comedy writing – Page 2 – Carmen Angerer

Perfect Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance

A friends dad told me about the 6 P’s just before our final exams. I was 16 going on 17 and thought old people were the worst. Needless to say, the wisdom was lost on me. As it has been, most of my life, hindsight is a massive bitch.

20 minutes into our 4 day hike in the Nepalese Himalayas I wished I hadn’t been such a know it all.

It had begun to rain and Erin and I were wearing runners. Our socks were wet, we didn’t have rain jackets and our bags were the super cool, cloth souvenir type made by Nepalese hippies. Despite looking fabulous for any “WE ARE BEING ADVENTUROUS LOOK AT US” photos we planned to take, we were hideously under prepared.

We were setting out from the mountain town of Pokhara and planned to trek the Annapurna circuit trail. A trail that went vertically up to a place (hilariously) named Poon Hill and back again. We were under the impression it would be a leisurely 4 day hike, with maybe a few little challenging rocky bits. We were wrong.

Realizing it was colder than I expected, I purchased a bright pink puffy jacket just before the hike, which made me look like a pregnant piece of fairy-floss. On the upside it would probably be the reason I was found if I happened to slip off a mountain.

That first day we hiked 9km up 3,000 stone steps. Exhausted, our legs hurting, we looked much less glamorous than expected. That night, Raju*, our Nepalese guide pointed out the ominous snow clouds on the horizon. Three days later trudging through calf deep snow in leggings and runners, I couldn’t help but think about how fun and spontaneous we were, whilst I shivered with cold.

For this reason I decided to make a list of things to remember for any hopefuls who also plan to go trekking (in freezing conditions) sometime in the near future:

1. Wear good shoes. If you don’t, you will have to sacrifice a pair of socks, which you will then put over the outside of your shoe so you don’t plummet to your doom slipping down icy steps. (You will also look like you are wearing purple clogs.)
2. Pack spare socks (see above)
3. Lock the bathroom door. Getting walked in on is embarrassing. When it’s in a squat toilet and the intruder is another group’s Nepalese guide*…it’s much worse.
4. Get a guide. Don’t be a douche-bag, it doesn’t matter how awesome you are at reading maps, you will get lost and be found by some mountain family when they plant their spring marijuana crop.
5. Suck it up. Your legs will hurt, your back will ache. But there is a 100-year-old man carrying a basket the size of your body up the mountain next to you and he’s smashing it.
6. Embrace annoying hiking songs. The Song That Never Ends is infuriating, but it’s also hilarious. Your guide will love you for it. (Alternatively, they will poison your Mo-Mo’s) either way it will be fun all round.

Overall I recommend taking the plunge and going trekking in Nepal regardless of how prepared you are. It would be a crime to say the hike wasn’t one of the most incredible adventures both and Erin and myself have ever had. The view made all the leg pain/ singing worth it.

In 4 days we hiked over mountains covered in snow, got walked in on in squat toilets by unsuspecting locals, slept in all our clothes, ate veggie Mo-Mo’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner and generally laughed ourselves stupid. Yes, our legs ached and we did a fair amount of whingeing, but we made it. And now we are better than you.

Our meal of Thali and Mo-Mo after returning from our hike!

*Raju is the sweetest man alive, with an enormous smile. He was a fantastic source of support/ hilarity (and beat us at celebrity heads numerous times) over the 4 days he was with us in the mountains.
*This particular intruder ended up spending the night in the same shack we stayed the night in. Mortifying.

Doom Smells Like Durian

comedy writing

It’s not every day that you realise you really, really don’t want to die.

For me, today was that day.

After worrying that we would miss our flight from the Nepalese mountain town Pokhara to Kathmadu, due to a layer of stubborn fog. We raced to the airport only to be put through a beeping metal detector (we didn’t have to take off our bags) and ushered one by one into a curtained room with ‘Ladies’ written on a piece of A4 paper tacked to the top.

Erin (my dear friend) and I looked at each other in fear. What would happen in that curtained room? Were they going to strip search us?

Erin went in first (feed the littlest person to the lions) and I didn’t hear any screams, so when “NEXT” was belowed into my face, I nervously complied.

There were two Nepalese women in the tiny curtained space and they guestured I open my bag. As I began to unzip said luggage, I was simultaneously felt up and down by various pairs of hands. I felt like I was back in Melbourne at a hidedous club where people paw at your breasts. Moments later I emerged feeling slightly defiled and a little flattered.

