Toys for Girls and Boys. And a TV Star in a Sweater.

Long time, no posting. I know. But i’ve been busy.

I just managed to slip away from rehearsals for tonight to type up a short post for the blog.

It’s been a dodgy week, since that one told me to basically shove my prize tickets up my arse.

Ungrateful cow.

Just so you all know, i ripped up her cheque too and sent that on to her. Let’s see how much she like that.

Tonights going to be a big night. We have lots of kids from schools in Dublin coming on to sing songs and dance and things. And maybe we’ll have a toy or two. I’ll finally make those people realise I’m better than Gay Bryne ever was.

I’m psyched for this show. It can’t go worse than last year with Jerry Seinfield.

Or can it?

Tune in to find out!

Her Jiggling is Almost Hypnotic…

So, only a few hours after my eyesight come back (thanks for nothing Twink), the powers that be booked none other than that harpy Katherine Lynch to come back on the show.She offends practically all of my five senses. Especially the hearing. I’m partially deaf now, thanks to her voice.

Still, it wasn’t the worst thing to be on the show. (Top 5 though.) At least she raised money for charity or something by jumping up and down on a treadmill. Like most males, I was too busy staring at something else to pay attention.

My watch, to see if she’d be on for much longer.

Ba-dum-tish!

There was something else about the whole thing that didn’t sit well with me.

Why the hell did we have famous runner Sonia O’Sullivan on, only for her not to run for charity?

I mean, I know she’s retired, but then so is Brian Kerr, and he had no problem running. More or less. During the break, he fell and smashed his face on the the treadmill.

It was hilarious. I’ll post the video on Youtube sometime.

Update…

I know i haven’t posted lately. I’m just busy testing out that software that allows you to speak into a microphone and it comes up on the screen. I’m actually temporarily blind since 2 weeks ago.

The sight of Twink modelling lingerie. Ugh. We actually had to put special filters on the tv broadcast so it wouldn’t offend the tv viewers.

Pity we couldn’t save the studio audience.

Normal service should resume shortly.

Bye!

How do i close this thing now. Burp.

Here, someone shut this thing down for me.

Where’s my walking stick? I’m going for a pint.

I don’t know, i’ll be back when you see me.

Ok, i promise I’ll go easy on the absinthe.

Is that thing off yet?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I’m still laughing from the incident that happened on Friday. No, not when Trinny & Susannah were touching up some audience members. We had that rapscallion Jimmy Carr on the show doing his comedic routine. (Viewable here: http://www.rte.ie/tv/latelate/ )

To be honest, I didn’t find it that funny. Nor did I find his suggestion that we’d talk about my land and legal problems funny either. (I’ve done enough of that on here.) It was the whole joke over us giving an “Austrian Family holiday” to a single guy that made me break my cool.

It wasn’t so much the image of sending someone off on an all-expenses trip to Josef Fritzl’s basement that had me in stitches. Rather it was the image of Jimmy Carr and Michael Gambon going on the skiing holiday with the winner. I’ve seen Gambon drive a car on the show Top Gear. I’d hate to think what he’d be like driving a pair of skis off a mountain.

I’m finding it hard to even type this blog post up thinking of the incident. It was a good thing that the producers on the show cut the live feed and my microphone when they did. It means no-one saw the bit where I fell out of my chair (and peed a little) from the laughter.

Even though I was grateful for the crew cutting when they did, somebody’s head will roll for this episode. I got set up really bad with the phrasing of that prize. They better not mess up with this Friday’s competition: A holiday in Portugal.

You can bring the kids, but there mightn’t be much for them to do. The hotel rooms are fun to stay in anyway.

Now, That’s How You Start A New Series!

I’m anticipating a heap of complaints over the opening episode of the Late Late. Not due to the skit we did with the ushers singing with mock-Italian accents but rather because of that Magick Macabre lot.

For those that aren’t as informed as myself, they’re a group of magicians known for doing all sorts of freaky shit. They obviously had to tone it down for TV, but somehow I think the older viewers still might get offended by seeing a leather-clad gimp pass through the stomach of a big beardy man. They ought to see Gerry Ryan’s bachelor pad on a Wednesday night. That would really put the fear into you.

The thing is, I do owe those magicians a great deal. I managed to get myself into a great deal of trouble during the show and they helped me hide in one of their magic box things.

But Pat, you’re loved by everyone! How did you get in trouble?” I hear you ponder. Well some of my guests took offence at what I said to them. First off, I accidentally insulted the Olympic Medal-winning boxers. I merely suggested to one of them that he should move out of his mother’s house now that he’s more famous. I DID NOT IMPLY HE WAS A MOMMA’S BOY!

