Tuesday, May 26, 2009
9AM: Look ‘Hughes’ Talking : Lively chat from the ever flexible Alan Hughes. On this mornings episode, Nobel prize winning politician John Hume storms out after being gunged, and a topical debate on the the dangers of nettles in cruising destinations. Followed by news for the deaf (stereo).
11AM: Brendan O’Carroll on... Wine : The lovable crimin...sorry, Comedian, continues his cultural journey with a guide to the finest wines and vineyards around. Tonight: Brendan gets pissed on a special offer Shiraz and urinates on a Luas.
12PM: Zchewky un Blarti - Ukrainian comedy from Estonia (with Greek subtitles) - A mysterious Welshman arrives in town and unsettles the local Turks with his loud flute playing and disdain for Mexicans (winner of best Maori television series at the Latvian media awards).
1PM: The Afternoon movie: An American Werewolf on the Orient Express (1968). Heart stopping thriller from the producer of ‘Satan visits Fundrerland’ and the Dairy Boards generic cheese advert. A trip on the fabled train turns to horror for a young family of Mormons as one by one they are savaged by a werewolf. Will Jean Claude Van Damme come to their rescue? Unlikely, as he is not in this movie.
5PM: Xp-LOSION: Live coverage of a tragic explosion at TV3 HQ during the recording of Xpose.
5:27PM: Xpose 2: A special episode of the popular entertainment magazine featuring a tribute to the untimely passing of all the previous presenters. Also, why tartan is IN this season.
7PM: Sports!! Sports!! Sports!! : A timely repeat of the Mongolian Trampoline championships of 1977, an event marred by a Llama invasion that sent the shock waves though the world.
8PM: Hammered: The taboo breaking Ulster comedy is back. The McGuiggans celebrate the release from prison of their elderly grandmother with a good old fashioned Ulster Fry (ie they burn a church), Meanwhile ‘over the fence’ the Harpersons are faced with a tough decision when ‘Snappy’, the family terrier, wags his tail during the Sinn Fein Ard Fheis. Warning, contains images of animal cruelty.
9PM: Boomerang Bay: The sex filled Aussie soap is back, and bolder than ever. Tonight, Wanga is horrified to find an orphan in her cornflakes and Greg tells Martha that he loves her, in a series of punches meant to represent sign language.
9.30PM: Cribs, with Brian Cowen!- Leader of the country Brian Cowen gives viewers a glimpse into his private life and explains why he keeps a herd of sheep in his garden.
10PM: Sheep Thrills: - The rape of Dolly - Alarming expose into the recent ‘sheep buggering’ episode that rocked Irish Politics, with an as yet unnamed Taoiseach at the forefront of the allegations. Music by The Script.
10.45PM: - Live Windsurfing ( Not the cool kind ) - All the action from today's goings on in Courtown. Filmed from a distance in the back of a moving car. Sponsored by Chewits
11.45PM: - Mind your own Quizness - The return of the popular Quiz.. Now, with ACTUAL prizes!... Sponsored my Mickey's Hardware - Ballina ' if It's hard and ware, it has to be Mickey's ' Open 3 Days a week.
12.30AM: The Valley - Soap set in rural Greenland. Today, a large snowstorm blows into town. Eué has difficulty shutting a window and a moose is keeping Júúúp awake
1AM: Cagney and Lacy: Disturbing drunken camera phone footage from the TV3 Christmas party where Mark Cagney models lacy underwear for the staff of Copper Face Jacks.
1.30AM: After Dark presents: Nurses in heat (2006). An amateur theatre group form Tallaght hospital present their version of ht hit motion picture ‘Heat’, with Matron (Concepta O’Shaugnessy) in the role of Al Pacino.
4AM: Power Cut - Due to a surprise power cut, programming tonight will end abruptly. See ya in a fortnight, The TV3 'team'.
Friday, May 22, 2009
I took one look at Westy and my mind was already scouting locations of where to bury his body. His wife (Missus Westy) stood over his shoulder. Make that two bodies.
I guess it started when I got that pre-travel fear that most of us get. You know, when you’re packing your socks and a sudden image of a burning plane and a mountain side flashes into your mind. Usually, I’m a good flyer, but for some reason I was apprehensive this time. I even cleaned my apartment and deleted my Internet history as I knew my family would be in rifling through my stuff before the black box was found.
