Buses have always been a source of amusement for me. I thought I should share this amusement for you all. Then I thought, No! Why should I? What have you ever done for me?! Then I thought I should stop being a silly billy. So here is come more comedy bronze for you.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Monday, December 28, 2009
Stand Up - Olympics
Like lots of people who can't wait until the Olympics, I can't wait until the Olympics. It takes a boring sport like athletics and makes it fun by adding trumpets!
I thought I would make a joke out of the whole thing.
I thought I would make a joke out of the whole thing.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
STOP FOLLOWING ME!!
Ha ha, not really. Start following me! On Twitter that is. You can follow me @SebastianTopp.
A poem for Twitter
Oh Twitter, Twitter.
See what I Writter, Writter.
About that Pea Fritter, Fritter.
That I Eater, Eater.
It made me Shitter, Shitter.
And Thought I’d Better, Better.
Go and Letter, Letter.
You know on Twitter, Twitter.
Thank you.
I have also created a picture. It’s of me after my holiday to sunny Praakinstow, Austria and with Tweets in my eyes. I call it
‘Tweets in my eyes.’
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sebastian Topp - Grand Prix
Phew, What a busy few months I've had. I been so rushed off my feet that I've not had time to update my blog. Sorry to those who have been coming back day in day out, checking for any news. Well, today is your lucky day, because I have an extra special treat for you.
You see the reason I've been so busy is because I've become a professional stand up comedian. I've toured most of the top venues, such as Bearnsbury old peoples home, Tittleworth Post office and Morkendale's Center for the blind the deaf.
It was through one of my many performances on the road that I got in contact with someone who would change the face of my face forever. It was InternetDude200331 who e-mailed me and said he could help in raising my profile, Whoopee! I replied and promptly gave him the £4,000 that he asked for.
He filmed my performances and has created a series of clips that showcase my talents. I will be posting them all on my blog over the next few days. I hope to be able to release my full show (Sebastian Topp - Humorous Observations of things that I see in everyday life and people) on DVD soon.
But until then, enjoy...
You see the reason I've been so busy is because I've become a professional stand up comedian. I've toured most of the top venues, such as Bearnsbury old peoples home, Tittleworth Post office and Morkendale's Center for the blind the deaf.
It was through one of my many performances on the road that I got in contact with someone who would change the face of my face forever. It was InternetDude200331 who e-mailed me and said he could help in raising my profile, Whoopee! I replied and promptly gave him the £4,000 that he asked for.
He filmed my performances and has created a series of clips that showcase my talents. I will be posting them all on my blog over the next few days. I hope to be able to release my full show (Sebastian Topp - Humorous Observations of things that I see in everyday life and people) on DVD soon.
But until then, enjoy...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
What’s with all these bats flying in my face?
I don’t know what it is, but during the last week three bats have flown into my face. A friend suggested that they may have thought my face was a bats nest, I then told my friend that bats don’t have nests, they hang up-side down in caves to which my friend replied ‘oh’.
I didn’t even know this country had Bats!! Now I do and I wonder how many more of them will fly into my face! But at least it has given me some inspiration and as you know I lap inspiration up as if it were Lucozade Sport. I have composed a painting I call..
I hope this will go some of the way to deterring the bats from flying into my face. Although I'm not sure how many (if any) read my blog.
I didn’t even know this country had Bats!! Now I do and I wonder how many more of them will fly into my face! But at least it has given me some inspiration and as you know I lap inspiration up as if it were Lucozade Sport. I have composed a painting I call..
My Face is not a Cave.
I hope this will go some of the way to deterring the bats from flying into my face. Although I'm not sure how many (if any) read my blog.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Stupid, smelly love.
‘Oh Love, stab they heart out and eat it with your soul teeth.’ These aren’t my words, they were written over 200 years ago by Fickle Mickleton. And they couldn’t describe more the feelings that I feel this day. I told you about Fat Beth in my last post. I’ve spent the last 3 days standing at the bus stop singing and waiting for her to waddle her fat arse down the street. When she finally turns up, I recite my poem and all she does is grunts at me and gets on the bus. Grunts! That’s all she did! A poet of my standing shouldn’t stand for being stood up. So in revenge I’ve written a poem about her (for the last time).
Beth you are so fat,
Beth you are so fat,
You’re fatter than my cat,
You’re fatter than biggest whale,
There’s no disputing that.
