Archive for May, 2008

Who Doesn’t Love All Things Theatrical?

We had the quite theatrical Senator David Norris on the show there on Friday. He’s always tremendous fun when telling his stories. But he sure gets angry when you ask about his cousin, Chuck Norris. But if you were related to someone who could cure cancer with his tears (if only he cried), then you’d feel insignificant too.

Everyone seems to love Dave though, especially the women. It’s a wonder the guy never settled down and got married to a nice young lady. But he says he loves being “a swinging bachelor”.

For some reason, he made a joke out of that. I don’t know why.

Speaking of confused, I was as confused as a baby at a topless bar when we had a guest on who looked the spitting image of Biddy from Glenroe. For those that don’t know, Glenroe was a documentary broadcast in the 1990’s about the life of a farming community.

I always thought it was cruel that when Biddy crashed her car into a tractor and died that the camera crew didn’t go and help her. But I guess they didn’t for authenticity and that.

So this look-alike and some other women were on the show promoting how they were appearing in The Vagina Monologues. I haven’t been to see it yet, but I imagine it involves some impressive ventriloquist skills.

It’s great that there are so many artistic plays and thing like that in Ireland. I wish I could get up on stage and act in a play again. But I’ve been blacklisted since my last theatre show was such a complete disaster.

It was last December when I was performing my stage show in the Olympia Theatre in Dublin. A one-man musical version of Pulp Fiction. Unfortunately, the theatre was double booked. And nobody told me.

Which led to the sight of me, covered in shoe polish and shouting, “English Motherfucker, do you speak it?” like Samuel Jackson.

During the ballroom scene of a pantomime version of Cinderella.

The poor kids didn’t know what to make of it. Especially during the scene with the gimp.


Hungry For Some Gift Grub.

One of my favourite segments on the Late Late Show is when we have a celebrity chef on to cook some food for us. Last Friday, we had Jamie Oliver on the show cooking me some pasta. It was a lot more than when Ainsley Harriott was on a few weeks ago. All he did was help judge a fashion show.

Modelling doesn’t put food on the table! And even if it did, the models probably wouldn’t eat it. All the while, I’m still hungry.

It is great anyhow to have a chef on the show like that. It means I can finally get a good meal. That RTE canteen only ever serves me soup. And the missus at home isn’t the best cook in the world either. Like that time she tried making Beef Wellington, with an actual boot. I still wonder about what was in that Shepherd’s pie she once made.

Don’t get me wrong; we’re both terrible cooks. Last time I tried cooking a slice of toast, I burned our bathroom. Long story, don’t ask.

You’d think she’d have time to learn to cook though. All she does is stay at home and watch TV or listen to yours truly on the radio. Speaking of the radio, that guy who does the celebrity voices on Today FM’s Gift Grub programme was on the show too. (Excellent link, eh?)

“Super” Mario Woodstock is the guy. He’s trying to milk the last drops out of being able to “impersonate” Bertie Ahern. The saddest part is, the guy actually has a split personality. He thinks he is each one of the people that he does a voice of. The people at Today FM just lock him in a small dark room all day, and record his mad ramblings as he talks to himself.

Good thing they don’t do the same with us RTE people. We’re allowed out of the room at lunchtime.

Douze Pointe? That’s Just Fowl.

It’s almost that time of year again. The time of year when people of no evident talent from all over dress up like eejits and get their few minutes of fame on television, while people at home watching just laugh and laugh. No, not Celebrity Jigs & Reels. Something almost as tedious.

The freaking Eurovision Song Contest.

Every year I have to watch as the Late Late gets hi-jacked by a bunch of “musicians” appearing a few weeks before the contest so they can claim how they’re going to win and have a brilliant music career and all that shite.

If they actually won, then they might claim a hit out of it, or at the very least get some TV presenting work. Like Linda Martin. Although she had to do some other things for the bosses which I’m contractually bound not to tell anyone.

But it involved handcuffs, some whipped cream and a goose.

Anyway, we even have the non-national entrants appearing on the show to appease our multicultural society. So that’s why we had Poland’s Eurovision entrant on the show on Friday. Isis Gee is her name. Yes, yes I know. Gee is a slang for a lady’s front-bottom. I would be making jokes, only we’re sending a turkey as our entrant.

Oh Dustin, Dustin, Dustin. My mortal enemy. I hope the Serbians eat him alive. He’s the cheekiest turkey to ever exist. Dustin once claimed that he’d take over the show after me.

Never! It’s my show rightfully! I’m going into cryogenics as soon as something bad happens to me. I have it all planned out. Every Friday I can be thawed out for three hours to present the show.

It’s a bit extreme, yes, but I wouldn’t be the first TV personality to use modern science to keep in the business. Like Anne Doyle (Botox) or Joe Duffy (Calf implants). Even Mike Murphy is part robot. He only left Winning Streak because Derek Mooney unplugged his batteries.

Now Mike just remains motionless in a store-room at RTE headquarters, gathering dust. Poor guy.

May 2008
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