It was then that we realised it was 15 minutes past our boarding time. After worriedly searching for someone to ask (and finding no one) we resigned ourselves to waiting for a man in a yellow jacket to yell a number at us. He never called our number. Instead, we realised that our last chance to fly out that day was probably with everyone else, so we headed the stampede and got on a plane. Was it ours? Who knows. We had seats and that’s what counts.

Then commenced the most horrendous flight of mine (and I’ll speak for her) Erin’s lives. First, they handed out sweets which made everyone’s breath smell like baby diarrhea. They were probably durian flavoured.

The Durian Tagline: "smells like toilet, tastes like dream" — The Durian Tagline: “smells like toilet, tastes like dream”

That was when the turbulence started.

I don’t know about you, but when I fly I try to forget that I am essentially in a shipping container with wings. This is a lot harder to do when that shipping container is being buffeted by winds that makes it seem like a tiny piece of flotsam on the high seas.

I was scared. I actually started thinking about how my parents would find out about my death. Finding my body parts strewn across the Himalaya’s… I was gripping the arm rests with both hands and my knuckles were white. Some one screamed.

It was then that I realised another life changing thing about myself. (Oh the things we learn when we travel and “find ourselves”).

I am a terrified giggler.

I laugh in the face of sheer terror. You might think this is a positive, but it’s actually really unsettling. I thought I was going to die and I was laughing so hard I could not stop. I had tears in my eyes, as the plane wobbled and jolted. I had to hold my hands over my mouth to stop bellowing at the awful hilarity. We were all going to perish.

As I tried to stop laughing and focus on the fact that we would probably survive because we were at the back of the plane. Erin uttered her first sentence since the turbulence began.

“I am not going to die with these people. They all stink”.

All hope that I would accept death without snorting through my nose vanished and I was shaking with laughter as we finally began our descent into Kathmandu airport. Where shaken and stirred we were then swindled 600 rupees for a cab (because we just wanted to get the fuck out of there).

So, we survived the nightmare flight. It actually was a nightmare including the man with the enormous head sitting opposite us (he didn’t have a medical condition so we can laugh).

And I found out some valuble things about my response to imminent doom. Ah… travel. What a way to enjoy life.

Travel and Vomit-A tale of Irony

comedy writing

I was preparing to fly to India and decided, last minute, to make myself a quick pasta. (So I’d be nice and full on the flight).

I had been discussing my travel plans excitedly all week, laughing off the odd comment about food poisoning and people who return from overseas travel with weird parasites in their intestines. That’s how optimistic I was… laughing at parasites, which are generally horrifying.

My travel buddy Erin picked me up at 7.30. Our flight was due to fly out at 12.50am so we planned to stop by her dad’s house on the way to the airport.

It was then that the trouble began. It soon became obvious that I had given myself food poisoning with a vegetarian pasta. There was brocoli in it (but surprisingly no trace of carrot).

After being the worst how guest ever and then having to pull over on the way to the airport so I could retch into a clump of Australian flora, the irony dawned on me.

I gave myself food poisoning hours before my flight to India.

I have always struggled with the concept of dignity. Mostly because I experience so little of it in my everyday life. Take for instance, the moment when (after sprinting to the toilet at the airport) I am walked in on by a German back-packer who then awkwardly retreated the way she came, because her giant backpack made it impossible for her to turn around and.

The horror on her face is etched into my memory.

The other awkward part about being sick is that bathrooms aren’t hygienic to kneel in. Why? You may ask. Don’t they clean airport bathrooms? No, the answer is, they don’t clean them. There are pubes everywhere. HOW CAN THERE BE SO MANY PUBES? I thought, as I picked one from my jumper.

It doesn’t help that when vomiting in a public toilet, everyone assumes you have an eating disorder. Which is rude because if I was, no one was helpful at all. They all just looked around like “oh there is the girl who just violently spewed up all her home-made pasta and sounded vaguely like a dying cat”.

Luckily the retching subsided just before we boarded the plane, but I like to think that I made history after that 13 hour plane trip. If you like, you can shake the hand of someone who actually felt better after getting off an international flight, than when they got on. That’s right kids, there is always a happy ending (especially in Asia).

