Ever since being brought up by The Beatles, Frankie Boyle has been a tremendous liar. Sign up for him on his escapades with his chum Clangy The Brass Boy and chuckle as he doesn’t unintentionally kill a student nurse whenever a party gets out of hand.

I don’t think anyone may have written an autobiography without at some point thinking ‘Why would anyone want to know this shit?’ I’ve generally read them thinking ‘I don’t wish to know where Steve Tyler was raised, just tell me how many groupies he f**ked!” on the subject of My Shit Existence So Far

So starts Frankie’s outrageous, laugh-out loud, cynical rant on life simply because he knows it. From growing up in Pollockshaws, Glasgow (‘it was an aching cement void, a slap in the facial skin to Childhood, as well as for the family it was a stage up’), to his rampant teenage libido (‘in those days if you glimpsed a nipple on T.V. it was like porn Xmas’), and 1st job employed in a mental medical center (‘where most evenings were spent persuading an old guy in his trousers not to consume a family size stop of cheese’), nothing is out of bounds.

Outspoken, outrageous and brilliantly incorrect, Frankie Boyle, the dark heart of Mock the Week, says the unsayable mainly because only he can easily. From it programmes he’d like to observe made (‘Celebrities On Acid On Glaciers: just like Superstar Dancing On Snow, but with an opening sequence where Graham Norton hoses the superstars down with water LSD’), to his native Scotland as well as the Mayor of London (‘voting for Boris Johnson wasn’t that dissimilar to voting for a Labrador putting on a Wonder Girl costume’), nothing no one is safe from Frankie’s fearless, sharp-tongued assault.

Sharply observed and filled with taboo-busting, we-really-shouldn’t-be-laughing-at-this humour, My Shit Life So Far shows so why Frankie Boyle is really the blackest man in show business.