And No Mention Of The “Blue Tits” Double Entendre.

So, Friday’s show was good, huh?

Got to meet lots of wimmin.

Firstly I got to meet Elle McPherson – A genuine Playboy model. Wooooh. You should see her pictures. You can see her boobies. She was plugging some clothes range or something, but all I could think was “I can Google you and see you naked. Oh Yeah.”

I also had someone on named Tracey Cox (hehehe. Cox) talking about a Caramel Sutra book she’s published. It had more on show than boobies. There were people with their bits out. Very rude. I got meself a signed copy. I’ll need to exercise a bit before I can try out page 42, but it’ll be worth it.

Anyway, I can tell you, the show researchers were a bit hot under the collar this week, gawping at the nudey pictures and exclaiming “Look at the pear on that bird”.

(She didn’t have any fruit on her. She had nothing on her at all, to be honest.)

Anyhoo, the birds that were most interesting that night were the Owls that we had a competition to find a home for.

(See what I did there? Seamless link. Let’s see you do something that flawlessly, Tubridy.)

We managed to find a box for the poor auld owl to live in. The kids that made it also made a small little birdhouse for me as well, with the leftover wood.

Imbeciles. I’d never fit into that.

Besides, I’m Pat-Freakin-Kenny. I pick up enough money a year to genetically breed my own owls. With my DNA in them also.* They’d have my finesse at TV presenting, with the added bonus of being able to turn their head 360 degrees. That’d be so cool.

*There’s a cheap way of implanting my DNA into owls, but I could never do that. I’ve been banned from the zoo.

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