Archive for February, 2008

Is This Not Just Brilliant?


I’m going to use it to hypnotise people.

“You want to watch my tv show..”


Grearraajimininiminimininiminja to you all.

So that was a great show on Friday night. We had a tribute to the legendary Ronnie Drew. So legendary that he warrants a half hour slot on the show. After that we have to make way for a bunch of feminist comediennes.

I use the phrase “Comedienne” loosely. I’ve seen funnier things in the RTE’s comedy writers department. And they don’t wear masks.

(They should though, they’re butt ugly.)

Anyhow, back to Ronnie and his Irish Music Mafia. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of that gang. Especially their Godfather: Don Ronnie. He got Bono and Shane McGowan to flush my head down a toilet during an ad-break. Just because I started a rendition of “The Auld Triangle” in a wrong key.

Damien Dempsey also gave me a nipple-twister. But that was because I made fun of the way he says “Belligerent”. It was worth it.
The bunch of them were so rowdy that the Cappuccino Fryer Monks that we had in afterwards nearly got into a fight with them. But the monks managed to keep the peace.

They told me about how they worked in Moyross. I wanted to stay out of that conversation. (I’m not Anti-County Limerick, honestly.) They ended up giving Ronnie a blessing while he went to take a piss. Which was nice.

The monks were also telling me about their motto “No Bling, No Ring, No Boss”

I have a similar one: “No Fat Chicks”

Later, we had the Pope himself on the show.

Brent Pope. (See what i did there?) He was talking about his children’s books about sunburnt whales. (Kids will read any crap, eh?) He was also saying how he has had them translated into different languages.

I bet he doesn’t have them in Kennyish. That’s a language I invented. It’s basically the same as English, but instead of saying “Hello”,”Yes” or “No”, you say “Grearraajimininiminimininiminja”. It makes for interesting conversations.

Unfortunately, I’m the only one who speaks it.

To myself. Alone.

Guns Don’t Kill People, People That Have Guns Do. Duh.

Have a look at what some gee-bag wrote:


I hate to admit this, but this is kind of half true.

Firstly, I am not a bastard. I know who my parents are.

Pity the same can’t be said for my (unfortunately named) cousin Kenny Kenny, however.

He’s always been a bit of a weird one too. I mean seriously, what kind of guy has 5 nipples?

Secondly, I will admit. I am Anti-Limerick.

I honestly cannot stand those poems. They’re so stupid.

Like this one someone sent as a text message to the radio show:

There once was a man named Pat.

But many people called him a twat.

They pulled out a gun,

And then had some fun,

But he put it away before somebody got hurt.

However, people in County Limerick, Ireland, think that I have a problem with them.

Ever since “The Moyross Incident“.

I was presenting a show down there one evening, when afterwards, I met some local youths who were fans of the popular television show 24. They were very bulky kids. But that was due to them wearing bullet-proof vests underneath their clothes. Except for one kid. He was just fat.

I made the mistake of asking what was he packing. When he pulled out a semi-automatic broom-handle Mauser. Those things have a terrible recoil upwards of a distance of, if I’m not mistaken, 100 yards. After that, it’s all over the shop. (Watching all those James Bond films really pays off).

Afterwards, anyhow, the lot of us went on a drive-around as they showed me all the sights Limerick has to offer. It was tremendous fun. We’re still keep in touch to this day.

So there you have it. I don’t hate the county of Limerick. Or the city. It’s all good.

Well, except for the stabbings. People aught to come to Dublin. It’s a lot safer, apparently.

I don’t know for sure. That’s just what my researchers tell me.

IFTA: I’m Fecked. Thanks Alcohol.

I have such a sore head today after the IFTA’s there last night. As they say “I’d rather be hanging over a nurse than be nursing a hangover”.

Word of advice to all: If Anne Doyle ever offers you a drink from her flask, just say no. You could strip paint with what she drinks.

Me, her and Gerry Ryan ended up fighting with the table next to us, and heckling some of the people on stage.

At least they edited the bits where myself and Gerry started a “Take It Off!” chant for Kathryn Thomas. Or when I threw my plate of chips at Daniel Day-Lewis.

Thank God for time-delayed live shows. Without them, I’d be up the creek without a paddle.

Anyhow, after the show, the three of us went out on a massive pub crawl. Guess who we met trying to get into Renards Night Club later? Only Diarmuid Gavin. Mr fancy-pants gardener himself. He got turned away for not having his ID. Ha-ha.

The rest of the night is pretty much a mixed blur after that. There may have been an incident where Gerry Ryan stole a goat (Where from, I have no idea), but I wasn’t there at the time. I was busy hiding in a dustbin from Daniel Day-Lewis. When he went home, the three of us (And the goat) kept partying throughout the night.

I ended up finding myself in a shopping trolley at 9am this morning outside the RTE studios. And me wearing nothing but a polythene bag and a jester’s hat.

Which is at least better than what happened to Anne. She’s currently trying to get off the fishing boat that’s heading towards Portugal.

