Tony Law @ The Stand
Teetering on the brink with Tony Law
If you were trapped in a lift with Tony Law, no jury in the land would hold you responsible for your actions. The power and velocity of his bullshit is awesome to behold – like someone jacked into the bullshit mains and turned it up to eleven.
In accents that catapult from camp Texan to dour Yorkshireman, he blasts out tall tales about cock rock, bonobo monkeys, trampolining championships and Nairing your nads in an unmitigated, exhausting, unstoppable stream of shite. He just does not stop – like the Duracell bunny, if the Duracell bunny was a six foot trucker in tasselled tighty whities. It’s a specific, bellowing (though sometimes tips into an invective) kind of hell, and it feels like it’s never going to end.
Although there seems to be no substance to his show and Law seems madder than a bucket of tiny moose with lizard skins, his lunacy is more measured than it first appears – the tirades are obviously crafted, flitting confidently and without desperation. His eyes twinkle and it’s evident that he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. The audience laugh loudly too, though it is a little unclear if this is due to shared humour or baffled hysteria.