Simply put, I can’t walk anymore.
It actually hurts to just be sat down.
This is all the fault of the dirty little bastards.
Steve here, the Gimpmaster (director). Two weeks with the boys has done for me. My body hates me. I’m going home.
It’s been a great two weeks of very odd notes and bizarre discussions, but I think we are all very proud of the show. We’ve had full houses and great responses (“Show it again, show it again”).
That doesn’t make it right though.
So here, through the power of blog I lay down my challenge to you boys.
Write next years’ show.
I dare you.
You are all in the same flat. You do nothing until 10 at night. You have a big bag of lube. Write it, write it, write it.
A final thought for each of you before I go...
Chubby Gimp – It’s your fault I can’t walk, never make me catch you again.
Posh Gimp – Write a sketch down, on some paper, it might be funny.
Techie Gimp – Grab Edinburgh and life by the balls, own it and call it Dave.
Sulky Gimp – Stop doing that thing you like to do with ham and the French.
Single Gimp – Shave off the beard, you aint Moses.
I miss you in no way at all already.