Captain Purplehead

Is it just me or has the tosser rate increased exponentially in the last few years? I mean, under normal circumstances, you would expect to have a small number of tossers because that’s just the way it is but Ireland’s tosser quota seems to have gone through the fucking roof recently. Fucking tossers! Ronan Keating, Brian Kennedy, Westlife, Louis Walsh, Linda Martin, Twink, Marty Whelan, Pat Kenny, George Hamilton, Bertie Ahern - in fact, almost every RTE presenter and the entire population of politicians - Graham Norton… the list is fucking endless. FUCKING TOSSERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And that’s just the celebrity tossers. Ireland as a whole - as opposed to hole - is full of fucking tossers. It used to be that you could go a month without meeting a tosser but, these days, you’re bound to meet one if you leave your house. In fact, as an experiment, I ducked out for literally five seconds and what do you think happened? That’s right; I met a fucking tosser. I literally walked out of my front door for five seconds - strictly in the interests of science - and I heard a very annoying, mid-Atlantic accent calling, “Hoi Copton” This was a fucking forty year old, done up like fitty cent. Fucking tosser! Do these people actually believe that this accent is cool? I can tell you it’s like so like totally like annoying y’knnneewwww? Tossers ! Fucking tossers the whole wretched fucking lot of them. What has happened to us? Why is everyone turning into a tosser? Every fucking second tosser you meet is a tosser. You buy a CD by a shower of tossers and, when you go to the counter to pay for it, there’s a tosser appraising your purchase disapprovingly because it’s not some obscure German band called Der Tozzerz. You go to a gig and a tosser in a black suit looks you up and down before you go in. You turn on your T.V and there’s George W - now there’s a fucking tosser if there ever was one.
We need to ditch the idea that we are now an enlightened nation and actually spend some time enlightening ourselves. This country is full of racist and xenophobic tossers for one thing. Every country in the world has an Irish population in it but we blow a fucking fuse when foreign nationals take up residence here. While they are bringing a diverse and, for the most part, healthy cultural diversity to our country, we are busying ourselves trying to sound more like Americans. Every young band seems to want to be Greenday. There’s nothing wrong with Greenday. They’re an American band, performing songs written about their own experiences. We are Irish people and, therefore, should sing about what we know and in our own accents. Fucking tossers!!!

Well, whilst I’m sure that most of you are too concerned with Jade Goody claiming she’s “not racial” - (I always suspected she was some species of extremely stupid dog) - to worry about my absence, I feel that it is incumbent on me to explain myself.
As any of my reader … ahem … s will tell you, I am a Villa fan. For those of you who are too tied up with the diplomatic incident sparked by a shower of morons trying to sustain their tenuous grip on their z-list status, that means I support an English soccer team called Aston Villa. After United’s poxy winner in the earlier FA Cup tie, it was with an unprecedented sense of hope that I passed through the gates the enemies’ lair - Old Trafford - last Saturday. “How bad?” I hear you mumble incoherently from the corner of the pub. Well, my tickets for said annihilation were donated by a United fan and, as such, I was seated in the midst of the most vacuous…. I mean, ardent United supporters on the planet. When the bastards … ahem… opposition scored, everyone around me jumped to their feet in celebration. I, though fearing for my life, could not muster so much as a fake smile. As you no doubt know, United repeated this feat twice more, leaving us 3 - 0 down at half time. That was depressing enough but worse was to come.
The second half kicked off in earnest and Villa looked a better side. Whilst any hope of a comeback was strictly confined to fantasy, we were nowhere near as inept as we had been in the first half. I began to forget about the rabble amongst whom I was sitting. This, as it turned out, was almost my undoing. I was interrupted by a typically non-Manchunian Manchester Utd fan.
“You are not a United zubborter, are you?” he accused in broken English. Now, I am true Claret and Blue but my need to remain unhurt for as much of my life as possible is an over-riding factor in much of my decision making. So I replied that I was indeed a United fan but the reason I wasn’t jumping to my feet when they scored or shouting “PENALTY!” at the ref every five seconds was because of a back problem - spine not our floundering defence. This appeared to defuse the situation and he went back to his inane and incomprehensible chanting about how much he hates Liverpool and City - (I wonder if he was at the right match). I went back to forgetting where I was.
