Captain Purplehead

It hurts when I move.
It hurts when I sit still.
It hurts when I talk.
It hurts when I don’t
It hurts when I look at something.
It hurts when I don’t look at anything.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Sunday was a great day. I decided to take myself along to the Love Haiti event, which was held between Bentley’s and The Brazen Head and had a truly excellent time. The day was simply excellent and a credit to our much maligned city. Having watched the incomparable 12 year old guitarist, Andreas Varaday, we were treated to some of the best acts around. Dave Irwin kicked things off in fine style and we also had Drea, The O’Malley’s, Joe Browne, The 54 Club, The Funk Junkies and many more really great acts. There were magicians, Bollywood dancers and some delectable grub in addition to this. It’s hard to put into words what a great day it was but trust yer ol’ Cap’n, t’was a great day indeed.
While in situ at the event, it was decided that a few of us would meet up and have an after party party on Monday night. This turned into a unique - and sometimes bizarre - gathering. Honcho even brought along a toy for our delectation. He sat, holding court and produced a box emblazoned with the name, “Duck On Bike”. To a mixture of aws and ahs, he revealed the item, which indeed turned out to be a duck on a bike with a propeller for a hat. This brought much merriment to our gathering and led to more pints which, in turn, led to more pints which, after a few more pints, led to a few more pints. This is the reason why I started this post in the way I did. I have a hangover that is like the tenant from hell. It just won’t leave.
Don’t know why I’m telling you this but I must say that Sunday reminded me why I love Limerick. What a great town we have. Yeah, there are a few scumbags who are doing their best to fuck it up but it’s a truly great place, filled with truly great people. Well done Limerick.

Well Willy the idiot has resigned. As you can see from the photo, he has reluctantly handed in his ministerial moustache and gun. Hope it starts a trend in the Dail. Not the moustache but the resignation.

Just look at the mess that’s been made in my absence? The country’s on its knees while the politicians keep on adding extra cream to their own pies. Pathetic country is Ireland. Utterly and totally pathetic.
We have half a million unemployed people, yet our Tainaiste, Mary Coughlan flim-flams in the face of the possibility of the creation of 500 new jobs. Is it me or is that ineptitude of criminal proportions?
Now we have that old twat Willy O’Dea lying through his teeth but still claiming that HE is a victim.
‘I have made a bad mistake, I’ve paid heavily for it, I am sorry, I am contrite, I’ve apologised, I apologised again … I don’t know what else I can do.’ pleaded Willy, as if he had just martyred himself. Well, you could resign, Willy. Y’know? Do the decent thing. Remove yourself from our sight and fuck off and do something else. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind, could you fuck off somewhere else. Yeah, that’d be nice. Go somewhere where they think moustaches are a good idea. You fucking lying toerag.