Anyway, back to the murdering bit. So, here I am standing in the brutalist centre of Bristol (sort of like a peak hour Dundalk, but after a large explosion or some sort of catastrophic event) looking up at the B&B that Westy had somehow found lurking about on the Internet. If dereliction was a public holiday, this would be Christmas. The other buildings on this street had long decided to pack their bags and it stood alone. Of course, this was Bristol. And being boarded up or showing signs of police tape on the doors didn’t mean it was closed for business. A sign on the door said ‘for B&B’ (and suspiciously, ‘other services’) ‘call this number’. A number then followed. Call we did and eventually getting through a panting landlord who said in that ‘OO-AR’ accent that he’d be round in a bit. My mind was already wandering to that Marriot we saw on the way into town, and when the landlord stumbled around the corner, it was already unpacking its bags.
Looking somewhere between a Spiders era Bowie and a heroin addicted Joanna Lumley, he wobbled up the street in a pair of hot pants and a fur coat.
“Did we get you out of bed?” Westy ventured
“No, just working around in the Sauna” was the creatures response. (The Village Sauna, as we found out, was just round the corner and proudly had a poster urging people to ‘out’ Homophobes).
We entered the ex-building through a broken fence, and stepping over an old rusty cooker, we were led into the bar. In the darkness, we could see the whites of eyes scurrying into the shadows. Like a great chess player I was two moves ahead, and had already swung a shovel, left the bodies behind and was sitting in the airport bar. But alas, I chickened out of mass murder, paid for my room and resigned myself to a night on the set of Hostel.
It began to amuse me actually, we literally had to climb over a roof to get to the rooms. And even though he said with a mischievous grin that there was ‘no other guests, haven’t been for some time actually’, a barking dog could be heard clearly from one of the other rooms. Still, my room was clean (as in, whoever had last killed there had been meticulous in removing all evidence) and I had planned to be so drunk later as not to notice anyway.
And that was the case. We were in Bristol to see the amazing Twilight Sad, and by god, they saved Westy's life.
That and the fact that murder is bad.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Disgrace, whilst waiting for Fakey in the transsexual section of Soho books Rathmines (don’t know why he insists on meeting there) uncovered this. The full script for Ryan Tubridy's pilot episode of the Late Late Show. Shudder with me folks...
(Owl replaced by a floating cabbage. On the intro, Tubridy’s face is to be morphed onto recognisable celebrity faces. There he is with Jordan’s breasts. Next he’s on the body of Stephen Hawking. Hilarious montage follows of Boyzone, each members face replaced with the gurning grin of Lord Tubington.)
(Ryan moonwalks behind a screen in silhouette, as the Camembert Quartet (renamed ‘Four Pricks and a Piano’) break into ‘Rocket Man’. His face appears and revolves at impossible speed. Several viewers have fits. Cue applause, canned)
(The screen lifts and there he is. The man who put the ‘oh sweet Jesus Christ’ back in Montrose, clapping his hands and jigging. The set looks like a prostitute’s blouse.)
“Well ladies and gentlemen, what can I say about standing here? On the shoulders of giants! Like Gaybo!! That’s only his name folks, it's not a lifstyle!! Taps nose and swings finger towards the band. Boom Tish noise. And not forgetting Pat Kenny before me (grabs crotch). Trumpet solo. I intend to bring you not only top quality entertainment, but intelligent debate, pressing issues and topics that some may consider taboo, in the interest of furthering this great nation of ours. And on that note Ladies and Gentlemen, our first guest, Basil Brush!!”
“Basil, are you an arse or a leg man?”
Topical political issue next with Fintan O’Toole
“Fintan, what measures do you think the government need to put in place to restore consumer confidence, and more so, faith from the public”
“Well, Pat, sorry, Ryan, if this nation stands up for itself and real.”
“Sorry Finners, got to interrupt you because it’s time for ... (Drum Solo), RYAN’S SLAUGHTER!! Are we ready to embarrass a member of the audience with a secret from their past Folks????!!!”
Edit out groans.
