Appropriately enough you’ll find this sorry little show in the Caves.  I’m reluctant to give this crock a considered review, but I’m probably not the target audience..  That small constituency probably won’t make it, as lockdown is at 6.30pm and a ten-stretch for hate crime would keep you away from the festival.

  ‘If I can’t have the best show on the Fringe’,  I suppose the thinking went, ‘I can always aim to have the most talked about.’ It’s a risky marketing ploy, courting the one-star reviews to create an anticomedy buzz, but I would urge anyone who thinks it would be worth going along for a laugh to punch themselves in the head for half an hour instead.  Don’t fall into the trap.

  Women are just a collection of body parts for Pete, vaginas, tits, pubes, just the sexual bits, and you know what? They are dirty smelly things as well.   What comes across is a sense of sexual horror that is borderline sociopathic. 

  With this approach maybe he’s hoping to be mentioned in the same breath as some of our more illustrious shock comics, but he’s not even within spitting distance of that league.   He’s unembarrassed to use old hack ideas like  oral sex taking a long time, or talking dirty being difficult, while his attitude of seething contempt is laced with violence. ‘I head butted her in the vagina’   might make Peter Sutcliffe say  ‘That’s a bit much…’

  There’s a slickly offensive PowerPoint presentation and a 7ft squirting plastic vagina makes an appearance, sorry if I just ruined the surprise ending. This is not car crash comedy, it’s more like genital mutilation.   It’s a cynical and ill-judged career suicide note without any redeeming features.  Please don’t feed his ego by going to see it.