I really disliked Stephen K. Amos. Sure, when I reviewed him I cut him some small amount of slack, he wasn’t – after all – a complete amateur, nor did he really die on stage or anything. But I just didn’t like him. His charm was smeared on so thick as to just, in the end, be smarm. And he was so pleased with himself. Right after every joke. Then he decided, fuck it, I’m at the arse-end of the world, they don’t really know me, and started reading brand new untried jokes off paper. And they were more scribbled thoughts than actual jokes. It was like a bad table-read. And when the punchlines weren’t there, or didn’t deliver a laugh he would supply the laugh himself, pat his own back and say, basically, “well, you get the idea” or “you can see where that’s going?”
I had heard a rumour he’s one hell of a joke-stealer too. Known, apparently, as Thievin’ K. Amos. So I had put that in the review. A bit stink – since I can’t really prove that. The paper called, asked me to provide proof of that, and when I couldn’t they took that line out. Fair play. It would only be a bit of a stink cunt that was desperate to see that kind of line make it in to print, in whatever form, one day.
Stubs is an occasional feature here at Off The Tracks – looking back through the ticket-stub box and remembering how the show went down.