If that wasn’t bad enough, I then made an ill-advised crack about the other boxer joining Weight Watchers after he takes a break from training. I WAS NOT CALLING HIM A FAT LOAD!

Speaking of moody people who should join Weight Watchers, we then had the Taoiseach Brian Cowen make an appearance. After grilling him about the economy and the usual “You Screwed Us Over, Cowen” type questions, I made a mistake of suggesting that he’d be back on later to sing like Pavarotti. He didn’t like that comparison. I was just joking. It’s not like I expected him back at the end in a dress so I could do the “Not over until the fat lady sings” joke.

I went for the hat-trick of ballsing things up then with the Riverdancing crowd. I meant to give the girl in the dance a peck on the cheek to say hello. But she ducked and I connected with the dude. He wasn’t happy. And that guy sure can kick hard.

So anyhow, later on in the show I had to hide due to Cowen, the boxers and the dancer all coming after me, looking to give me a beating. But thanks to those magicians I was able to hide until the guests had to leave. Disaster averted.

Thing is, I’m a little pissed off as it meant that I didn’t get to do my bit in the group finale performance of Bohemian Rhapsody. I was planning to do a guitar solo surrounded by fireworks and everything.

That’s me in rehearsals before the show. Yes. It’s a real tiger. It would have been an amazing spectacle.

Instead, I end up cramped in a box, while the tiger ended up biting the orchestra conductor in the arse.

Oh well. These things happen.

Is This The Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy?

So, I made it out of Leitrim. Just about. The experience was far worse than anything I could have expected. It reminded me of that film The Hills Have Eyes. Unfortunately, we didn’t get much camera footage. When we set the cameras rolling, the locals ganged up and accused our cameraman of trying to steal their souls. Such a shame they sacrificed him inside a large wicker man like that. Oh well, he knew what the job entailed.

So anyhow, now that the national tour is done and dusted, we jetted on down the N3 road on the way home for a well-deserved rest.

Well, so I thought. For some inexplicable reason, the feckwits, I mean bosses, at RTE thought I should present The Late Late Show from Wexford Opera House. I should be angry that I’m kept outside Dublin for a bit longer, but on the other hand, I’m actually psyched for this. I’m flattered that they arranged such a grand venue for me to show off my vocal talents.

The last time I sung in public was when I was a little tipsy at Oxegen and got up to do karaoke in the VIP bar. Which was an amazing sight to see. I do an excellent 48-minute version of Bohemian Rhapsody. Falsetto voices, manic dancing, removal of shirts, head banging, and jumping kicks, I give it the full 110%. And the people in the crowd (that haven’t left by then) cheer like they’re insane.

Plus I’m going to be backed up by the RTE Concert Orchestra, which is mega wicked awesome. We’ve got every type of instrumentalist in that orchestra: a violinist, a cello player, a triangle player, and even a guy who can make noises with his armpits. Oh-ho, it’s going to be a good show. See you all there!

I’m Alive!

Yes. I know it’s been a while since I posted. But you don’t get much of an Internet connection in the west of Ireland. I never realised how bad some people have it! There’s even people that have never heard of Panini sandwiches. It’s scary.

So just to bring people up to speed on how the last few weeks have went:

We went to Cork. It was ok. Couldn’t understand a word of what the people were saying.

We went to Longford. It was ok. Couldn’t understand a word of what the people were saying.

We went to Donegal. It was ok. Couldn’t understand a word of what the people were saying.

We went to Meath. It was ok. Couldn’t understand a word of what the people were saying.

Got some great footage for the reality show though. And some not so great, but we’ll be able to fix that in the editing room after. The editors at RTE can do anything. Like the time that guy burst on stage during one of the Friday shows. No-one watching knew anything odd happened.

Thing is, the whole celebrity roommate aspect to the show hit a snag. We ran out of celebrities who were willing to appear on the show. Everyone that didn’t have a shred of dignity were all appearing on the Failte Towers show.

So we were saddled with the only available celebrity: George Hook.

For the whole month. Feck. If I ever hear one more story from him about rugby or erectile dysfunction, I’ll cut my ears off. The producers have told me he’s booked for a show appearance in October, so we can reminisce about sharing a caravan for a month. Oh great…

Next week is the last week of the nationwide tour. I’ll be heading for my toughest challenge yet. Even tougher than the time I was dared to run through Limerick with a target sign on me.

Harsh weather. Lack of proper infrastructure. Possibly inbred folk. Chances are I may not make it out alive.

That’s right people; I’m going to Leitrim.

They don’t have Panini sandwiches there either.



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