This Is Siberian Husky An award winning sketch duo. "The amount of talent on stage will leave you gasping for breath.” Herald Sun “Sketch comedy with a manic edge.” Australian Stage
Writers, comedians and wealthy gadabouts Dan Allemann & Simon Godfrey. Ok, we’re not monetarily wealthy, but emotionally… eh, we’re not that either.
This is Siberian Husky have performed their sketch comedy odysseys at festivals from Melbourne to Canada. Recipients of the 2012 Brian McCarthy Memorial Moosehead Award and 2013 Adelaide Fringe Festival Weekly Award.
Audio, articles, shows and the script for This is Siberian Husky's German Opera about a man who walks into a paddock, finds a bore pump and does not much else. Strange, that project never got off the ground...
The Earth is Flat
Simon’s one man show about a medieval cardinal who hatches a dastardly plot to convince humanity the Earth is flat. The key to his plan: Clive Palmer. Only the janitor at the Melbourne Museum stands in their way. A story of power, redemption and a big drill.
Coming to the Melbourne International Comedy Festival 2014
The Misery Factory Trailer
The White House Tapes
Rise of the Ghostmen EP
Colour In Stereo ’10
Colour in Stereo? It’s been and gone. You missed it. That was silly of you. How you live with the disappointment from this point is entirely your concern. I suggest some sort of scream therapy – you know, that new one where you scream at owls?
Colour in Stereo was This is Siberian Husky’s 2010 Melbourne International Comedy Festival show and was a sensory experience akin to being flogged with a Hammond organ.
Live And Underwater EP
I don’t know about this new law banning Irish tin whistles. It seems a little draconian to me. Of course they can be annoying and a choke hazard for those with big necks, but their illegality will surely irritate those who don’t have enough talent to play a real folk instrument.
The government has cited an incident where several Irish tin whistles were accidentally dropped into the badger enclosure at the Melbourne Zoo. What allegedly transpired was an orgy of high-pitched dissonant whistling as the badgers blew wildly, their claws unable to completely cover the holes.
While I acknowledge this has happened in the past, it’s a rare scenario and banning the Irish tin whistle outright is a little over the top. My research has only found seven similar incidents in the last century. In an accidental whistle drop in 1979, the keepers had presence of mind to avoid aural disaster by promptly throwing some sheet music into the enclosure. Training zoo keepers to enact this type of measure in the unlikely event of Irish tin whistles finding their way into the claws of badgers is a more appropriate response to the recent tragedy at Melbourne Zoo. Other possible solutions include constructing better fencing, giving the badgers mandolins to curb their interests in tin whistles or just slaughtering the creatures wholesale. They’re underground half the time anyway. Sneaky pricks.
In 1954 Aldous Huxley chronicled his experience of an afternoon on the psychedelic drug mescaline in his book The Doors of Perception. To celebrate the 57th anniversary of The Doors of Perception, I thought I would conduct a similar experiment and document my own experience. Unfortunately, having only a rudimentary knowledge of pharmacology and having never read the book, I mistook mescaline for mesclun – a salad comprised of leafy vegetables. The results weren’t as interesting and to be honest I should have clicked at the unlikelihood of a cafe serving psychedelic alkaloids with their baguettes.
“Well, it’s been an hour and can’t report much change in sensory perception. I was hit by the reflection of sunlight from someone’s watch about twenty minutes ago. That caused me to see see a bright purplely blue colour for a time, but I don’t think it had anything to do with the mesclun. I must admit, I didn’t expect mesclun to be so darn tasty. Oh hang on, I think the wall just moved. No, no sorry. It was just a rat. Ew. I hope this place isn’t rat infested. Come to think of it, tightly spaced alley cafes must have all sorts of infestations. That’s a disturbing thought. Surely these places have to meet rigorous food safety regulations? I assume they are regularly inspected, but can you really trust the department of health? Maybe I should write a letter; not complaining about the rat, just to inquire about the stringency of their inspections. But I don’t want to be one of those people, you know busybody serial letter writers? It must be so irritating having to respond to their pointless worries day in, day out. It’s not my fault people have lost faith in our state institutions, is it? I’m a citizen, if I have a concern, I should be allowed to voice it. There’s probably a website they’ll direct me to, so I should just check there first. I don’t think I should have to. I did just see a rat, surely that entitles me to some sort of personalised response?”
