Today I was walking along Edinburgh’s Royal Mile when I bumped into a young man called Billy Bullshit.
He thrust a flyer into my hand and said “If you like bullshit, you really need to come and see this!”
Ordinarily I would have binned it along with all the other bullshit flyers I’m bombarded with… but Billy beguiled me. He had a look of desperation, eagerness and arousal I’d only ever seen the morning my cat tried to rape my father’s wig.There was something refreshing about someone describing their show as bullshit rather than me having to do it for them.
I engaged in a conversation as the Royal Mile spilled around us.
“Tell me more about your show young man, I love watching great drama!”
At first Billy was bemused by my interest in his bullshit.
Billy was disarmed by my enthusiasm and genuine passion for theatre.
He was much more at ease with being told to fuck off, spat on or molested by theatrical types.
Reassuring Billy that I knew he wasn’t a rent boy, he began to sell his show…
“It’s called Billy Bullshit’s Guide to Bullshit at The Fringe! It’s a one-man improvised immersive tour where I take you to see 5 Star shows that are actually utter bullshit but no one dare say it!”
I’m intrigued.
“At the end of each bullshit show I stand up and shout THAT WAS BULLSHIT! Then I take a picture of the audience’s flabbergasted, startled expressions, as they realise it was bullshit but they hadn’t dare say it out loud!”
At this point I’m starting to think Billy might be on to something.
“I then invade the stage, drop my trousers, do a massive shit and shout – WHO HERE CANNOT DENY THAT THIS SHIT IS BETTER THAN THE BULLSHIT WE HAVE ALL JUST ENDURED?”
He’s very clever.
“I then film the audience as they try to escape the hideous reek of my faeces. I capture the moment they comprehend my steaming turd will be all they remember and the smell of last night’s madras was all they felt.”
He could be a genius.
“I then record their tête-à-têtes outside where they mount wishy-washy half-arsed justifications of what they’ve witnessed. They huddle together like packs of fearful sheep desperately trying to deconstruct and vindicate the bullshit. They wail and sob, exasperatingly referencing the reviews and star ratings as if they mean something. No bastard daring to admit that my brown explosion was the best thing about the performance and infinitely more dramatically engaging.”
Billy is a genius.
“I then run wildly amongst them, my naked body smeared it the very shit they saw me expunge. I rub it in their faces and shout “LET MY BROWN DRAMA INFECT YOUR EYES AND BLIND YOU FROM THE BULLSHIT THAT HAS CORRUPTED YOUR SOULS. LET MY ARSEHOLE BE A PORTHOLE TO DRAMA THAT ISN’T MADE BY COMMITTEES, FOCUS GROUPS, FEEDBACK, COUNCILS, SHARINGS, STUDENTS AND TWATS.”
And they say the youth of today have no passion.
“I then flagellate myself with a burning copy of The Stage. Set fire to my putrid poo smothered genitals. Hang myself from Edinburgh Castle with Sarah Kane’s umbilical cord whilst spraying my piss on the shit ridden crowd shouting ‘LET ME KNOW WHERE YOU”RE WORKING TOMORROW NIGHT AND I’LL COME AND WATCH YOU!’”
I HAVE TO SEE THIS!!!
“So are you interested?” asked Billy with a warm sense of optimism and camaraderie.
“Absolutely!” I reply. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world! How much is it?”
“£12.00”
I glance down at the flyer.
It hasn’t got any 5 star reviews.
There’s an awkward silence as the Royal Mile engulfs us.
“I’ll have to think about it Billy. Hope the run goes well.”
12 pounds a ticket for that.
That’s bullshit.
Read more from An Audience with King Brilliant