Beth you are so smelly,
From just sitting watching Telly,
And stuffing all the rotten food,
Inside your big fat belly
Beth you are so ugly,
You think that you are snugly,
But you walk around with makeup on
That makes you look so smugly, (in that she looks too please with her-self and she shouldn’t because is so ugly.)
I think that deals with that.
Beth you are so fat,
Beth you are so fat,
You’re fatter than my cat,
You’re fatter than biggest whale,
There’s no disputing that.
Beth you are so smelly,
From just sitting watching Telly,
And stuffing all the rotten food,
Inside your big fat belly
Beth you are so ugly,
You think that you are snugly,
But you walk around with makeup on
That makes you look so smugly, (in that she looks too please with her-self and she shouldn’t because is so ugly.)
I think that deals with that.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Lovely Love
‘Oh Lovely love, how thee is nice.’ These aren’t my words, they were written over 200 years ago by Fickle Mickleton. But they are words that describe my feelings at the moment, for I am In love. Lovely Love. Lovely Loopy Love. Her name is Beth and I have written a poem about her.
Beth. Stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
I saw you at the bus stop.
But it was my heart that did stop.
Not the bus that was late and did not stop.
You ran after the bus and did not stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
Tomorrow I will stand at the bus stop all day reciting this poem in the hope she will be there again.
Beth. Stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
I saw you at the bus stop.
But it was my heart that did stop.
Not the bus that was late and did not stop.
You ran after the bus and did not stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
Tomorrow I will stand at the bus stop all day reciting this poem in the hope she will be there again.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
No Money for Old Rope 3.
I know you've all been refreshing this page for the last week, waiting and wondering when the next installment of my Opus will appear. Well I can answer your question now, because I've posted it now.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Three: As the sun rises on a September morn.
ARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!. ‘Same nightmare again?’ Frank thought to him-self, he rubbed his bold head. It was the same every-time, he would sit down in front of BBC 1’s Eastenders, a drama Frank liked because it involved people like him-self so he could relate to it. Then just as the theme music kicked in the television would inexplicitly turn off. He would spend the rest of the dream smashing his fist against the screen whilst crying; it was then he would wake up screaming.
Frank pulled him-self out of bed. It was still dark out side and he had to be at work in a few hours. But dare he go back to bed and risk having that dream again?
‘No’.
He got up out of bed and thought about his favourite Eastenders moments.
Like when Dot said ‘Far be it from me to interfere’ Frank laughed to him-self.
“Dot. Always sticking her nose in other peoples business.” Or when Phil thought he might be Gay. Or when Sandra thought the Billy was cheating on her but Billy was taking extra dance classes so he could treat Sandra on her birthday and so she followed him one night but got mugged and Billy found her beaten on the side of the road and he picked her up and took her to the hospital and when she recovered he called her a ‘Tart’.
Frank sat back on the bed, he didn’t feel like going to work, he didn’t even feel like going to Caffe Nero. It was the lowest point in Franks’ life. But somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
The End.
Well, there you have it. It took three entire weeks of my life, it drove me to drink and drugs and almost killed me to finish. But here it is finished. All for your entertainment. Some call it my masterpiece, but I'm sure I will top it sooner or later.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Three: As the sun rises on a September morn.
ARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!. ‘Same nightmare again?’ Frank thought to him-self, he rubbed his bold head. It was the same every-time, he would sit down in front of BBC 1’s Eastenders, a drama Frank liked because it involved people like him-self so he could relate to it. Then just as the theme music kicked in the television would inexplicitly turn off. He would spend the rest of the dream smashing his fist against the screen whilst crying; it was then he would wake up screaming.
Frank pulled him-self out of bed. It was still dark out side and he had to be at work in a few hours. But dare he go back to bed and risk having that dream again?
‘No’.
He got up out of bed and thought about his favourite Eastenders moments.
Like when Dot said ‘Far be it from me to interfere’ Frank laughed to him-self.
“Dot. Always sticking her nose in other peoples business.” Or when Phil thought he might be Gay. Or when Sandra thought the Billy was cheating on her but Billy was taking extra dance classes so he could treat Sandra on her birthday and so she followed him one night but got mugged and Billy found her beaten on the side of the road and he picked her up and took her to the hospital and when she recovered he called her a ‘Tart’.
Frank sat back on the bed, he didn’t feel like going to work, he didn’t even feel like going to Caffe Nero. It was the lowest point in Franks’ life. But somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
The End.
Well, there you have it. It took three entire weeks of my life, it drove me to drink and drugs and almost killed me to finish. But here it is finished. All for your entertainment. Some call it my masterpiece, but I'm sure I will top it sooner or later.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
No Money for Old Rope 2.