For Which We Stand
There’s a distinct lack of tube socks in this country. There are a few locations, a minimal amount of randomly located wholesale outlets that sell them, but it is far from convenient.
I think our hopes would be boosted by the comfortability of tube socks.
In America there are tube socks on every corner, but right now the economy is suffering. We need more tube socks – they could save us all. But tube socks are made in sweat shops and sweat shops are bad because they make children sweat.
I’d like to shake all the sweat shops in the world upside down and take all the poor children that fall out to see Wall-E. Because I think a hard working, under paid child would enjoy the magical worlds created by Pixar…Of course, I can’t do that.
Wall-E no longer plays in cinemas
Quadrophonic Kaleidoscope ’11
Quadraphonic Kaleidoscope’s played at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival and Melbourne Fringe Festival in 2011.
With quadraphonic sounds that were only audible by sight, the makers of Colour in Stereo returned with a sketch extravaganza that made all question the validity of any humorous form not created on the wings of synthesisers.
Notes From A Diary
Caught the train to Hampton. It was delayed by half an hour – the suburb that is, not the station. The ground was also wet.
Watched the willow tree wilt outside my bathroom window in the slight chill of the autumn morning air. It was nowhere near as romantic as Keats had made out. Jotted a note to write a blog about it on the back of the magpie that sits perched upon the balcony railing and upload it later.
Magpie continues to prove quite difficult to place securely in flatbed scanner.
Disguised itself as Friday. Shifty son of a bitch, I was looking forward to the weekend.
I planned to eat toast.
Made pancakes for lunch and realised too late that I had used milk procured from the teat of battery cows – How such beautiful creatures could be kept in such ghastly, miniscule cages is beyond me. Damn you Cindy Crawford!
This is unrelated.
It is too fucking bright! It is too fucking bright!
IT IS TOO FUCKING BRIGHT!!!
Nothing special to report. Should have stayed in bed.
Want to go back to sleep or die.
Either/or, but the bonus of the latter is that I don’t have to change the sheets if I decide to masturbate.
Has been seeing Saturday for several years now and has impregnated it out of wedlock.
Revealed to have been seeing Tuesday on the side
– what a bastard.
Has since moved to Apollo Bay.
Will never love again.
Fuck Friday and that slut Tuesday.
Left trying to decide whether to keep or abort tomorrow.
Recipe for Dead Seagull Chutney
2 Dead seagulls
1 Corncob pipe
The string section of the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra
Take two seagulls and thrash them to death with a leaf blower. For the environmentally conscious, or those who don’t have a leaf blower, a mallet or old lawn mower will do. Throw what remains of the gulls in a mixing bowl and add salt, pepper, paprika and sesame seed oil. Drizzle oven cleaner.
Mix contents until molten hot and stuff in an envelope.
- “But I loved her.”
- “You have to move on.”
- “But she was my everything.”
- “You have to move on.”
- “But she was my world, my vision of light, my sweet & tender song.”
- “It’s time to let go.”
- “Goodbye Jane Fonda – your exercise videos no longer excite me.
Maths Can Be Fun!
Take any number and divide it by 7. Wasn’t that a treat? I’ll bet you’re giddy with excitement. Not satisfied? What did you want – a mathematical riddle to dazzle and delight? You wanted to gasp, “Oh you get the same number if you multiply by x and add blah-di-blah!” Well, too fucking bad. Mathematics is a tool with tangible, practical applications; it’s not a carnival sideshow for you to throw cork balls at. You want dazzle – burn a magnesium ribbon, you daft creeps, or put a candle in a bottle and suck an egg into it.