However, this start to a holiday is certainly one I will not forget. After looking at food like this, (see above) the deep irony of this event is not lost on me.

Why Long Distance Relationships Suck

comedy writing

Somewhere along the way someone decided that communication is the key to a healthy relationship. I can see their point but when it comes to corresponding with a lover abroad, I believe less is more.

An obvious topic, I can hear you thinking. Of course long distance relationships suck, because you are away from your lover. Well riddle me this bitches, if we all know they are the worst, why do we keep doing it to ourselves?

Most couples I know have spent at least some time apart where there has been a ocean/ continent between them. You know living your life, not holding each other back and all the rest of that smack talk.

Since we can’t all be Jay-Z and Beyonce with personal jets and a sack of expendable income, that means a long time between loving. Or does it?

For all those who haven’t been in this situation before, you will definitely speak to your distant lover. You will private message them on Facebook, Tweet them, write long pointless emails about what you had for lunch and Skype like you’ve got nothing else to do with your life other than straddle timezones.

My point is, it is the very tools you thought would make slogging out an absent romance peachy, which make long distance relationships suck. Seriously.

Facebook

Oh great, what a fast easy way to keep in touch. I can even see photos of all their adventures. Wait, who is the girl/boy standing within one meter of my lover? WHO ARE THEY AND WHY ARE THEY SMILING!??! I’m going to comment passive aggressively and assert my position in their life. How totally sane and normal of me*.

Twitter

No one wants to be privy to your depressing Tweets (if you are the one left behind) and if you are adventuring- Istagraming every amazing meal is blatantly rubbing it in everyone’s faces. “Oh hey, see this extreme blue filter pic of the Croatian coastline as I lounge back with a beer and some exotic croatian fare”. Let’s be honest, no one likes a show off. The only reason anyone is following you anyway is because they thought you were mildly hilarious, don’t ruin their lives with your drivel.

Email

Emailing a lover is similar to oral sex with a selfish partner. The ‘hey I’ve given it to you, so now you are obligated to give it to me’ situation, which ends inevitably in someone saying ‘YOURS WENT FOR LONGER’.

Email is excellent in moderation (more to talk about) however, describing the contents of your fridge will leave a sour taste in any readers mouth. “I miss you so much- OMG and then I had porridge but it was too cold, so then I warmed it, but then it was too hot so I…”

Skype

Skype is the answer to every long distance relationship fear “don’t worry, we can totally Skype”. In some ways you are right. Skype dates start off fraught with passion and longing, which is great, until they become hours of your life wasted online because of international time differences.

At it’s best, Skype gives you cyber sex and the chance to see your lovers faces as they grow more tanned/hairy/dirty on their travels. At it’s worst you sit there staring at each other making conversation akin to Big Brother housemates, who’ve been chosen for their stupidity and perchance for drama.

What I’m getting at here is that technology doesn’t make it easier to be apart from your loved one. When you use it in moderation with a sane mind it is a great way to keep in touch.

But chances are that when combined with longing, neediness and too many vodka cranberries these tools will unleash the psychopath within. Write that down.

*I have made the generalisation that the people reading this will not be the type to post tragic status updates. If you are one of those people, know this. CEASE AND DESIST. EVERYONE ON YOUR FACEBOOK HATES YOUR STUPID TRAGIC STATUS UPDATES.

You Learn Something New…

comedy writing

It’s a Sunday night, Masterchef is on and my housemates and I are drinking tea, wondering why Alice hasn’t been eliminated yet and looking up hilarious videos of cats. Just your average Sunday night.

Max is on his laptop and he is naming his Fantasy Football team. I like NFL Fantasy Football, it’s not AFL, reminds me of Bromance, men with no necks and large thighs showering and The League. ( A semi-scripted comedy about, you guessed it, a Fantasy Football league.)

Every year Max names his team after a weird sex move. I don’t know why, but he thinks it gives his team a winning quality. Previous team names have included; The Rusty Trombones, Cincinnati Bowties and the Dirty Sanchez’s. Last year the Dirty Sanchez’s won the Super Bowl.

Every year at Fantasy Football time, I learn things I wish I could forget. But it’s not like that, is it? You have to share your disturbing news, tell everyone else you know and then, you aren’t alone….

This year the team name is:

What is the old Kennebunkport Surprise? What is a Cthulhu and why is it spelt that way? That’s for you to find out, but until then, here is the least inappropriate of the descriptions I found.

