who stole money to feed my habit. Stole money from my mums purse,from my dad’s pocket.
It’s easy to dismiss this addiction as nothing more than a child’s sweet tooth,but it was much more than this. I had to have Munchies and I would go to any lengths to get the cash to buy them.

Everyone knows that Munchies were never meant to be for the “poor kids”. No,these were for kids with aspirations, dreams,and other words that sort of meant the same. These were the Ferrero Rocher of the day. I remember the gasps of my fellow 6yr olds when I pulled out a packet of Munchies in the playground! I could hear them question,”Is his da a millionaire?”,”Is he a rent boy?” “Is he any good at fitbaw?” Obviously the answer to all these questions were no.

Like any addiction the hunt for money becomes ever more desperate. The worst of times came one night while my family were all watching Star Trek. I sneaked into the kitchen,leaving the lights off. I pulled out a couple of coins from my mums purse. Instead of taking the usual 10pences, I lifted a 50 pence and a 10 pence! I only realised this when I got out the house. Sixty fucking pence!! I had never had that much cash on me before. I believe that’s the equivalent of £10000 in today’s money. I was about 6 or 7 and had all this money. It was too late to put it back,as Star Trek had finished, and one of my sisters had to get a steel comb through her hair.( in the old days this was a pastime)

I genuinely didn’t know what to do. My best friend suggested blowing it all on sweeties and water pistols. The fool! Sweeties? There were only Munchies for me.

I knew my mum would notice the money gone so I had to decide what to do. Decide!! I didn’t have any say in the matter. Munchies had hooked me and I knew what that dosh was getting spent on!
The outcome of the story is I bought about 6 packets of Munchies and then I got leathered by my mum for taking the money. She then took me to child guidance where I got different colour stars for something. I have this thing in my head that I wasn’t a problem child, merely a bed wetter. Although that might be made up.

Writers Block

One of the things about gigging throughout the country is I get to stay in hotels. Usually 2-3 days at a time. The boredom usually sets in just about the time I wake up. This is after a really good 2-3 hour sleep, helped by the Stag group who are on the same floor, and every other fucking floor.

Then I think about the delicious breakfast that is downstairs waiting on me. I just think about it though, as most clubs now only pay for the room, so unless I want to pay £8.95 , I’m not having it. I try and console myself by thinking my instant porridge snack is much healthier, and drier, and its only 50 pence out of the pound shop ( I buy 2).

One of the biggest bits of bullshit you’ll hear in a green room at a comedy club ( and there’s tons!) is a comic ,when asked what he’s going to do during the day, will answer” got some writing to do”

What this veritable wordsworth ( not even going to check if that’s a real word) really means , is he will be masturbating a lot. The only writing he will be doing is typing You Porn into his laptop. Or occasionally a line in the bookies.

Now I’m not judging these comics. I’m the first to admit I do tons of writing in my hotel room. Sometimes I run out of tissues, I do that much writing.

All I’m saying to my fellow comics is give it a fucking rest with the “writing pish”. Just admit you watch Flog It , while flogging it.

Writing this , while in my hotel room , may even be the first bit of “real” writing ever done by a comic. I would like to add more but I’m away to do some heavy writing!!



Playing different venues every week means you can never tell how a gig will end up. Even if you’ve played a particular club before and you know its always went well, there is always that chance of the dynamics in the room being wrong, which is trade talk for a cunt in the audience being a cunt. That’s maybe a bit harsh as they might just be being an arsehole. So driving to a gig I always hope that it will go well but you never know. Last night though was the uniquely depressing situation of knowing I was driving to a gig to almost certainly die on my arse.

This was a gig in Invererry that is just by Aberdeen. I mistakenly thought it was in a club in Aberdeen that I had played  before but my fuck up meant at 4.30 pm I discovered it was for a boxing match between Scotland and Norway and I was supposed to be on stage(in the boxing ring) at 8 pm. Driving fast isn’t my thing, mainly because I’ve got a shitey motor that makes it impossible to drive fast, but tearing the arse out of that old Citroen meant I got there in time. There must be something sadistic in the fact I was intentionally speeding to a place were I knew people would hate me.

