Michael McIntyre writes five new comedy routines for Time Out!

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Comedy phenomenon Michael McIntyre may be selling DVDs by the crate and playing at the O2 - but can he pen a new stand-up show based on the suggestions of Time Out readers? You sent in hundreds of topics - from the bizarre to the disgusting - and we shortlisted ten. Michael then randomly picked out five. Read on for the five hilarious routines he conjured up for us…


  • Fight or flight
    | Sex education | Cannibalism | Manners | Blaggers

    Routine 1: ‘The flight or fight response’


    New_21 MMC 165_crop.jpg
    ‘Don’t hit me, I’m dyslexic!’

    According to science, when you’re in a confrontation your body will respond in one of two ways: either you will engage your confronter physically or you will run to the nearest airport and take a plane as far away as you can. However, if it’s on a Ryanair flight with unreserved seating you do run the risk of both fight and flight. Luckily for me, I haven’t been in a fight since I was at school – that’s earlier today when I picked up my son and one of the mums punched me in the face for reversing my 4x4 into her 4x4.

    There are various rules when two people are fighting. Firstly, you need to lay down your challenge. This takes the form of a simple offer, such as: ‘Do you want some?’ It’s important to make this sound as hostile and threatening as possible, and not as if you are serving nibbles at a soirée. If your challenge is accepted, the second stage is to make sure you are not inside. ‘Outside now!’ or ‘Let’s take this outside!’ should suffice. From personal experience, it’s unwise at this moment to use the term ‘alfresco’ or the phrase ‘shame to waste such a lovely evening’. In the event of unexpectedly extreme weather conditions, fighters may return inside. ‘Inside now!’ or ‘Let’s take this inside!’ should then be used. Once you have had your fighting request accepted and your location is set, the third stage is to try to pull out of the fight: ‘You’re not worth it’ is the most popular. This should also be delivered with aggression and not as if you can’t believe they don’t use L’Oréal.
    The most dangerous confrontation I’ve ever found myself in was whilst driving to a gig about eight years ago. I was desperate for a pee, as desperate as is possible. I really want to get across just how desperate I was to pee, because it led to some highly inappropriate behaviour. On the verge of wetting myself at the wheel, I saw an empty, unlit backstreet and jumped out of the car. I raced down it and urinated against a fence. I’m not proud of this – in fact I think it’s illegal – but this was a call of nature the likes of which I had never experienced before or since.

    To my horror it transpired that what I thought was a fence was actually a door. As I was mid-stream, it opened and I proceeded to pee on a well-dressed middle-aged couple heading out for the evening. My unfortunate situation was compounded by the fact that not only was I at full power, but I also had my eyes closed, relishing the moment of relief. In fact, there was a brief moment when we all had our eyes closed: me from peeing, the gentleman from shock and his wife as I sprayed her inadvertently in the face. ‘What the fu…’ the gentleman yelled as he leapt in front of his wife, like a bodyguard taking a bullet for the President. I screamed – strangely, like a girl – and tried to stop, but only managed to increase the squirt, a bit like when you put your thumb on the end of a hose.

    The unfortunate reality is that once you start relieving yourself you can’t stop. Peeing is voluntary, but once you’ve volunteered, you’re in until the bitter end. So, once I had returned the culprit to his more socially acceptable position, I continued to pee for a good 20 seconds more. During this time everybody had their eyes open. I realised I was in a great deal of trouble.

    When I get nervous I always get very well spoken, terribly posh: ‘I’m awfully sorry. I really can’t apologise enough. Good gracious, how appalling…’ I pleaded, like Brian Sewell after dropping his Champagne on the floor of an art gallery. It then became apparent that I was going to be punched in the face by the gentleman. All the telltale signs were there: fist clenched, angry red face and the words, ‘I’m going to punch you in the face.’

    Fight or flight? Well, I chose neither. My plan? Try to give him a reason not to attack me. My logic was that perhaps if I said I was ill or disabled in some way he would take pity on me. I searched my mind for something and, in all honesty, panicked. All I could muster was: ‘Don’t hit me, I’m dyslexic!’

    ‘What are you doing peeing on my door?’ It turned out the assault was on hold. He was open to discussion. It also transpired that he was posher than I was and wearing a dinner suit. This relaxed me. He was no more a fighter than I. So I started to defend my actions.

    ‘I… I was driving… and I was desperate to pee… I didn’t know that you...’
    ‘You were driving?’ he interrupted.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Right,’ he said, fixing me with a look of vengeance. ‘Is that your car?’
    ‘Yes, it is,’ I confirmed.
    ‘Well, I’m going to pee on it!’

    What extraordinary logic. It seemed his revenge lay in peeing on my property, as I had on his. What followed were probably some of the most surreal moments of my life. We walked together to my T-reg Volkswagen Polo 1.4 litre with his wife a few steps behind. The three of us then stood next to my car as the gentleman tried to urinate on my bonnet. However, he didn’t need a pee. He couldn’t get anything going. I suggested maybe I could pour some screenwash I had in the boot on the pavement to encourage him, or play some Wet Wet Wet I had on an old compilation cassette, or just come back later. His wife suggested that simply squirting the screenwash on my windscreen might ‘do the trick’. This was my chance. I got into my car, central locked the doors and sped off to safety.

