Here's a little routine I used to perform, before I got done for Arson....
I don’t wish to make any inflammatory speeches, but I’d just like to say a few words in smoke signals. (Lights fag, blows smoke.) If there are
any Sioux Indians in the audience, I must apologise for my pronunciation.
I’d say more but I’m trying to give up smoking. Well, there’s no smoke without fire, so they say, & it’s funny I should mention that, ‘cos I’ve been taking a course in Fire-eating for Beginners. Lesson One was rubbing two sticks together. One bright spark set the room on fire.
Now I’ve graduated to safety matches. Soon I’ll be attempting advanced techniques with the flame-thrower and Napalm. That’s haute cuisine for fire-eaters. But I don’t want to show off or give anyone an inferiority-complex, so I’ll stick to Swan Vestas. It’ll be my swansong in case I accidentally incinerate myself.
Of course, I’ll make it look easy, but I’ve had a long hard apprenticeship fraught with all the usual sort of mishaps. You know: first-degree burns, the fire-brigade. I still occasionally suffer from Heart-burn.
Yes, I thought chillies were hot till I discovered fire-eating. But it’s one way to keep warm in winter – a bit more exciting than thermal underwear.
The trouble is I’ve got addicted. I think nothing of knocking back eight pints of pink paraffin in an evening. And they say it leads onto the hard stuff like…lighter fuel.
Anyway, I’m sure you’re not here to listen to me talk. You’ve come to see the action & if it’s fire-eating you want, it’s fire-eating you’ll get. I may not swallow much of a conflagration but it’s quality not quantity. So, without further ado, let the Pyrotechnics begin!
(Tries to strike several matches. Fails.)
Can I have a light, please?
(Beautiful Assistant strikes match, while performer sips water from glass. Coughs, splutters, douses match with mouthful of water.)