In the fifty seventh minute, Gabby Agbonlahor scored. I immediately leapt to my feet for the first time during the match but remembered where I was before I managed to say, “GOOOAAANNNNGABBBYYYYOUGOODTHINGYOU”, which would have been inevitably followed by “CCOOMMMMEEEOOONNNNTHEVILLLLLAAAA” which, in turn, would have precipitated my demise at the hands of a German United fan. Before my legs had even straightened into a standing position, I flushed. In the nanosecond it took me to come up with a reasonable explanation for the miraculous recovery from my back injury, I felt genuine panic. We were quite high up. I could feel all of the pissed off United supporters around me tense and turn in my direction. How on earth was an opposition fan allowed in to the fold, I could hear their collective mind wondering? Fearing for my life, I threw caution to the wind and yelled “OFFFSSSIDDDE, REF!!” It felt like a boa constrictor had just decided to give me a break and relinquish his death grip on me, such was the retreat of the gathered tension around me. Of course, there then came mutterings of agreement around me, eventhough Agbonlahor was clearly onside, but United supporters like to reinvent the rules of the game on a regular basis.
I will concede that, as a football fan, I enjoyed watching United play. They are a truly great team. I just hated that they were beating my team. Ronaldo and Larsson were magnificent to watch and I dearly hope that United win the league, if only to deny Chelsea. My problem is with the United supporters. I suppose I am not in the greatest position to judge, since I support a team that has never had a sustained period of success but the arrogance is unbelievable.
Having said all that, I had a great day out and a great week in London. Greetings to all in Molly Malone’s in Kew. Nice place, nice people. My gripe is that you cannot find John Player fucking Blue there but that’s a minor gripe.
My reason for not posting in a while is that I was depressed at the manner in which Villa capitulated. I would like to have seen those around me curse the Villa for at least holding them to a draw. We could have done it but for two criminal defensive mistakes. We’ve now beaten Watford and our winless run is over but always remember, we became the first team this season to stop Chelsea from scoring and we absolutely hammered Bolton but came away with nothing because of a dodgy penalty. All is not gloomy for us Villans. Roll on next season. I believe we’ll have a genuine crack at Europe.

I have just watched my beloved Villa lose to a poxy Solskaer goal. Villa defended like lions, should have had a penalty and had the best clear cut chances of the game yet, in the words of a famous bint, they leave with nothing. Larsson had to score. It was inevitable and, at thirty five, he showed more class than anyone else on the field. Thanks to another display of ineptitude from Rio Ferdinand - the most over-rated centre half in world football - Baros scored a deserved equaliser.
A clanger from our on loan keeper, Kiraly, gave United victory but they were given more than enough help from the fourth official AGAIN!! Four minutes injury time! Four fucking minutes! He must have been watching the Everton - Blackburn game. By my reckoning, the actual time that should have been allowed was two minutes. What happens to peoples’ watches when Alex Ferguson is around. Villa fans know only too well the help that United have had from timepieces. Cast your minds back to the first ever premiership season, when Villa were leading United in the title chase. The crunch game was United agains Sheffield Wednesday. They needed a win and still hadn’t found the winner six minutes into injury time. SIX MINUTES!! They got a set piece and Bruce scored the winner. Time on the clock? 97 minutes and 17 seconds. Injury time played? 9 minutes and 35 seconds. Well, I suppose there had been a shooting, an earthquake and a smigeon of civil unrest that day. For fuck’s sake; over nine and a half minutes injury time!! I still believe that that game knocked the wind out of Villa and we ended up second at the end of the season.
There’s no doubting the gulf in class between todays Villa and United but today we matched them and deserved a replay at the very least.
I will be at Old Trafford next weekend for the Villa game and I will be keeping a close eye on stoppages and time for subs. If Villa show what they did today, we might very well get a result. I just pray that Sorensen is back and Rio Ferdinand plays the full ninety - or a hundred and ninety - minutes.
