GINA YASHERE/PAUL ZENON (Murphy’s Laughter Lounge, Dublin)

THEY WEREN’T wrong when they said that comedy’s the new rock ‘n’ roll. In the same way that for every Oasis you get a dozen Shed Sevens, a successful funnyperson spawns countless dodgy imitators.

Being pleasantly plump, Gina Yashere has gone for the fat-and-desperate-for-a-shag approach pioneered by Jo Brand. But while Her Doc Marteness ups the chuckle quotient with her crowd-baiting, Yashere looks like a post-penalty David Batty every time there’s a heckle. And why, pray tell, do all black comediennes feel obliged to pretend they’re Richard Pryor’s and Oprah Winfrey’s secret love child?

The London-based Nigerian gets a far better return from her visual gags – potential beaus ought to be seriously worried by the way she eats corn on the cob – which is what she’ll have to concentrate on if she wants to escape the toilet circuit.

It’s been a long time since Paul Zenon’s shared a stage with Armitage Shanks, the general feeling being that “The Wild Thing” is just a TFI Friday appearance away from megastardom. From the moment he cuts his mic lead into a zillion pieces and magics it back together, you know this is no ordinary stand-up.

Coming on like a punk rock Paul Daniels – a lot better than it sounds, believe me – Zenon is compulsive viewing as he swings a pint round his head on a dog lead and enlists the help of a cigar-smoking squirrel to escape from a straitjacket.

Unlike Yashere, he has no problem sticking it to the audience, with one particularly pissed-up punter being told to “Save your breath mate, you’ll need it later to inflate your girlfriend!” Forget eyes, by the end of the night there wasn’t a dry seat in the house.

• Stuart Clark