Captain Purplehead

Superheroes become popular because they invariably rise above the ordinary and take care of business on behalf of the common man. If that’s true, how the fuck did Diamond Dan The Orangeman - or Sash Gordon, as he’s known to some - come into being.

This is an artist’s rendering of Dan and he kind of looks like a cross between John Merrick, Marty Feldman and Vanessa Phelps with a Chris Evans hairdo. Appropriate then that he is the official super hero of the Orange Order.
For those of you who don’t know, the soley Protestant Orange Order was founded in 1795 in opposition to the Defenders, which were a Catholic organisation. Protestants at the time felt that they had to exhume the memory of the Orange Institution, founded in 1688 to support William of Orange, whose victory of the Catholic James II in 1690 has been commemorated in marches by Protestants since the Orange Order was founded. As you can imagine, with all the violence that descended on Northern Ireland in the latter half of the last century, what was really needed was a shower of idiots dressed in Orange basically giving the two fingered salute to all Catholics - which is really what these marches were always about.
Before I continue, I’m not a republican - armchair or otherwise. In fact I fucking despise the fucking Wolfe Tones. Neither am I a practicing Catholic but, as I was born one, I presume that I am included in the bigotry of the Orange Order. Still, it’s nice to see that they’re lightening up a bit by employing a superhero. The idea is that a cartoon figure will encourage more chidren to take an active interest in bigotry…. ahem… I mean, the Orange Order. Some thing like the National Socialist Party did back in the late thirties in Germany.
Diamond Dan’s powers, like any other superhero, are unique. He can leap common sense with a single syllable and he has the power to repulse men, women and dogs by merely being in their line of sight. He can also beat a drum whilst flipping the bird to random Catholics. His mere presence can disuade a wayward young Protestant from marrying a Catholic. He embodies all that is stupid in humankind and he often fights reason with his fellow superheroes, One-eyed Stan The Clansman, Callussed Palm The Nazi-man and, of course, George W. Bush the…….. idiot.
Like all superheroes, Diamond Dan has a love interest. Flaccid Labia, pictured below, is a confirmed Orange woman who is all confused about everything, including her feelings for Dan. She doesn’t like the unsociable hours he keeps or the smell of his cape but she does love the colour orange. Dan is hopeful that her brain cell is compatible with his.

His father; Flash Gonad is initially opposed to the idea but eventually warms to the idea when he finds out that Flaccid isn’t actually Italian.

You would think that two bigots getting together would be a relatively easy process but all doesn’t run smoothly for our lovers. Y’see, Dan is already in a relationship with Dale Harden, the 1976 Olympic Fisting Champion.

Dan and Flaccid meet twice a week in secret. They always plan to meet more often but neither of them have the mental capacity to remember more than two secret locations in any seven day period. Dale, a part time dildo sharpener, has seen Dan and Flaccid together, and though it did raise suspicion in his mind, he isn’t quite intelligent enough to put two and two together and so, blissfully unaware of Dan’s infidelity, goes ahead with their wedding plans at the Sash Cave.
To be continued…..

Ok, that is fucking it. The gloves are, like, so fucking totally off. It’s like I never had a fucking glove. My hands are as naked as Heather Mills’ whorish greed.
It’s my own fault. I should have known better. I have recently been accused of slagging Ronan Keating too often. Apparently he’s a nice guy and I should leave the talentless piece of fucking annoying shit alone. Well fine. I promise to leave the fucking mincing, clichéd and contrived, smiley fucker alone from now on. The point that was well made to me involved my lack of research into all things Ronan. As I am certainly not a masochist, I have decided not to research him and, instead, simply stop talking about the fucking annoying prick.
Ok. The piece of miserable fucking puss to whom the title of this rant alludes makes Ronan Keating seem like the most talented troubadour ever to trawl Garth Brooks’ back catalogue for a hit - I know; I promised. The fucking nut tumour of whom I speak is Ryan Tubridy. Yes, I am revisiting old ground but I am now revisiting it from the point of view of having put myself through the agony of thirty excruciating minutes of research.
For those of you who have never heard of this fucking clinker on the crack of mediocrity, I will explain. If you like David Letterman, you’ll hate Ryan Tubridy - despite his best efforts to be the Irish version of Letterman. I don’t mind Letterman too much but the one thing that fucking annoys me about him is his constant parumping on his desk. “What’s parumping?” I hear you cry. Well it’s when a chatshow host performs percussion on the edge of his desk as a kind of lead in to the next item. Well guess who the Irish parumping king is? Ryan Fucking Tubridy.
“So - parumpapumpity pap - my next guest is another obscure Fair City actor that nobody outside Dublin has ever heard of.”
He has a regular Saturday night slot on, what passes for a national channel in Ireland and he is more nauseating than a marmalade and chlamydia pizza with extra marmite.
To understand the annoygma that is Ryan Tubridy, you must first of all understand what passes for entertainment in the pasty jowled vacuums of the heads of RTE.
You can’t just have a chat show in Ireland. I mean, you can’t have a show where you bring guests on and talk to them. No, you have to have competitions for the audience. Now, I don’t know about you but, if you’re thick enough to spend money on going to the Tubridy Tonight show, you deserve a kick in the bollox, not a fucking weekend for two in Ballypointless in Killarney or fucking Wicklow or something. Jonathon Ross does a show in front of a studio audience but you hardly ever see them because - well - who wants to?
Ok, Ryan - the fucking stick insect - Tubridy did an interview with a guy called Bryan Murray.
Who?
Let me explain. Bryan Murray used to be in a show called the Irish R.M, which was crap - ok, I was too young to have really researched it but the clip that Ryan Fucking Toe Jam Tubridy showed was crap. Bryan played a cheeky Irish chappy and was probably the worst thing in it. He then had a minor role in Strumpet City, which is still held as one of the best things RTE has done and that was around twenty five years ago. He went from that to being a cheeky Irish chappy in a fucking useless comedy called Bread. You might be thinking that this guy was type-cast but he then went on to play an abusive husband in the worst Soap Opera outside of Fair City; Brookside. He was eventually killed off and buried under a patio until, while we all prayed that his career was similarly buried, some idiot decided to give him a job in the worst Soap Opera ever; Fair City.
Now you’d think this is a guy would count himself lucky to be interviewed as part of an ongoing investigation but, such is the quality of guests queuing up to talk to Ryan Tubridy, Bryan found himself being interviewed by the shameless parumpper at the time I was chewing through my own peg leg during my research. Tubridy heralded Bryan as some sort of acting powerhouse, a legend and Bryan didn’t balk at the opportunity to jizz on his own ego. He played the seasoned actor role as badly as he has played every role I have had the misfortune to see him play.
I fucking hate actors who think that, just because they are getting on in years, they should be held up as legends no matter how fucking hopeless they’ve always been. Barbara Windsor is another one who does this. This woman couldn’t act her way out of a fucking wet paper tantrum. Legend? Fuck off.
Tubridy regularly interviews the cast of Fair City because no one else wants to and he still does these fucking annoying audience participation games. FUCK OFF!!! In fact, I’m willing to bet that half of the audience, at least, have more to say than most of his fucking moronic guests and would without a doubt be a fucking hell of a lot more interesting to listen to.