Cue Four Pricks, ‘Y.M.C.A’
Ryan enters audience (make sure he doesn’t take this literally – Producer)
“Who are you?”
“Erm, I’m Bernie. My family were killed in a carpet laying accident and I’m here to discuss the problem with Des Kelly’s recent recruitment drive in Mountjoy. You know Ryan, since I’ve lost my family, I have had all my floors removed. I just can’t face them... blubber... tears... wail.”
Tubs, with a smile bigger than O’Connell Street
“Who wants to see this lady take the ‘truth or SCARE’ challenge???”
He pulls her from her Wheelchair.
Music from Smokie. It would be funny if Ryan closed this sequence with a witty comment??
“Alice, who the FUDGE is Alice” he shouts, to minimal laughter. Cue gurning!! (Does anyone have Miriam’s number? – Producer)
Next Guest, comedy sensation Tommy Tiernan, who’s routine literally consists of him waving his member in front of the Special Olympics team. (Turn down volume of phones in the office please!! And get Ryan to stop touching it!!)
Cue the band!!
And bring back GAY!!!
“But I’m already here” pleads Ryan.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Following on from the British Expenses row, National Disgrace has uncovered some startling evidence of dubious expense claims amongst our own politicians. Whilst some of the claims may be genuine (Mary Harneys €300 claim for 110 litres of Diet Coke and a horse Troff was up for questioning, but has been dismissed as apparently she has been known to be partial to the boiling a number of hams in the popular soft drink), others such as Brian Lenihans €11.50 claim for ‘a calculator’, have raised alarm bells. It was Lenihans startling admission to Disgrace in a libel avoiding dream last night that ‘He doesn’t know how to operate things with buttons’ which got me suspicious.
Amongst the most astonishing tax claims:
Taoiseach Brian Cowen : €1000 worth of Pajamas (Hanna Montana motif). This has raised eyebrows as it is a well known fact that Mr Cowan sleeps entirely in the nude. The busty brunette also ordered 12 volumes of the Koran, despite some observers note that he has very few Islamic fundamentalist tendencies.
Minister for Defence Wille O’Dea's claims for 'knuckle dusters' and the entire 'box set of Rambo' are not in doubt, but questions marks have popped up over his €13.40 claim for 'luxury scented toilet roll'. Those in the know (ie. the toilet attendants at the Dail and the Limerick gun club) have said that O’Dea (not to be confused with overdose) likes to ‘wipe’ with a live grenade!
John Gormley's (Green Party) expenses raise the astonishment bar even further by putting in receipts for 'two leaking oil tankers' and an ‘instant forest fire kit’. His spokes-goat was unavailable for comment today but Disgrace did receive a knitted note saying that "the Minister rejects claims of irregular claims, and will fist fight Disgrace back to the Internet to prove it!".
Mary Harney, Minister of Health as stated before has an exotic taste for coke boiled ham, but her balancing book it seems is a bit like her weighing scales, under incredible pressure. Amongst the invoices the Minister (often claimed to be the only TD visible from Space) lodged were ‘size ten knickers’, 'Trampoline' and a ‘beard trimmer’. Actually, I’ve just been alerted that the beard trimmer was a genuine purchase.
Despite being hotly tipped to star in the remake of the Munsters, Minister for taking money from people, Brian Lenihan has a very un-Hollywood approach to buying things. Amongst some of his suspicious purchases are ‘Irish Banks’ and a 'Fisher Price Money printing machine'.
Former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, also lodged his spending with the Exchequer and despite not having any history of irregular financial matters whatsoever, has also been subject to some scrutiny. Mr Ahern, now living in Fagans public house has billed the taxpayer thousands for a ‘goat dressed as a ballet dancer’ and a ‘bucket of rubber gloves’. Some have referred to the reported ‘Goat fiddling’ contests in Fagans of Drumcondra as an ample explanation, others however, have not.
Mary Hanafin, who still to this day refutes the claim to being an ex Christian Brother also clocks up the euros with her monthly expenses. Amongst the ones being questioned from the Minister for mis-education are an ‘underwater school’ and an ‘increase in teacher numbers’.
The list goes on. Dick Roche (‘Panda food’ and ‘the history of the hill of Tara’), Trevor Sargent (‘Prostitutes’) and Sean Haughey (‘Fake mustaches’) all are to be investigated also.
