The Emperor's New Comedy

Last night I exposed myself to an obnoxious poison. While that, for one such as I is not unusual per se, it was the origin of this particular toxin which caused me so much distress. When seeking a distraction from the ennui of existence, I tend opt for strange substances, rare herbs and exotic potions, redolent of moral decay. As I was stone cold sober, due to a dearth of the aforementioned life enhancers and consequently, bored, I decided to watch Noel Fielding's Luxury Comedy on E4. As someone who appreciated The Mighty Boosh, I was hoping for some surrealist humour in a similar vein. What I was exposed to was a pretentious, self-indulgent, vanity project by someone of dubious talent and intellectual capabilities. Mr. Fielding is obviously artistic, though no Caravaggio. In some measure amusing, though no Peter Cook. Why the fuck does some jumped up Primary school art teacher who just happens to possess the courage of his mediocrity, become the object of such approbation, in some cases adoration? One suspects that if he had a face less appealing to 15yr old girls and metrosexual, bi-curious amateur photographers who call themselves Tarquin Sequin {Thomas Smith to their estranged family}, he mightn't be so popular.   What really annoys me is his "I could shit in a newspaper and you'd still eat it up" attitude. During the "Jelly Fox" animation segment there was so much puerile, mindless repetition, I may as well have been watching a fucked up episode of Puddle Lane from 1987. He imagines that by name checking and pastiching established artists such as William Blake, Rene Magritte, Freida Kahlo et al, he can confer genius upon himself. He is sadly deluded, like the owner of a grimoire, imagining that access to a body of esoteric information will automatically transform them into a sorcerer. The Ghost Of A Flea sketch was for me the least stinky pile of shit, although that's probably because as a student of Blake's mythology I could appreciate the allusions. That said, it was pathetically childish and not a redeeming feature, rather a moment of light relief during a mostly unpleasant experience. Comparable to the man torturing you farting, while he bends over to increase the traction on the rack. Rich Fulcher was the Blake proxy William Jessop,
though the best thing he ever did was the short-lived BBC3 offering Snuff Box with
Matt Berry, he seems to degrade himself in this sort of drivel on a regular basis.
 All I can think is the money must be good. Not just for Noel and Rich or the rest of the cast, but for
E4 too. So good, in fact they have commissioned a second series. probably on the back of ratings. It terrifies me to think how many soggy-knickered school girls, gay design students and pseudo-intellectual amateur film makers there are in the world. What will they do to me if they ever catch me walking down the street? Most probably kidnap me and make a short film of me being drowned in vat of glittery fanny-batter. I digress.
  The reason I'm so pissed off is I enjoyed the Boosh. I feel like I've been conned into admiring the naked Emperor's multi-coloured, glittery jumpsuit.