It's another episode stuffed with carefully curated nothing, beneath a comforting veneer of adventure, polished with insanity. Creativity meets the laws of physics with a bump, as Jon trains himself to fall over convincingly in thigh-high leather heels. But that's nothing to Mike's suspicious heatsink-related injuries, which have left him dreaming of magic gofers and a self-emptying plastic volcano. (Serves him right for bringing a rifle mic to an karmic blunderbuss party.) In the wings, The Empress purses her lips like the diva she is, before moving the Archdeacon to tears with Chaucerian English. So pull up a candelabra, pour yourself a refreshing glass of sauerkraut juice, and relax to the sound of grimier-than-thou Luchadors, a purring cheetah, and Morris Minors masquerading as Corvettes.
...and you can also get tickets to his show at The Royal Opera House with Little Bulb Theatre (called 'Wolf, Witch, Giant, Fairy') here:
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