After months at sea, the old sailor gave the prostitute the old Kennebunkport Surprise, effectively combining the two things he loved most in this world: pussy and clam chowder.

And now dear reader, I am not alone…

That moment when…

comedy writing

That moment when you make an innocent comment and you bomb out.

The Lost Art of the Sleepover

comedy writing

It’s been a long time since I had a proper sleepover.

To be clear I am talking about a visit involving late night chats and secret sharing, not an all night “sexy sleepover” (different category altogether). I’m all in for of a sex fest (who isn’t up for a good romp?) But I have to admit, some of my favourite nights in have included wearing hideous pajamas and feeling hyperactive and slightly queasy from eating too much chocolate, whilst dancing my heart out to Britney.

My first ever purchase? The single of ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time‘. The single. Enough said.

Over the years sleepovers lost their sparkle. No longer will a friend invite you over for a straight up ‘sleep over’. Staying over nowadays usually includes the burdens of being so drunk you can’t get home, being stuck in woop-woop (middle of nowhere) or having to trek home in your party dress and heels the morning after.

Common excuses include; ‘I’ve got work tomorrow’ ‘I can’t leave my cat/dog/lover’ or ‘I have to be up early for the gym’. One friend said recently, “I just hate not waking up in my own bed, you know?” (Wonder if she feels the same about a one-night stand?)

My dear friend Sophie is going to be moving to London indefinitely and last night I realised it has been a few too many years since we stayed up all night talking (sober). I found myself asking her questions I hadn’t had the time to ask for months.

Lying in the dark, laughing, talking about our lives and what we want for the future, it dawned on me that one day we wont have time for sleepovers.

So now I’m at work, in the same outfit I wore yesterday. I’m feeling exhausted but blissfully happy. I didn’t have an all night sex romp. But I feel rejuvenated. I learnt more about my friend’s life in one night than in the dozen catch ups we’ve had in the last few months. It’s rekindled my love of sleepovers and convinced me to make the effort more often.

I want to stay over at a friend’s house, not because I can’t afford a cab home, but because I want to spend some quality time with her. Who knows? Maybe years from now our kids will be staying over at our adult houses, sharing secrets, giggling and scaring the crap out of each other with spooky stories.

Winter Swell

comedy writing

The line up.

This time of year, it’s cold and the wind is icy. Getting out of bed is a mission, getting up for a wave before dawn almost unthinkable. On the south coast of Australia, Winter is wave time. It starts in late Autumn when the Easter swells turn on and the water only gets colder and less crowded after the Bells Pro.

If the Bells car park is packed, you can bet the water will be too.

The water was so cold, I got brain freeze duck diving. The waves were beautiful, clean and steel grey. It’s weird how the colour of the water can make a place you’ve surfed a hundred times before seem scary.

Big teal mountains like steam trains, roaring toward you.

Paddling towards a set and seeing an even bigger teal mountain rising behind it and an even bigger one behind that. The same grey colour as the sky, so you can’t really tell how big it is.

I took some photos of the water after I got out, but they didn’t give it justice.

This picture shows exactly what it looked like.

(I found this picture on wannasurf.com)

Half a Uterus.

comedy writing

I’m on the internet a lot. People think my job is hanging out on Facebook and Twitter and finding hilarious things for them to laugh at. I won’t go into it now (get excited about lots of work talk later) but that’s not all I do. Some times, when the mood strikes me, I enter a competition. That’s right kids, when you are on the pulse of social media, you can win free stuff, which is awesome. Because everyone loves free stuff.

Anyway, the sole reason I entered this competition was because they asked me to send an email with the subject title ‘Half A Uterus’. It was an awesome tagline and because the person who was running the competition sounded hilarious and someone I would probably enjoy. I entered.

Berrima Internment Camp

comedy writing

National Collection — Prisoner at Berrima Internment Camp enjoying his hand made boat

At the outbreak of the First World War, nationals of countries at war with Australia were labelled ‘enemy aliens’.
With official concerns that they threatened national security, enemy nationals were put into internment camps across Australia.

I conducted a series of interviews about the Berrima Internment camp which became the following audio feature. It was broadcast on SBS Hungarian program and introduced by Kata Kiss

http://www.sbs.com.au/podcasts/player/embed/id/142547

Berrima Internment Camp