(this is a blog written in early August 2015)
My name is Jorik Mol. I am 27 years old. I have been trying to be a stand-up comedian for nearly ten years now. But I have never attempted a feat such as this. Before I give you the gist, let me put you in my position. I am stuck, sitting behind someone who seemed to think it was a good idea to recline their seat straight into the legs of a 6’4’’ man. It’s painful. It’s probably what polio must be like*. I am also stuck in traffic, in the middle of Edgware Road, on a Megabus. It is steaming hot, it smells of people, there are no plugsockets for my phone, nor is there aircon or – worst of all – wifi. Huzzah indeed. I have got my writing pad and a pen. They are lying on my knees which are fuck-high near my temples. And fuck-high means both ‘high as fuck’ and ‘the kind of height conducive to being fucked’. But even more sweaty and unpleasant than good sex can sometimes be.
Give that a moment to sink in. Just feel the sense of ‘stuck’. Like being forced to go see Sex and the City 2 and not being able to run away at the sheer misogyny of it all. OH I GET IT! Not just these four cocks, but actually: ALL WOMEN ARE VACUOUS DICKHEADS! You get the point. It is so hot that the ink in my pen is starting to congeal. If I could get onto my wifi I’d ask a science friend to tell me whether that’s really the case or not. I’ll just draw a spider diagram with the sweat, currently being emitted from under my fringe.
I’m writing a show for the festival season next year. And this is the most difficult part of all. I’ve forced myself to write a hundred dickjokes. I don’t know why, after the last preview I felt it was necessary. I have always tried to steer clear of dickjokes, as they’re easy, banal and underselling my awesomeness as a cool alternative comedian. But not now. The show I’m writing is called ‘Straight Guy’ and it is a look at the current heteronormative culture of masculinity through a queer-theoretical and feminist perspective. I trust you understand the need for a hundred dickjokes.
I write the word COCKS in big capitals on the middle of a page. What follows from cocks? I draw lines as I associate. Is there anything to be angry about regarding cocks? Well, as a happily circumcised man myself (that’s a story for another column) I find it difficult to get all worked up about circumcision. There is an idea I have about section 28, but that should be a bit that follows on from that. Or maybe not. It’s too hot to think. I look at my bag, the bottle of water as empty as it was five minutes ago. I’m not going to be able to write that next bit until I do some more research- did I tell you it’s really hot in here?
But why would I put myself through this? Only the most important thing in the world. Love. Real, unapologetic, thorough, all-encompassing love. The love of a man. And that man lives 4 and a half megabus based hours away, in Leeds. So I go there, every two weeks or more, to spend time with my amazing boyfriend. Falling in love and especially falling in love with a man and really feeling like that belonged to me – more so than falling in love with a woman had ever done – changed everything. I didn’t ever want to be with anyone else. Yes, I’m still bisexual but I feel way more comfortable saying that I’m gay. Not in a Tom Robinson kind of fashion. But genuinely. It released something inside of me that answered some of my questions. Yes it’s not about people’s bits but their personalities when you’re bisexual, but in this relationship, for the first time, I’ve met someone who understands me as much as I understand him. As the great Maria Bamford says, “He’s a keep-er.” (Also, why isn’t Maria Bamford a gay icon yet? Make it so!)
So, I’m gay now. I even think I might be happy. So I did two things. I stopped doing stand-up comedy for a year and I started writing my first show. It’s called Straight Guy. This blog/column will be a guide to me, coming to terms with myself by pointing out the behavioural quirks of a group I was never going to join in the first place: Straight White Men. Or, more generally, our beloved rulers. Because we all like Broke Straight Boys. Especially the straight boys who are reading this right now. It’s fine. Give us a hug. But not too tight. I’m very sweaty at the moment.
Now. What could possibly be funny about perineums?
Jorik Mol is on twitter at @JorikMol and his show @StraightGuy2016 is starting to grow a mind of its own.
* Fun fact: some people in NL got out of military service as Holland was being invaded by the Germans in 1940 by claiming childhood disease, such as Polio. Or, as it was then known: “De Engelse Ziekte”. The English disease. The Dutch clearly all thought that the British, to a man, all had gammy legs.*2
*2 Oh yeah, I’m Dutch too. I don’t like to go on about it. But it’s out there now. So, yeah.