It’s a terrible and sad state of affairs. For the country that brought you the Irish Civil War and Ros Na Run, to be exposed as a corrupt and scandalous society is something that sickens Disgrace to the stomach.
It’s enough to have Dev (12 shillings for 'Internet cafe charges!!') spinning in his grave.
Monday, May 11, 2009
For a Village full of thirsty students, excommunicated fathers living in bedsits and jobless youths, Rathmines has a surprising lack of Pubs. Because of this, and a sticky keyboard, there will be a lot less exclamation marks in NATIONAL DISGRACES GUIDE TO RATHMINES - PUBS.
The first watering hole (and I mean hole) on ‘the strip’ is the Rathmines Inn. It is highly recommended that you skip this place. The Inn lives off the fact that it has a beer garden where al fresco drinking (next to the bins) can be enjoyed. I once asked for a bottle of Erdinger here and the Barman sneered at me. “We have none of that foreign stuff”. I had a Heineken instead. I have occasionally used it for the ATM near the toilet, and have taken great enjoyment in waving my freshly deposited cash in the barman’s face as I head off to spend it elsewhere
Moving on, it’s a fair trek to the next pub, so you may decide to nip across to the Spar for some street beer. You’ll have ample time to down your tipple before you reach the next hostelry, the rather insensitively named Toast (it used to be a fire station). Toast is the middle ground of Rathmines, not sure whether it’s a restaurant or a bar, so it decides to avoid being either. Its stock has de-valued somewhat in recent times thanks largely to a club night hosted by yours truly and a certain Mr Empire.
Pretty depressing so far and things don’t improve at all when you hit the next boozer. Lingering at the crossroads like a luminous sex-offender, the bright green facade and dirty windows greet you like lump of poo in your lunchbox. Where the Rathmines Inn has Carvery, the Madison has people who have probably ‘Carved up’ their victims. They have a Crimeline night where a free pint is on offer if you appear on the show. Disco lights are often in full swing on Dole day and the foods menu literally consists of ‘knuckle sandwiches’ and ‘Mashed Face’. This is high society folks. On Mother’s Day they advertised a special “three course lunch - 11.50 (includes free admission to Man II Man - Strippers) - This is actually true. Note: They actually search you for weapons on entry, and if you don’t have any, they give you some!!
After you’ve picked up your teeth from the toilet floor it’s time to move on. Try to avoid leaving through the front window as some regulars do and head straight across the street to the old world charms of Slatterys.
Slat’s is a haven from the hustle and bustle of busy downtown Rathmines. The image of a grandmother head butting a barman at the Madison is far away now as you take the first sip of the perfect Slats pint. This is a proper pub, where it’s advisable to leave your airs and graces at the door, although they will most likely be stolen by one of the Madison gang. The barmen and ladies have a weird sixth sense too. With a simple nod and a ‘Can I have a pint of stout please Paul’, you’ll be served up a pint of stout, almost certainly by Paul. It’s that attention to detail that makes a visit to Slats a winner every time. Ok, so there are no mirrors in the gents, but your chances of meeting a girl in here are very slim. And if you do, well they’ll have not seen a mirror for quite a while either. They have a cruel sense of humour in here for sure. Pop your 3 euro into the condom machine and rather than a packet of ‘sheaths’ you’ll get a written note.
“Ha Ha, you’re having a laugh right? Get back out to the bar. Another stout?, Paul”.
Where Kildare has Goffs, and Cork has its CO-OP Marts Rathmines also has its own cattle market. Follow the knuckle marks up the street and before long you’ll be stood in the cavernous halls of Rody Boland’s. It is here a man can meet the bearded woman of his dreams. Intelligent conversation is bottom of the list of priorities in this not so-super pub. Wearing a Munster jersey, or simply wearing the face off a woman who’s style icon seems to have been Giant Haystacks, Rodys ticks all the boxes for the sociable ‘sorta’ human. Warning though, the regular punters are quite touchy about the omission once again on the Michelin Star list as apparently the Goujons are impeccable.