    Despite all of this, I made it to the gig on time and got a lot of laughs. It was only on the way home I realised this was probably less to do with the jokes and more to do with the state of my trousers.

    Fight or flight | Sex education | Cannibalism | Manners | Blaggers

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According to science, when you’re in a confrontation your body will respond in one of two ways: either you will engage your confronter physically or you will run to the nearest airport and take a plane as far away as you can. However, if it’s on a Ryanair flight with unreserved seating you do run the risk of both fight and flight. Luckily for me, I haven’t been in a fight since I was at school – that’s earlier today when I picked up my son and one of the mums punched me in the face for reversing my 4x4 into her 4x4. There are various rules when two people are fighting. Firstly, you need to lay down your challenge. This takes the form of a simple offer, such as: ‘Do you want some?’ It’s important to make this sound as hostile and threatening as possible, and not as if you are serving nibbles at a soirée. If your challenge is accepted, the second stage is to make sure you are not inside. ‘Outside now!’ or ‘Let’s take this outside!’ should suffice. From personal experience, it’s unwise at this moment to use the term ‘alfresco’ or the phrase ‘shame to waste such a lovely evening’. In the event of unexpectedly extreme weather conditions, fighters may return inside. ‘Inside now!’ or ‘Let’s take this inside!’ should then be used. Once you have had your fighting request accepted and your location is set, the third stage is to try to pull out of the fight: ‘You’re not worth it’ is the most popular. This should also be delivered with aggression and not as if you can’t believe they don’t use L’Oréal. The most dangerous confrontation I’ve ever found myself in was whilst driving to a gig about eight years ago. I was desperate for a pee, as desperate as is possible. I really want to get across just how desperate I was to pee, because it led to some highly inappropriate behaviour. On the verge of wetting myself at the wheel, I saw an empty, unlit backstreet and jumped out of the car. I raced down it and urinated against a fence. I’m not proud of this – in fact I think it’s illegal – but this was a call of nature the likes of which I had never experienced before or since. To my horror it transpired that what I thought was a fence was actually a door. As I was mid-stream, it opened and I proceeded to pee on a well-dressed middle-aged couple heading out for the evening. My unfortunate situation was compounded by the fact that not only was I at full power, but I also had my eyes closed, relishing the moment of relief. In fact, there was a brief moment when we all had our eyes closed: me from peeing, the gentleman from shock and his wife as I sprayed her inadvertently in the face. ‘What the fu…’ the gentleman yelled as he leapt in front of his wife, like a bodyguard taking a bullet for the President. I screamed – strangely, like a girl – and tried to stop, but only managed to increase the squirt, a bit like when you put your thumb on the end of a hose. The unfortunate reality is that once you start relieving yourself you can’t stop. Peeing is voluntary, but once you’ve volunteered, you’re in until the bitter end. So, once I had returned the culprit to his more socially acceptable position, I continued to pee for a good 20 seconds more. During this time everybody had their eyes open. I realised I was in a great deal of trouble. When I get nervous I always get very well spoken, terribly posh: ‘I’m awfully sorry. I really can’t apologise enough. Good gracious, how appalling…’ I pleaded, like Brian Sewell after dropping his Champagne on the floor of an art gallery. It then became apparent that I was going to be punched in the face by the gentleman. All the telltale signs were there: fist clenched, angry red face and the words, ‘I’m going to punch you in the face.’ Fight or flight? Well, I chose neither. My plan? Try to give him a reason not to attack me. My logic was that perhaps if I said I was ill or disabled in some way he would take pity on me. I searched my mind for something and, in all honesty, panicked. All I could muster was: ‘Don’t hit me, I’m dyslexic!’‘What are you doing peeing on my door?’ It turned out the assault was on hold. He was open to discussion. It also transpired that he was posher than I was and wearing a dinner suit. This relaxed me. He was no more a fighter than I. So I started to defend my actions. ‘I… I was driving… and I was desperate to pee… I didn’t know that you...’‘You were driving?’ he interrupted.‘Yes.’‘Right,’ he said, fixing me with a look of vengeance. ‘Is that your car?’‘Yes, it is,’ I confirmed.‘Well, I’m going to pee on it!’ What extraordinary logic. It seemed his revenge lay in peeing on my property, as I had on his. What followed were probably some of the most surreal moments of my life. We walked together to my T-reg Volkswagen Polo 1.4 litre with his wife a few steps behind. The three of us then stood next to my car as the gentleman tried to urinate on my bonnet. However, he didn’t need a pee. He couldn’t get anything going. I suggested maybe I could pour some screenwash I had in the boot on the pavement to encourage him, or play some Wet Wet Wet I had on an old compilation cassette, or just come back later. His wife suggested that simply squirting the screenwash on my windscreen might ‘do the trick’. This was my chance. I got into my car, central locked the doors and sped off to safety. Despite all of this, I made it to the gig on time and got a lot of laughs. It was only on the way home I realised this was probably less to do with the jokes and more to do with the state of my trousers.Fight or flight | Sex education | Cannibalism | Manners | Blaggers

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