You think I like maths? You think I’m happier for spending my adolescence locked in a room memorising times tables? I always wanted to play the clarinet. I could try to learn it now, but you’ve gotta do that shit while you’re young. Mum would trick me by claiming, “People who are good at maths are good at music.” But not if you don’t have a fucking instrument, mother! There’s not a magic correlation between the two. It’s not like, “Woo, I’ve learned 6 x 7 = 42, get me a cello, I suddenly know me some Bach.”
But fine, I’m a sport – here’s a maths riddle for you.
A quoll runs onto the road and is hit by lightening. Now, take 4, multiply by 8 and fuck off!
Unlock Your Brain Potential
Unlock Your Brain Potential
By Dr. Gerhard Eichmann
It’s a well-known fact that at any given time human beings only utilise 2% of their brain capacity, with the exception of 2.5% on Wednesdays and 400% while sleeping. But if between 97.5 – 98% of our brainpower is idle, can we mentally train ourselves to unlock our full potential?
No, not really. We’re all born thickies and we’ll probably die that way. You could play Uno once in a while and maybe boost it up to 3%, but even that’s a stretch. There is absolutely nothing you can do. Healthy diet and exercise will do you no good either. Vegetables, fruit and foods of that ilk are a waste of time. Beer is not as bad for you as you’d think and studies have shown that licking turpentine is good for brain sack health.
But why are our brains so big if only a small portion is being used? Researchers in Denmark set about to answer this question but were too stupid to come up with a reasonable answer. To be honest, they spent most of their days on the project sleeping and playing darts. Hans got quite good at it by the end and is in the national championships next Tuesday.
So, play some memory games if you wish, but all it’s going to do is distract you from the nauseous feeling you’re experiencing from the turps.
To My Real Father True
Father, Father I am you son,
You can tell by my olive skin and the bridge of my nose.
Father, Father I am your son,
Because I too suspect that the postman has been having sexual intercourse with mother,
It would explain my love of stamps.
Yesterday I found a peg in the grass and it reminded me of a peg I knew in high school – Wooden, strong, popular with all the girls. We were great friends, but it always got picked first for all the sporting teams and relished this fact.
It beat me at everything – football, gymnastics, swimming, the 200m sprint. I was only better at table tennis which it said was a sport for geeks and Asians. It was a peg prone to stereotyping. I couldn’t accept this behaviour, so I placed it in my shirt pocket for almost ten years so it would miss out on competing in the 2004 Athens Olympic Games…
That’ll teach it I thought.
I lost that shirt on an indoor camping trip to Kmart and with it my imprisoned former friend. This newfound peg of mine is completely different; it treats me kindly, with mutual respect. But like my old peg, it does have a very similar fear of the reigning World Champion Chinese Table Tennis Team.
Sometimes it’s nice to wear a suit. They’re comfortable, stylish, practical and command respect. Suits of armour are less practical and I still haven’t worked out where to put my wallet when wearing one. I suppose I could put it under my helmet, but it seems a bit silly to be walking around with a wallet on my head. I know it won’t be visible, but I’ll be aware of it and if I’m talking to a pretty girl or a captain of industry, I’m going to be thinking, “This person is important and presently I have $4.30 in coin and a video shop card on my skull.”
Fob watches don’t look too good dangling from a suit of armour, but I find lances to be a stylish accompaniment to a three-piece suit. You walk onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange with a lance and everyone will be following your lead. But of course no one respects their profession enough anymore to wear a three-piece suit to work. When trading on the floor of the NYSE or working part-time in a call centre, I like to wear a full suit of armour, often with chainmail (weather permitting). It makes cold calling so much easier. “Hello, would you be interested in taking part in a survey?”
“Are you aware that I’m currently dressed as King Henry VIII?”