For the benefit of those of you who haven’t heard the pathetic story of our minister for deference… sorry, defence, here’s a brief synopsis.
A local politician, Maurice Quinlivan had asked why it was necessary to have six public servants dealing with Willy’s constituents. In an interview with Mike Dwane of the Limerick Chronicle, Willy said, “I suppose I’m going a bit too far when I say this, but I would like to ask Mr Quinlivan is the brothel still closed? Do you know the brothel they found in his name and in his brother’s name?”
Now, before I go any further, can I just point out, as if it was necessary, that making that statement alone must surely pose the question; is this idiot fit to hold any kind of office? But there’s more.
Maurice Quinlivan sued Willy for defamation and, in turn, Willy issued an affidavit denying he had made any such statement.
“I most categorically and emphatically deny that I said to Mr Dwane that the plaintiff was the owner of the said apartment” said Willy.
After the court had decided that Willy had no case to answer, Mr Dwane’s recording of the interview proved that Willy had actually made the statement, he withdrew the affadavit. In short, he lied to the court.
Willy’s defence of this is that he didn’t remember making those statements. Such glaring lack of recall also surely suggests that Willy isn’t fit to hold office. What if he made an agreement to send everyone between the ages of 18 and 45 to go to war with Nenagh or something?
“Mr O’Dea, is it true that you sent every young person in Ireland off to war?”
“Sorry, I don’t remember making that decision. It’s not my fault! I’m an idiot.”
A motion of no confidence in Willy was defeated, proving yet again that we have monkeys at the controls in this country - and that’s an insult to monkeys.
I’m not going to go into this but I do have one question. When is enough enough? When do we as a country down tools and tell the government that we’re not going to be hapless doozers under their inept command. We will not sit here and allow them to fuck us up the collective arse anymore. Here’s a list of demands:
All bankers who are found guilty of insider trading and basic ineptitude, need to go to jail.
All politicians accepting bungs from property developers, need to go to jail.
All politicians who have wilfully lied to us need to go to jail.
All politicians who creamed more money with unvouched expenses need to go to jail.
The Senate is to be abolished.
Mandatory sentencing needs to be put in place, starting with 10 years for burgulary and life for rape, child abuse, murder, drug dealing and basically being a fucking scumbag.
Finally, now that there are none of you left outside of prison, can ye all please fuck off to jail and let someone competent take over.
Who do you elect? That is always the question. We need to appoint people who don’t want the job. People who are skilled in the fields their minstries demand.
Ah fuck it, what do I know? I’m just a pirate.

I recently suggested on another forum that RTE’s Saturday Night Show has potential but is being spoiled by the inclusion of crusty ol bints like Twink and Linda Martin, combined with never-should’ve-beens like Jedward. I thought the format was open to a more robust style that would allow for a funnier and more challenging experience than anything RTE has put forth thus far - not that that would be very difficult. Easy as it might have seemed, RTE have got it sadly wrong AGAIN!!

Ok, here’s the formula for an RTE chat show, and please point out if they have come up with anything different in the last twenty years.
Theme Tune: Must contain brass and must be akin to fifties American chat show theme tunes.
Host: The host must be known to the public. We absolutely cannot blood a different type of chat show host. Experience in chat shows is absolutely not essential.
Content: Twink and Linda Martin must feature on the maiden series but live audience must also be engaged by giving away free gifts and having meaningless “fun” competitions that don’t interest the television audience at all.
Guests: Anyone we can get our hands on. Twink is always available and we have a host of other RTE presenters who will be interviewed and/or used as filler when we can’t get anyone decent.
Music: Doesn’t matter at all. Put any shit you like up there, if you can’t get anyone decent.

Am I fucking wrong? This has been the staple of RTE thinking for years. While that fucking stick-insect Ryan - I now believe I am David Letterman - Tubridy somehow fools Samuel L Jackson into being a guest and then quite simply doesn’t ask him any decent questions, Brendan O’Connor interviews the terminally and criminally unfunny Katherine Lynch and fawns over what he calls “a true star and national treasure” who turns out to be non other than that fucking gimp, Johnny Logan. Johnny fucking Logan??????????????????????????
Johnny tries to convince us that he has been working really hard and has really found himself. He’s big in Germany, a country not noted for having great musical taste generally - although Ireland doesn’t anymore either. David Hasslehoff still sells bags of cds in Germany for fuck’s sake!
Brendan finishes the show by announcing that we’re about to witness a first. That this was truly something special. Ok, maybe the head of RTE programming is about to be roasted on a spit, live! No, it’s Johnny fucking Logan singing his Eurovision winning hit, Hold Me Now, but in a kind of cabaret remix that both Johnny and Brendan feel is cool but actually makes an utterly turgid song even more fucking shite. Johnny speaks about how he felt he was unloved and under appreciated in his own country. Well, Johnny, if you weren’t utterly, unequivocally and embarrassingly fucking shit, you may never have felt that way.

The Saturday Night Show had the potential to be a more edgy and challenging show but, instead, it’s turned out to be yet another fucking pile of shit from the overpaid execs in RTE. We really need to turf out the powers that be in that fucking organisation. Turf them out, sell their assets and stick em in HSE housing. Hopefully this will come as part of the revolution that fuck’s our useless government out.