Watch us once O’Neill has put his team together. He’s still playing with a staff that he inherited but he will turn us around.
Go Villa!!! YYYYAAAARRRRRRR!!!!

Well it’s here again and I am reminded how far Channel 4 has fallen. That’s right, it’s the return of, “I’ve had my fifteen minutes, please put me up for a few weeks” or “Celebrity Big Brother”, as it is more popularly known. This is yet another reason why Channel 4 gets to prosper even though it is making far less quality drama than it made its name doing.
Reality TV is the indicative of the continuing dumbing down of art in general in the modern world. Everything is disposable because our attention span is not what it used to be and we can’t be trusted with anything that requires any thought. It’s becom… Where was I? Oh yeah, fucking crap. Dirk Benedict - who is famous for being Starbuck in Battlestar Galactica and Face in the A-Team and has done nothing since, making him perfect for this puke fest – said it best on entering the house when he said, “now begins the torture.” I am sorry that I can’t give you a more in-depth view of this shite because I could only stand to put myself through twenty minutes of it but I think that’s probably more than enough time to get a real feel for it.
So, is there anyone I know? Well there’s Leo Sayer. OH FOR THE LOVE AND HONOUR OF FUCK!!! Yes, the artist formerly known as Shut the fuck up, Leo has sunk to a new low. What odds on ol’ fuck face Sayer trying to entertain the other morons with Orchard Grove at some point? It’s fucking evens at best. Rebel film-maker, Ken Russell is also taking part. He must be researching a movie about morons or something. Cleo Roccos is in there and will probably start a relationship with Ken Russell and they’ll have a kind of Jordan – Peter Andre marriage for money. Columnist, Carole Malone is also in. She said that every self-respecting journalist wants the opportunity to comment on Big Brother from the inside. Oh really, Carole? So Veronica Guerin and Kate Adie were just lightweights then. Carole has been “critical” of reality TV shows on a regular basis – oh yes, she’s on the cutting edge of journalism. I remember her from my dole days when one could not avoid daytime TV. That’s right; she used to host her own reality-based show called Guilty. It featured the usual shower of white-trash idiots bringing their moronic problems to one of the many forums offered by daytime TV. You’ve probably seen the same idiots on Trisha or Jeremy Kyle. She still insists on calling herself a journalist. Carole; you’re simply a twat who writes about shit on a rag that any self respecting journalist wouldn’t even use to wipe their arse.
Jermaine Jackson is also on board. I suppose… oh sorry, he’s Michael Jackson’s brother and he also had a hit with “We don’t have to take our clothes off, to have a good time.” I think it was a cover of an old Jackson nursery rhyme. They have also got some Bollywood actress to come along. No doubt she’ll probably create a song and dance about Cleo going down on Ken or something *ahem*. Along with the rest of the morons is the smiling git from Steps who used to be called H but has changed his name to Ian. He’s bound to get into some deep and meaningful conversation with Leo Sayer about how misunderstood he is and… Oh fuck; what if they release a duet? Oh for fuck’s sake! It’s bound to happen, isn’t it?
Why are people so fascinated with this crap? Are we going full circle in the evolutionary cycle? In twenty years will we be just hairless apes with money? Has it already happened? In twenty years will we be watching a shower of has beens picking fleas off eachothers’ hair extensions? I’m thinking of offering the Thirsty Kipper as a venue for the next reality show. It will be an experiment. We’ll be finding out if tit implants and aging twats are palatable fare for great white sharks. I’m thinking of asking Ronan Keating, Louis Walsh, Sharon Osbourne, Bryan McFatten and a host of other twats to take part. The show will be slightly different in that we will also feed the hosts to the sharks. That will mean that we’ll have Ant & Dec, Linda Martin, That fucking git from Winning Streak, Marty Whelan and Richard & Judy. It will be unprecedented and a one-off and you can all thank me later. Who knows; the way things are going, we could even get Tom Cruise as a contestant.