Don’t expect her to be presenting the news tonight.

“And Then I Asked: Do You Keep it in a Jar?”

Friday night’s show was interesting to say the least.

First we had the guy who became a woman. I know, a woman! Isn’t technology amazing nowadays?

He/She was telling his/her courageous story about how he/she overcame adversity and abuse from ignorant people throughout his/her life. Until I cut in with the question we were all thinking. Did he/she get the balls snipped off?

I suppose that was a moot question for me. I already knew. You see, I have hidden cameras attached to the RTE toilet ceilings.

Don’t judge me. Those babies pay for themselves. I can see what all the celebrities get up to in there, from the safety of my secret office. You wouldn’t believe how easy I was able to blackmail Glenda Gilson last year. She didn’t want anyone to see that incident where she got explosive diarrhoea. Which is how she ended up doing that Celebrity Skating thing.

You wouldn’t believe what we caught John Waters doing in the jacks for him to end up on the show.

Anyway, after we had the guy/girl on, I had a man and his wife on who had moved to Thailand, talking about the sex industry there. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was fiddling about with my laptop underneath the desk trying to book tickets to Bangkok for the summer.

Ironically,the laptop slipped off my lap and i ended up Banging my Little Pat, as it were.

I eventually recovered and came to my senses by the time we had the Eurosong contestants on. In a word, they were absolutely hopeless. It appears my campaign to send Spiral from Big Brother over there is dead in the water.

Even worse is me having to introduce one of my arch-nemeses.

Dustin the Turkey. I hate him so much. And his attempts to upstage me at every opportunity. The pair of us have a long-standing rivalry. Ever since the time I told him Bosco was better than him.

I went to find Dustin backstage and to confront him about how he always mocks me. Ended up finding him hiding in a suitcase. I berated him for a whole hour. But he just gave me the silent treatment.

That Feathered Bastard.

I’m Just A Love Machine.

So. Last night was “The Love Special” of the Late Late Show. It’s all because of Valentine’s day next week. Obviously.

I actually hate doing these type of episodes. It’s hard interviewing women when i know they’re attracted to the Ken-dog. Like that woman talking about how in all her relationships she was a mistress. (Slut.) She so wanted me. Like when she was flirting and noticed that my wedding ring wasn’t on my finger…

(I actually keep it attached to somewhere else on my person. and it’s too painful to remove.)

Anyway, yes. It’s hard being so irresistible to the women. I try play the heartless bastard (“Hello competition winner. You’re a widow? So are some other people on the show. Hahahaha.“),so they’ll find me less desirable, but nothing.

I have to resort to the mention of Ashley Cole being drunk and puking on some girls carpet (Not a euphemism) so as to turn some of them off, but it doesn’t work. They’re drawn to my charm like flies to dog-shit.

It must be my sexy “Teak-scented” cologne that does it.

Now,don’t get me wrong. 40 years ago, I’d take advantage and be in and out of women’s bedrooms like a fiddler’s elbow. But i love my wife. She doesn’t laugh when i do goofy things – like dancing like a chicken while in the nip at home. Actually, she does laugh. But she’s laughing because it’s funny, and not at my genitals.

Or so she tells me…

So.Who.Am I?

Well. That is a very good question. Let me fill you in with one of those bullet point list questionnaires. Like the many ones that are seen on Bebop,MyPlaice, or Facehook.

— Name: Pat Methuselah Kenny.

— Birth date: January 29 1948. Yes. I am a healthy six decades old. (Botox and tummy tucks,people. They’re brilliant.)

— Address: Dublin. I’m not saying any more, as i don’t want any stalkers around my mansion in Dalkey.

— Family: I was briefly married in 1969 to Dana. But that was annulled when she ran over me in our Mercedes. I met my present wife, Patricia, in 1971, and we’ve been married ever since. I have 3 wonderful kids. And 2 not so wonderful. Yup, 5 kids. I’m such a stud, aren’t i?

— Job: Currently i work in RTE. Well, i say work. Really, i down 3 shots of sambuca and someone switches on a microphone. It seems to work out well. Except for that time I stripped bollock-naked in the studio in the middle of a show. And me, just about to interview Cecilia Ahern. Luckily, I put a pair of jocks on and she said nothing.

If only it had been the radio show and not the Late Late….

Writing my blog, duh.

I’m a big music fan. I love all kinds of music that my researchers tell me to play. I especially like those up-and-coming Irish bands like The Lorentos and Bell Eleven.

I’m also a sporty guy. I like to go kickboxing every now and again. You don’t want to back me in a corner, let me tell you. I’ll come at you like a spider-monkey.

I’m also a great runner. I can run 100 metres in less than 15 seconds. Which is helpful when i leave a burning bag of dog poo at Eamon Dunphy’s house and then ring the doorbell. You aught to see it. He falls for it every time!

–What do I Look Like? Well:


I am the sex.

February 2008
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