Am I the only one who is sick to fucking death of celebrities preaching to us as if they know the secrets to life, the universe and everything? I’ve been quiet long enough. I was away addressing a conference on the pirate code - those Somalians just won’t wear taffeta or silk - but I’m back now. And I’m more pissed off than normal. You might say I’m pissed offer.

First you have that clown Tom Cruise belching forth a littany of self serving crap the likes of which I’ve only heard issued from Slimey Pete’s arse, then you have the fucking eternally harmless Jim Corr telling us that everything is a conspiracy. I mean, where do they get their qualifications for this shit? Tom Cruise is an average actor who wouldn’t even have a job if he didn’t look like the all-American kid. Jim Corr is responsible for giving us some of the blandest music in living history. I mean a fucking Cliff Richard and James Blunt duet sounds more interesting than a Corrs song. Jaysus, if his sisters weren’t such eye candy, they’d be playing fucking Garth Brookes covers in their local now. Jim preaches to us about the new world order. That man shouldn’t be allowed to put the words new and order into one sentence, it’s an insult to New Order. I would prefer to staple my testicles to a beehive while performing cunnilingus on Angela Lansbury than sit down and listen to that fucking git! Oh sweet fuck, I’m after giving myself food for nightmares with that Angela Lansbury thing.
Look, Jim Corr isn’t worth a fucking rant and I’m going to finish talking about him by saying this….. JIM CORR, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!
Now we have Demi Moore talking about leech therapy! What the fuck? This is an actress who has relied heavily on getting her surgically enhanced baps out in order to prolong her ill deserved 15 minutes of fame and she has taken it on herself to preach about beauty therapy. What is leech therapy? First you shave your body. You then immerse yourself in turpentine, which I can only imagine stings like a fucking bee with a rapier attachment. After you stop stinging, you allow leeches to feast on you. What warty fucking witch sold that con to the fucking idiot? I’ll bet it was someone who worked in Guantanamo Bay for a while.
She waxes lovingly about this fucking treatment, stating that the leeches aren’t ordinary leeches, oh no, these are ……. wait for it….. highly trained leeches. Fuck’s sake, Demi, don’t tell Jim Corr about this or he’ll very likely start accusing pro-Castro leeches of being on the grassy knoll! For the love of fuck!!! What’s next, seeing eye leeches? Mountain rescue leeches?
“I was in Austria doing a cleanse and part of the treatment was leech therapy. These aren’t just swamp leeches though - we are talking about highly trained medical leeches”. Ah, medical leeches. Now it makes sense.
Look Demi, why don’t you just announce that someone broke into your house and stole some videos of you and your gimp going at it. Y’know, like all the other nobodies do to prolong their stay in the sun.
Why can’t celebrities just be happy with their ill gotten gains and shut the fuck up? Most of them got into acting or music because they knew fuck all about anything and decided to exploit their good looks. No one gives a fuck about what you fucking think, you miserable fucking turds!

How many of these fucking idiots have released workout dvds? It started with Jane Fonda, which in a way absolves her from the list as it was an original idea. Some of the celebs who have decided to preach to the great unwashed about how to exercise include: Davina McCall, Carmen Electra, Jordan and, believe it or not, Angela Lansbury. Angela Lansbury’s video doesn’t just border the ridiculous, it goes right over the border, through the state of ridiculous and crashes through the barriers of insane. For comedic value alone, I s’pose we’ll leave her alone and I really need to forget that earlier image but Jordan? Surely her regime consists of fucking footballers and driving to the plastic surgeons? Who would buy such a fucking thing? If you’re unfit, walk, jog or swim. If you want washboard abs, go see a personal trainer. No? Ok, then, just buy the George Lee fitness video or, hey this is a great idea, COP THE FUCK ON!!!

Whoa, really went off on one there. I’m just going to stop now and try to get that Angela Lansbury image out of my mind.