“You’ve got ten minutes.”
However, it’s hard to convince tailors to take-in your armour when you lose weight. They usually complain that it breaks their sewing machine needles. Fair point, I guess. But there are just no good metallurgists in the city. Maybe I’ll try that cobbler in Melbourne Central. I’ve got to pick up some shoelaces anyway.
This week Queensland University presented the Queensland Government with a cutting-edge plan to eliminate the state’s cane toad population by introducing a larger genetically modified cane toad named Greg.
Greg is roughly the size of a medium sized Tuscan villa and weighs as much as two and a half Mitsubishi Pajeros. Given its superior size, the giant toad will find it hard to relate to its smaller cousins and will presumably lash out by roaming northern Queensland stomping and generally kicking the toad population about.
Though he’s yet to be introduced to smaller toads, trials involving Greg have been underway for two years. In a recent experiment, researchers dressed quolls as cane toads and tested Greg’s response. While Greg is generally timid, his reaction to the quolls was reported to be ‘somewhat perturbed’ and his manner ‘slightly irritated’.
“Success is coming in small steps. But we’re very confident,” Project Head Darryl Pertwy said, “well, Derek isn’t… but he’s so negative all the fucking time anyway. Seriously, that guy needs to cheer the fuck up.”
But not everyone is confident of the merits of the program. Peter Denny of Australians Who Are Retired, Well Some Of Us Still Work Part Time But Most Of Us Have Nothing Better To Do is quick to point out that so far Greg has killed 12 farmers and eaten 20 tons of sugar cane. He is also quick to point out that he once rode a horse into a fence that wasn’t even his.
If the research remains on schedule, Greg will be released into the wild some time in the summer of 2157.
I was once informed by an acquaintance, if three mobile phones were placed around a popcorn kernel and rung at the same time that the kernel will pop due to the radiation.
I tried this, but the kernel did not pick up, thus I was forced to SMS. The experiment was taxing, and did not produce results.
Another thirty five cents wasted.
I consumed the kernel as it was – who has the fucking money for microwave technology?
It’s fair to say we’ve all wondered what a young child on acid would look like. To appease this quandary, I placed my five year old nephew Max upon a lime, as it is one of the more acidic of the citrus fruits. He appeared nonplussed if not slightly bemused.
I then fed him a tab of LSD and he produced a follow up response to Jefferson Airplanes’ “Surrealistic Pillow” on xylophone. His mother was not pleased – It was a stunning recording nevertheless.
New Detective Agency Opens
A new detective agency has opened for business in Melbourne specialising in solving Victorian era crimes that have already been solved. Co-founded of Gothic Revival Revival Detective Agency, Daniel Pendergrass admits working on cases where the perpetrator has already been uncovered makes his job a bit easier, but believes it’s still a tough job.
“We’re applying reasonably new technologies and policing techniques on cases that ostensibly don’t require it,” says Mr. Pendergrass. “We’re often dealing with culprits who’ve confessed to the crime, which makes it very tricky to conduct an investigation.”
Mr. Pendergrass’ description of his agency’s policing techniques as “reasonably new” is an apt one as he and his associates only utilise technologies that were available in the early 1980s. A self-imposed lack of access to DNA profiling and the latest forensics, coupled with the use of outdated computers is a further strain on the detectives, but the biggest problem they face is finding witnesses who are still alive.
“The cases we’re dealing with are over a hundred years old,” explains Mr. Pendergrass. “It can be emotionally draining when you have to approach families and ask for contact details of relatives who have been dead for over a century and who they’ve never heard of. We spend a lot of time at grave sites hoping our star witness has left a police statement or that they will reanimate.”
Business has been slow for Gothic Revival Revival Detective Agency and Mr. Pendergrass is discovering the market for the reinvestigation of open and shut cases is limited, but he is optimistic.
