If people saw how much I've got into the Stevie Wonder songs I’ve been listening to this week while getting ready, they’d laugh their arses off. That isn’t an exaggeration. Anyone watching would find my pathetic attempts at funky dancing so funny that the fleshy cheeks either side of their rectum would come clean off. The anus would remain intact, but the outer area – the bum cushion, if you like – would fall to the floor, or be rocking back and forth on the chair if they'd just got up from sitting down. And were trouserless. (Sorry for that.) Most of my enthusiastic moves to the now not-so-Little Stevie have taken place in the bathroom. This compounds the embarrassment. Picture me in a towel, with 'I Wish' blaring from my BlackBerry (not a euphemism), boogying away – yes, boogying – and then WIPE IT FROM YOUR MIND. I’d forgotten how much I loved his work. I can’t get enough. His singing is effortless, his range never-ending, and his ability ...
A blog from the actormusocomic. "Devastatingly witty" (EdFestMag)