Posts Tagged 'Gerry Ryan'

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.

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“Marriage isn’t a word. It’s a sentence.”

Sorry i haven’t posted in a while. I was helping Gerry Ryan pack up his stuff for moving out into his swanky new bachelor pad. He recently split with his wife Morah after 26 years of marriage. I know what you’re thinking, and yes that is her real name, and yes Gerry actually did it with a woman.

You should see the new place now. It’s super cool. He has a water slide, and a Playstation, and a toaster, and everything. It’s so cool, I’d almost leave me own wife. Except she has my money buried somewhere. Oh and because I love her. (If you’re reading this, Hi sweetie!)

It’s sad that Gerry’s splitting with his wife. He tells me his missus wanted him out since he was only half a man now since the incident.

For those that don’t know, Gerry got a vasectomy a few years ago. I say vasectomy – close enough to one. Let it be a lesson to all: don’t steal the last donut from under Charlie Bird’s nose. He’ll rip you to pieces for his fix of jam.

Anyway Gerry told me how, after a night on the beer, he drunkenly hopped into the bed the other night and told Morah he couldn’t get it up unless he thought of someone he really fancied, like himself.

Not the smartest of moves. Ah well, life goes on. I think it was the great Irish rock n’roll band, B*Witched , who once said: “C’est La Vie”.

They also said “Don’t Blame it on the Weatherman”. That’s why he shouldn’t get angry when he finds out she’s shacked up with Martin King.

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.