“We don’t aim to uncover anything new with our investigations. If the original case resulted in a conviction then we’ve no reason to cast doubt on it. This is a bit of a problem for us and we do rely on the charm of 1980s detective work to pull in the punters. As yet, we’ve had no clients, so our work has been pro bono. But as soon as the word is out and we get our ad in the yellow pages, we’re confident business will pick up.”
Gothic Revival Revival Detective Agency is now hiring if you have and eye for already discovered detail and can supply your own short sleeve shirt.
I was born to be a dancer. My dreams would be prematurely dashed however as I could not articulate the need for arch support in my tap shoes at one week of age. So I shit myself instead. Then wept.
It’s a painful truth to accept one’s best days are behind them.
Alternative Feng Shui
I’m a non-conformist. I strongly dislike following societal conventions, especially in the home, which is why I refuse to be bound by the traditional expectations of space. Why must a bathroom be a room for a bath, a bedroom a holding pen for a bed? What utter malarky!
It is this very mode of lazy acceptance that wrings our lives of all passion and individuality. Such submission leads to the chokehold of modern day blandness and the dearth of personal expression, not to mention its symptomatic presentation as one of the major causes of erectile dysfunction, aside from ill fitted cock rings.
One must fight against the tides of mimicry lest ye be content to wake at six each morning, collect the paper, arrive at the office by eight, to be home by seven to water the cats and count roof shingles with the neighbours before a less than satisfactory, uninspired bedtime wank – Me thinks not!
That’s why my kitchen serves as my sleeping quarters; my living room is my closet. I have installed my washing machine in my chimney. The oven sits snugly in my study, whilst I have a fine garden patch complete with turnips and parsley growing rapidly along the recess of my shower. I use my toilet to store my milk, eggs and other perishables and relieve myself in my freezer which makes for some rather interesting anally formed sculptures. My kids live in our letterbox.
They complained at first as it’s cramped in there and they must share three to the space, but they may now receive their own letters directly in hand. It’s a much slower method than email, but as our router is currently being housed in our Pomeranian Bessie’s abdomen preventing a strong Wi-Fi signal, its snail mail or nothing. Being unconventional comes at a price.
"What the hell are you twerps up to?" // Good question. I probably wouldn't have put it so coarsely, but each to their own. I'm not one to judge the loutish ruffians who use such uncivilised language, but really some manners wouldn't go astray! I've ventured away from the point somewhat.
The Melbourne Comedy Festival is almost upon us once again. And while Dan (the very short one) is still in the United States entering church bake-offs, Simon (the moderately tall one), will be flying solo for MICF ’14.
His show is called The Earth is Flat. It’s a one man narrative show, where that bloody show-off talks to himself in silly voices for 50 minutes. But what’s it about? Here’s the spiel:
One man. Many characters. One epic tale…A medieval cardinal hatches a dastardly plot to convince humanity the Earth is flat. The key to his plan: Clive Palmer. Only the janitor at the Melbourne Museum stands in their way. A story of power, redemption and a big drill. This is Siberian Husky’s Simon Godfrey weaves together a host of characters into a tapestry of absurdity.
Hmm, intriguing! Hope to see y’all there.
“energetic, satirical and hilarious…truly a must see”
The Misery Factory receives its first Canadian review!
And there’s some lovely Netbuzz from audience. ‘ave a read of their comments
The Misery Factory’s season at the Forum Theatre has concluded. Please take some time to wipe away your tears.
Now, cry no more because This is Siberian Husky – The Misery Factory is off to The Tuxedo Cat to continue its Melbourne International Comedy Festival season with some late night shows!
The Tuxedo Cat is at 17-23 Wills Street, Melbourne and the start time is 10.45 pm Thurs 11, 12, 13 & 18, 19, 20 of April! Get along and see the epic tale of The Misery Factory.
…oh and here’s the latest review from Heckler! “This is Siberian Husky are a powerhouse of comedic creativity, and it’s a joy to glimpse into their sharp, absurd minds.”