So there we have it. Rathmines. If you want to have an enjoyable drink, hit Slats. If you have a hankering for a terrible and soulless experience with the added body blow of a Carvery lunch, hit the Rathmines Inn. If you want to buy some knock-off Timotei or Rolex watches, over to Madison. And if you want play a game off Russian roulette with your sexuality, hit Rodys and wait for the shock the following morning. Whatever happens, be good folks...
Ps, erm.. I love you.
Monday, May 4, 2009
I was stopped by some English tourists in Rathmines earlier who were looking for some recommendations for somewhere to eat. I asked what they were looking for and they simply said "tasty pucker!! Kebab in me arse geezer!!". So, for them (and pray Christ, they have been recently been mowed down by a lorry) here's a handy tear out and keep guide to Rathmines fooderys.
Yes! Rathmines has food. Lots of it. Whether it’s burger's, chips or simply a rush job sliced pan and tayto combo from Dunne's, this village is sure to have restaurant critics literally going weak at the knees! Boasting more big macs than people, and a seductive strip of flashing neon ‘eating signposts’, you’re as likely to fill your belly in the ‘Mines' as you are to have a human head on your shoulders!! Starting at the canal, and happily racking up the calories towards Rathgar, the choice is mesmerizingly mesmerizing. The Spar at the corner of Grove Park sells a mouth watering range of chocolate bars, chicken baguettes, and for the bedsit boggers, peat Briquettes. Tasty!!
Moving on, the Porta Via more than makes up for its complete lack of any customers with a complete and utter lack of safety regulations. Here, and only here, can you purchase TWO snack boxes for the picce of one!! It’s a bargain that only a devout vegetarian could resist. Not enough for ya? The Porta Via also has a jukebox, so you can listen to hits such as Paul Hardcastles ‘19’ as the kitchen staff try to fend off the hungry rodents. Hey, we all need to eat, people!!
Assuming your Spar bought Mars bar and PV double snack box treat haven’t extinguished that hungry fire in your belly, you are more than welcome to discover the rest of this quaint Dublin villages culinary catalogue. Jo’Burger, which offers a SIGNIFICANT DISCOUNT if your haircut is cool enough, serves up MONSTER burgers. Don’t worry folks, they don’t use real monster!!
Rathmines is fun, isn’t it?
McDonald's subtle position at the entrance to the Swan Centre (a Mega Mall, so called cos it’s supposedly marks the place where Swans were invented. WOW!!) is marked by a cleverly placed homeless guy who has mastered the art of urinating down his trouser leg to such a level that the run off forms a large glistening ‘M’. Get in there and tear through the Euro saver, but throw him a twisty fires on the way out.
You’ve belched, and what do you know? You want more grub!! Head a few doors up to Kafka! This is the place to be seen in this handsome Dublin 6 suburb. It’s one of those sit down food places though, and it’s courtesy use a knife and fork! Battling for business with ‘Kaffers’ is Burdocks, a chip shop that whilst suspiciously closes and re-opens a little too regularly for my liking, is apparently Dublin's Oldest Chipper. That can’t be a bad thing, cos I was recently a customer of Dublin's oldest Prostitute and she was great!! The Haddock is 5.50, and it’s around the same in Burdocks!
Say goodbye to your belt folks, Eddie Rockets is calling and you’d want to be a freak of the highest order not to fall for their charms. Decked out like the illegitimate child of a semi-authentic 50’s USA Diner, it's a semi authentic 50's USA Diner, right down to the burly Polish rapist-a-like who works in the kitchen, you will be munching down their famous fare with a smile so big so could easily fit another serving in. So do it!!
Bonanza!! Well, you're a lot heavier than you were when you stood at Portobello bridge, but that’s just as well cause there’s a stiff breeze beginning to blow. Better anchor yourself properly and visit RATHMINES ONLY KFC!! for some of their world famous delicacies. Vegetarians will rejoice in this quick food haven, as none of the meat on offer here as ever been near an animal! Look at the picture!! Even horses think it’s safe to stop for a chat outside this place! It’s the perfect venue to chill, linger over a semi warm Pepsi and lovingly pick the vomit off your dates collar. And when you’re finished, there’s a fist fight waiting you for just outside Rodys!!
Rodys? You’ll see... (in the pub section which follows this)