So I get there and notice some kids are in the audience. I have to mention to the organisers that the word cunt may be used. I’m told no cunt gets using the word cunt in front of young cunts.Cunt’s I think to myself.

So I step into the ring, which has to go down as a weird place to perform in and start my set. I can hear someone shout out “gees a windmill Gary” so possibly a fan in the crowd! Things are going slightly better than I thought they would until I mentioned Rangers and Celtic. Who would have thought 32 people from Coatbridge  would be up there to watch the boxing. As the boos started I decided to bounce off the ropes like a battered boxer, purely for my own benefit.

“a used tae like you” was the last thing I heard as the theme from Rocky started.

Knowing the envelope with my payment had already been stashed in the car meant no awkward moments were I had to become Sleekit Stallone and fight for my money.

The words of encouragement hadn’t ended though as just as I was leaving the building one of the Coatbridge mob  shouted “that’s no the Gary Little a know”.Cheers friend…

So thats my boxing career ended, but I’d rather have a stack of shite gig stories to tell instead of “a stormed this club” tales.

Next week though I will be enjoying myself at the Glasgow Stand! Cheers


Not tonight son

Only the 4th blog and almost at the point of giving it a bye. Maybe me talking a lot of shite is the way forward.

So the end of 2013 ended with a gig at Maggie Mays. To say the crowd were up for a night of comedy would be a ridiculous thing to say. One of those gigs were speaking at 100 miles an hour is the only way no other fucker gets a chance to say something. I then spent the bells at The Glasgow Stand after making a balls up of the night I was supposed to be at.

My pal Funk DVoid ( his da was big Davey DVoid fae Partick) was DJing  at St Jude’s in Glasgow but never having been there I didn’t realise there were 2 clubs. The one for R and shitey B music which I was in the queue for and the other for Techno.It took me a good 2 minutes before I thought” these people don’t look like they’re into Techno!” far too smooth and clean and drug free.

Anyway I fucked off to the Stand before getting the text telling me of my mistake. I went back to the correct club but being totally sober, the reality of an old cunt like me in that club was painful! Brilliant music though.

Got told yesterday my solo show in March has now sold out which is great news. Ive added an extra one on the 23rd. Now I just have to get the material together. I will be taking a leaf out of the DJ’s box by remixing some of my old  material from when no cunt seen me and making it fresh for 2014!

I’m travelling through to Edinburgh tomorrow to do a topical/satirical/political  game show on Scottish Independence. Anyone that knows me will know I do none of those but I’ll be sweating my arse off giving it a go.

I’m really hoping that Scotland finally gets Independence this year. It depresses me how much negative,lying shit gets in the media. I just hope people who aren’t sure, take the time to find out the facts.

So I’m hoping the website starts to move up the pages to get on the top with Google. The jail stories need to get bumped out of the top 10!!

I’m also hoping people (nearly said cunts) are actually reading this shite. If I’m getting a brass neck writing  it at least share the fucking pain with me!




I knew Lulu

So it turned out the gigs last week weren’t full of arseholes! I heard some horror story’s from other acts so I must have been lucky. Highlight was the Clutha fundraiser at the O2 in Glasgow. 1500 people raising over £30000. It’s not often on a bill this size that every act has a belter but this was one of those nights.

Loads of press coverage and all positive but I noticed some negative  comments asking why have a fundraiser for this and not for instance 3 guys who died in a north sea helicopter crash. It’s a fair comment but do you really want to say cause we don’t do something for one tragedy then we don’t do anything for anyone? I think the uniqueness of what happened at the Clutha is what captured people’s imagination.  I don’t even know if imagination is the right word but when we hear about car crashes,boats sinking, even people getting murdered it’s things we have all heard before, a familiar tragedy that we’ve all grown up with.

One of the things that I’ve noticed since the accident is the amount of people who have a near miss story about that night. “A used to take ma dug a walk by the Clutha every night” from a guy who’s no had that dug for 2 years! ” ma best mates mate, when he goes into Glesga always gets a pie and beans at the Clutha,says they’re the best he’s ever had”

It will be like the Kevin Bacon 6 degrees of separation thing were people will be able to place themselves at the Clutha in 6 steps


I’ll finish with the Lula story’s. According to everybody lulu comes fae every scheme in Glasgow! I’ve even my own Lulu story of an uncle who said he pumped her in the 60’s. His words, but he was also a raging alky so who knows..


