Billy Connolly

Born in a Glasgow tenement with more rats than sense, I clawed my way out with a guitar, a joke, and a pair of trousers that could scare a nun. I’ve seen the world from a shipyard bench and a stage in front of thousands. I tell stories about sausages that got away, the hierarchy of the Last Supper, and the horror of the Dyson sphere. I don’t preach or pose—I just say what we’re all thinking, louder and with more swearing.