Sick In The Head Sausage Dogs & Ballard's Little Fuckboi

18 March 2016 | 3:34 pm | Tom Ballard

What kind of sick shit are the Brisbane Comedy Festival staff into????

Oh hello. Here is a well-lit photo of me wearing my backpack (the photographer’s idea) next to Wil Anderson holding a tennis racket and adorable Sam Simmons looking, to quote Sam himself, like "Ballard’s little fuckboi".

Which can only mean one thing: IT’S BRISBANE COMEDY FESTIVAL TIME!

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I am also confused by this bizarre logo. Why would a sausage dog be complicit in the cooking of sausages? I know they’re different animals and stuff, but it still seems in remarkably poor taste. Is this how sausage dogs get their jollies off? Roasting tiny little edible versions of their own torsos? What kind of sick shit are the Brisbane Comedy Festival staff into????

Anyway, I’m here now. Ticket sales are ROUGH.

Ok, you got me: that’s just a staged photo and me playing funny buggers, things are actually going very well I am crushing it and very successful thank you very much. After the (highly enjoyable) teething process of Perth and Adelaide Fringes, the show’s really kicking along now. Even proper actual comedians like it:

AND random people from Grindr are coming along!

My audience interaction game is, if I may say so myself, pretty strong at the moment too. It kind of has to be after performing for three and a half weeks in tents in front of punters who are making merry. On my final night in Adelaide I had a surprise guest in the crowd…

And then of course, there was Crazy Tracey, the perfect heckler: a woman who was hilariously boozy and chatty at the start of the show, only to later walk out in disgust. I milked her for laughs and then she fucked off. What a treat!

Unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to take a photo of Tracey, but this gives you the vibe:

I actually headed back to Adelaide last week to support Danny Bhoy (as in, by doing 20 minutes of comedy before his show. Not, like, emotionally) and had the chance to get involved in Massaoke. It’s a brilliant concept from the UK in which a band plays all your favourite hits live onstage as the lyrics are projected on a big screen and the crowd is encouraged to sing along en masse. Sometimes they get special guests to lead the drunken belting and I got to take on Oasis’ Don’t Look Back In Anger, a song which gets mighty high and really makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever (why would someone have to “stand up beside the fireplace”?).

Still – good fun, hey.

Here in Brisbane whacky crowd members still abound, like the very-enthusiastic-but-slightly-insecure-in-his-sexuality Mark.

And the drug-taking lady who seemed confused about her substance of choice.

When the dust has settled on the run of this show, it’s one-off batshit moments like these that I shall remember.

That and the time my friend Geraldine Hickey (go see her in Melbourne!) asked to borrow my phone during dinner and stitched me up real good.

Well played, Hickey. Well played…

The rest of my week will be filled with more shows, drinking a bevvy or two, catching my friends’ shows at the festival (I can’t recommend David Quirk highly enough) and sweating a lot in the muggy Brisbane heat. On Sunday I’ll be heading along to this Palm Sunday event to join in with a lot of other people saying that the way we’re treating refugees is hella fucked up. You can check out where a Palm Sunday event is happening near you here.

Next week the big tamale begins: the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. GULP LOL.

Blog you then!

check out part one and part two of tom ballard's tour diary.