45 pence a mile

Something that most comics have heard is the old chestnut “you get paid loads for just 20 minutes on stage” I suppose that person who is seeing me in High Wycombe and hears that unmistakable English accent of mine probably thinks Ive just strolled up to the gig. They don’t realise it’s a 780 mile round trip for myself and I’ll attempt to sleep,while driving, for 2 seconds at a time on the way home. On Tuesday I had my regular soul destroying journey to Aberdeen. I’ve driven a lot further for gigs but I can honestly say getting a blowjob from Miss Venezuela while driving would not make this journey any better. At least on most journeys I can go into auto pilot while thinking up hilarious anecdotes to tell the adoring fans who are  waiting at the Bowling club ,but not on this journey. It seems 284 speed cameras are needed for this stretch of road, meaning I have to pay attention at every fucking stage of the drive. Now most people reading this will be thinking I’m exaggerating the number of cameras. Of course I’m exaggerating the numbers,I’m from Glasgow so it’s allowed. “There was hunners ae the cunts!!” when looked at seriously will always result in the number being less than 6.It’s allowed though. Another thing that annoys me about this drive is the amount of road that does not have lights. Ideally I want lighting that cunts from that space module can see. It doesn’t help that my shitey car has the light power of 3 scented candles.  Even on full beam I never get flashed by other cars, simply for the fact they don’t notice. I have thought about getting spot lamps put on the car but seeing as I drive a Citroen estate and not a 1970’s Ford Escort I will give that a miss. Of course after all this stress of the journey I then arrive at Aberdeen. Everyone knows that the stereotype of the tight Scots is a pile of shite. Everyone except Aberdonians. I’ve genuinely met some who in the words of my wee mum were as tight as shite in the neck of a bottle. I recently met a women on a plane who after boring me to death for several hours about her big time oil working husband and how well off they were, then told me she lost her book she took on holiday, but she made sure she stole 2 from the hotel.

So my gigs this weekend range from a comedy club to a sun bed shop works night to a Castle. I’ll probably just use the word cunt at one of the gigs. Cheers

Dwayne and me!

So last night I got to play my biggest crowd when I opened for Bill Burr at the O2 Academy in Glasgow. 1500 people all there to see someone else meant I was a wee bit nervous during the day. Having spent the whole day going over my set I then got a text saying could I call Bills manager Dwayne to talk over my set. I called the number to talk to Dwayne and he asks if I do stuff about dogs and i say yes and he says Bill has a wee bit on dogs and I’ll have to drop it from my set and I’m thinking bastard! Then you have to imagine an American accent saying ” and do you do a bit aboot getting mad wae it” I’m trying to tell Dwayne I’m not doing the Arches bit then the cunt starts laughing and I realise it’s Kevin Bridges!He thought it would be hilarious to stress me out with a prank call!!

As for the gig? I think it went as well as I could have hoped for and I heard laughing…Then had a few drinks with Bill(he’s ma mate now so it’s Bill!)and got told the highlight of the night was Bill taking the piss out of the fact I got the jail for stealing books!1473008_618118751579124_2143584219_n

With a massive hangover today I then had the privilege of returning to HMP Barlinnie to do 2 comedy shows for the cons,along with Scott Gibson and Pat Rolink. Having spent time there as a resident a few of the officers remembered me and even a few cons. I’ve did a few of these  jail gigs and there has never been a bad one. I think the guys appreciate us doing them. The highlight for me was an officer showing us the Hanging Cell where they…well the clues in the name. Big Scott had never been in the jail so a guy showed him inside his cell. Pretty depressing seeing it all again. Poor guy was only in 5 days and you could see he was struggling and no telly,x box or pot noodle makes that any better.

I have no idea who looks at this site so if you could sign up to the newsletter that would be great. I have no idea what a newsletter consists of..I don’t think the clue is in the title. Cheers