Invitation to a Beheading

The good news is that I’ve got that job hosting ‘Eye of the Storm 2’. The producers had sent the confirmation via my agent and it only arrived today. The letter gave me the kind of relief I would describe as sexual, if that didn’t imply that I know what it means to have congress with second class mail. And, please, I want no filthy innuendos made about that line. There’s been far too much of that around here lately…

You see, this is a big moment for me. I’ve finally stopped taking my nerve medicine and I’m already beginning to see normality stretching out before me. No, I mean it… And thank God, too. A state of constant misunderstanding has existed between us for months.

Until tonight, I didn’t realise that some of you have been reading this blog in the mistaken belief that it was meant to be funny. I assure you that it wasn’t. Some of you have even been encouraging me to greater excesses, while laughing at a man who, in reality, has been suffering a nervous breakdown. No, don’t laugh. You all seem to have missed the point. I’ve been sick. The medication was playing with my mind.

Luckily, a few new visitors from the colonies saw through my drug induced miasma and diagnosed my problem. Lucky for me, they are viewers of House. That’s a medical drama and it clearly helped them recognise the symptoms of a man suffering the delusions of one who thinks he’s a friend of the Great Fry. A forum reader called Amysusanne was perceptive enough to witness the Emperor with his flaps a-hanging.

“I don't really get it either. I mean once, okay...whatever. But he seems to be beating this joke into the ground and I don't get the "funny" in it. I guess people are responding "LOL" favorably and it's egging him on? Who knows. Maybe there *is* some inside joke I'm not aware of, but otherwise it's just a little confusing.”

Whatever, indeed! Too damn right it is confusing. I’ll be glad to put these last few months behind me. Taking pain medicine with wine is not good. The doctors warned me that I might grow slight breasts, but never did I think they’d appear on my elbows.

Thank God too that He’s gone! Stephen is off to America. I’ll miss him and his spectral presence. But at least he’s over there where he can be canoodled by the febrile young things who are panting hot and ready to lay down their lives on behalf of a living legend in tweed. Being neither a comedian nor having a comedic bone in my body, I fully appreciate what His fans have to say to me. Were wiser words ever put in the form of a forum post than those typed by dear Warycary?

“I don't find it funny either - does Stephen? I think someone should up this guy's medication and prepare the restraints.”

Restraints, certainly! Medication? Perhaps not. I’ve been so high on the stuff it burned my eyeballs and I’ve been seeing Christ in my cocoa. And do you know what? I also don’t think any of this is funny. Who was laughing? Not me. And not Stephen, I’m sure of that.

Were I speaking to Stephen Fry now, I would make this pledge to him.

I, Richard Algernon Madeley, being of unsound mind and addled intellect, do hereby swear that I will not write any more posts that attempt in any way to be funny. I revoke the codes, creeds, and ethos of the comedian and swear that I will uphold the good practises of the TV talk show host, without wit and without humour. I am not funny. Nor have I ever been funny. Funniness shall never be mine.

Thank the Good Lord who has let me see sense before the writs began to fly. To Mr. Fry, I can only express my apologies. In his name, I renounce comedy, blogging, and the words ‘Oddie’, ‘baboon’, ‘bassoon’, ‘elbow’ and ‘Nutkins’.

And God Bless America.