After a grand few days wait I present to you part 2 of 'No Money for Old Rope.' The socially realistic story of Frank, a low income truck driver. Part one was a grand success with one person telling me they almost posted a comment, I am glad it reached people like I knew it would. Part two is a little more serious and deals with the subject of death. But I won't say too much as I wouldn't want to spoil it for you, but in case you are worried Frank doesn't die, he's fine at the end.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Two: Sometimes you have to do what you think is the best thing to be done.
Frank lined up his rifle. His last shot loaded in its mechanical belly. The Zombie stumbled towards him, its mouth hanging open, its empty eyes fixed on its target, Franks brain.
“Not today zombie” frank murmured under his breath. BANG. The bullet flew towards it intended target. SPLAT. The bullet hit its intended target. The Zombie.
“Finally” Frank took a Kleenex out of his coat pocket and wiped his brow. “The last one”. It had taken him a while but Frank had managed to get rid of the Zombie hoard. There hadn’t been a Zombie invasion in years. Frank hated Zombies. “Bloody zombies” Frank cried, loudly. “I hate them”.
He walked towards the nearest Caffé Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Will Frank enjoy his Caffe Nero coffee? Will the Zombies come back? (no) Will you log on again for part 3? (yes)
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Two: Sometimes you have to do what you think is the best thing to be done.
Frank lined up his rifle. His last shot loaded in its mechanical belly. The Zombie stumbled towards him, its mouth hanging open, its empty eyes fixed on its target, Franks brain.
“Not today zombie” frank murmured under his breath. BANG. The bullet flew towards it intended target. SPLAT. The bullet hit its intended target. The Zombie.
“Finally” Frank took a Kleenex out of his coat pocket and wiped his brow. “The last one”. It had taken him a while but Frank had managed to get rid of the Zombie hoard. There hadn’t been a Zombie invasion in years. Frank hated Zombies. “Bloody zombies” Frank cried, loudly. “I hate them”.
He walked towards the nearest Caffé Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Will Frank enjoy his Caffe Nero coffee? Will the Zombies come back? (no) Will you log on again for part 3? (yes)
Saturday, May 2, 2009
No Money for Old Rope.
A new story today. It's part of a Trilogy about Frank, a working class man, Its a social realistic comment of the lower classes of today. People underestimate the lower classes, they don't know how hard it can be. It's not all Coronation Street and Pot Noodle dinners. When I was at Art College I had to live in a house share, it was like being poor and I finally got to understand what it might be like to be homeless. I've drawn from these experiences to create a story that is as harsh as it is real. Be prepared to be woken from your middle class slumber.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part One: The misery of work.
Pins and Needles in his eyes.
‘Pins and Needles in my eyes?’ Frank shook his sleepy head. ‘I must have fallen asleep on my eye -balls’.
He rubbed his face, the numbness ebbed away and the pins and needles disappeared. He roared a yawn, beckoning the sleeplessness out from his mouth. He looked at the clock, four hours sleep, not bad. Flicking on the radio he caught the end of a song he liked.
‘Damn.’ He whispered ‘I like this song and would have liked to have heard the whole thing’ He started to sing along.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He carried on singing.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He thought the song had ended and stopped singing, but he was mistaken.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
The song ended for real. Frank had enjoyed singing, always did, he was like that.
‘I should pull over and get some coffee, wake my-self up a bit.’ He pulled the giant, heavy articulated lorry over to the side of the road and climbed down to the pavement. He walked towards the nearest Café Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Watch out for Part 2 coming soon.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part One: The misery of work.
Pins and Needles in his eyes.
‘Pins and Needles in my eyes?’ Frank shook his sleepy head. ‘I must have fallen asleep on my eye -balls’.
He rubbed his face, the numbness ebbed away and the pins and needles disappeared. He roared a yawn, beckoning the sleeplessness out from his mouth. He looked at the clock, four hours sleep, not bad. Flicking on the radio he caught the end of a song he liked.
‘Damn.’ He whispered ‘I like this song and would have liked to have heard the whole thing’ He started to sing along.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He carried on singing.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He thought the song had ended and stopped singing, but he was mistaken.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
The song ended for real. Frank had enjoyed singing, always did, he was like that.
‘I should pull over and get some coffee, wake my-self up a bit.’ He pulled the giant, heavy articulated lorry over to the side of the road and climbed down to the pavement. He walked towards the nearest Café Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Watch out for Part 2 coming soon.
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