|Ken Pod with his proctology 'wand'|
He was often on stage with a coterie of midgets. They would shout and prance upon the stage caterwauling and howling like demented banshees. Occasionally, as a team and en masse, they would run offstage and retire to the local hostelry, ‘The Felching Ferret’, for a cheeky 15 pints of ‘Ole Scrote Blaster’. The audience didn’t seem to care or notice as they were mesmerised by Sir Pod’s frenetic antics. His hair would stand erect and move with the air currents in a hypnotic sway of despair. Meantime our buck toothed entertainer would regale and amaze the audience as he ate an apple through the mesh of a tennis racket. A true testament to his rather large protruding gnashers and dedication to flossing.
Pod would cackle off jokes with rapid fire delivery. Here is a random selection of his most memorable routines: “Well missus, take my mother in law, call me a taxi; call the taxman”. And who can forget: “My dog has no nose”, with the inevitable report, “How does he smell?” and quick as a flash, Pod would reply, “He can’t you dozy cunt. Didn’t I just tell you that he’d lost the power of olfactory sense?”
His manager, Mr Tenpercent Magumbo, had this to say on the recent demise of the much loved comic: “A true comic genius with immaculate timing. We will never see his like again. Always paid his taxes on time except when he didn’t. A man of integrity who had a poor track record with engaging creative accountants.”
Mrs Generic Mugumbo, of no fixed teeth, was unable for comment due to a particularly rampant and purulent case of moist scrofula.
Sadly Sir Pod was never suspected of nefarious sexual activity involving midgets.
We have lost Ken Pod, Prof. Steven Hawking and Jim, ‘Could Have Been a Caravan’, Bowen in just a few scant days- surely there is no god!