Posts Tagged 'Anne Doyle'

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.


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.

January 2019
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