Monday, May 16, 2011

Drunk-Dialling While Noel Gallagher Chews the Tache Off Me

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News affects us these days more than ever. If it's not the Queen luring all of our Gardai into the city centre and creating a criminal's heaven elsewhere for the sake of a cheap photo-op on Six One, it's bin Laden's hidden porn stash giving us a unique insight into the mind of pure evil (pure evil is mad for the transgenders, it seems). Or really important issues...like whether or not the Britney Spears impersonator from Britain's Got Talent will land a hardcore pornography deal.

Current events shape whether people in my age bracket will be forced to emigrate, whether middle-aged parents will be driven to suicide by pressure from banks who've given them bad loans, or whether our grandparents will be forced to live out the remainder of their lives in relative squalor...despite living a sensible, working class life, paying off their mortgage and earning every penny of their pension.

But unless watching Sean O'Rourke grill political party leaders is as exciting to you as watching Jedward notch up douze points then falling disappointingly flat, you're likely to be left out of the loop. To stay in touch with what is happening in Ireland, you're forced to either endure the musings of tabloid hacks who have the goodwill and intentions of a Charlie Sheen goddess. Either that or stomach Matt Cooper or Vincent Browne breathlessly screaming at politicians who don't share their point-of-view. The fact of the matter is...keeping up with current events in Ireland is a lot of hard work.




It is with this in mind that we created 'The Weekly Ranto', hosted by yours truly and 'Anto' Lynch. We digest the week's current events FOR you and feed it back in the form of - essentially - a well-educated pub chat. Whereas radio stations might believe that you want your news fed to you via a fake D4 accent reading abjectly off the page with one eye, and watching the clock 'til quitting time with the other, we have more respect for our listeners than that. We talk in our everyday accents, about everyday events and relate it back to the news stories in question, then cut it down to a weekly, hour-long show that keeps you entertained and in-the-know.

Unfortunately, as cool as hosting a show on iTunes might sound when you're telling bitchez 'n' hoez in nightclubs, it doesn't pay very well. In fact, not at all. Don't worry, we're not looking for your cash, just explaining how we can't necessarily deliver the goods every week. Sometimes real life gets in the way. Listeners to the show will know that Anto is currently in the process of being pussy-whipped. You wouldn't want him missing a crucial 'date night' would you??

So, to compensate for the weeks that we can't distract you while you really should be studying, or drown out the noise of the junkie in the corner asking you for €2 (for something he SWEARS isn't drugs) while walking through town, allow me to introduce 'The Weekly Bloggo': the only news column in Ireland that can tie ANY news story back to Facebook and/or ridin'.

We usually start the podcast with a random tale from the previous week, generally of humorous misfortune, in our daily lives. I genuinely couldn't think of a suitable one from last week but, while writing this, life decided to feed me some material.

Do you ever get a knock on the door when you're exhausted in the evening and just think "Look, if it's that important, I'd know it was coming," so you pretend you're not home? Then you think, "What if it IS important? Or someone has travelled a long way to see me or some shit?" Usually this guilt ends up in you having to fob off a door-to-door salesperson trying to scare you into buying Eircom Phonewatch, but tonight I've learned a valuable lesson.

I'm home from work, changed into a hoodie and shorts and settled down to type the shit out of this bad boy. There's a wrapping on the door and I'm too lazy to answer it. Then the guilt sets in.

As I'm going down the stairs, though, I can see the person outside closing the porch door and going away. So I give a little run and call them, more than likely appearing somewhat tired and beleaguered as I oscailed an doras. It's my auntie. She's half-smiling and, I notice, also still looking as if she wants to get in the car ASAP. We chat for a minute or so then she leaves.

"Why was she in such a rush?" I ponder, as I head back upstairs. So I put myself in her shoes: she knocks on the door, it takes FOREVER for me to answer, then I run downstairs in clothes fit for bed looking tired and disorientated. I had obviously heard the door if I answered, so I hadn't been asleep. There's only one logical conclusion...

Yep, my auntie now thinks she's called and disturbed me from having a wank.

Brilliant.

And now for this week's stories:

Gallagher's taste in football clubs may be suspect, but there is no doubting the Beady Eye front man's lyrical genius. That said, isn't that the weirdest threat you've ever heard in your life? I don't even know if I'd be threatened if someone said that to me. It's like telling a farmer that you're going to give one of his sheep a handjob. It's as if the idea has been in his head for a while and he's just looking for any excuse to say it. If Georgia fucking Salpa (any excuse to include a pic...) said that to me during a marathon dirty talk session, I'd settle for a night of cuddling.

"Slip inside the eye of your mind"? Nah, I'm okay here in my own Noel. But thanks and all...you crazy Manc freak...
  • We've all suffered from 'Inbox-itis' at one stage. Put simply, it's the fear of your mobile phone inbox the morning after a heavy session. Fortunately, for idiots like us, the new Textalyser app looks to bring an end to embarrassing drunken texts.
I'll never forget my worst case of drunkenly texting the ex. It was a good few months after we'd broken up and, save for the odd awkward catch-up on the street, we were pretty much out of each other's lives permanently. Then, the lads and I hit Templebar. There, we engaged in what can only be described as a full-0n bitching session about how women were the scourge of the planet (while one lad's soon-to-be-wife sat with her friends at the next table). One, in particular, told a heart-wrenching tale of how he'd been lied to, cheated on, chewed up and spit out by one that all left us wishing we could just be attracted to men, if only to prevent women catching us with their evil, Venus-fly-trap-like vaginas ever again.

I awake the next morning with a text from the ex saying, "Eh, what's that supposed to mean?" and my head is too sore to do anything but hungoverly cry (you know the one where no tears come out but you just groan repeatedly until someone brings you tea?). Eventually, I muster up the courage to check my 'Sent Items'. And I find one whopper of a text where, it appeared, I had been so angry at my friend's story that I'd momentarily confused our lives and blamed this girl for doing it to me, calling her a "liar" in the process. No reason for it, completely unprovoked, it wasn't even a case of mistaken identity because that involves you accusing the wrong person of something that happened to you. This hadn't even happened to me. I had mistaken my own fucking identity in this drunken assault on the English language. And woken her up at 4.30am in the process. Suffice to say, we don't speak anymore.

€0.79? Not bad if you ask me...

Though when asked about his bed-time habits, his wife did note that he was a bit of a predator. Just saying...

I guess it's back to the drawing board though for The Governator.



Dating shows? How sad. Ahem...

  • Two barmen have been released on charges of manslaughter after following one of their customers drinking himself to death in Co Tipperary. They argued in their defence that they "did not know" that the deceased would drink a pint filled with at least eight different shots, during a session in 2008. I already know what you're thinking. No, it's not a good idea.
This is obviously a landmark case, though, one that could change the face of Irish drinking law. And it's about time, too. Every weekend in work I'm inundated with people who say they're dying from the drink the night before.

Yes, I went there. And yes, I immediately regret it.

AND FINALLY...
  • Gabby Logan has said that she can't sue everyone on Twitter who link her to super-injunction cases. Very true. However, I've found a better remedy for those who speak ill of you on Twitter...look at their profile pictures. There's usually a reason they're stuck at home trying to figure out who has been injuncting their life away. It works a treat!

  • 'Taliban Terry' was last week arrested after allegedly threatening the life of Barack Obama ahead of his visit to Ireland this month. I bet Obama is shitting himself. If he gets together with 'Nazi Nigel' and 'IRA Iano' we might just have a danger...no, no wait, we'll just have three lunatics who brag to their mates in the pub about being terrorists while trying to shift broken dodgy boxes on the sly. I think the CIA will be able to handle it, somehow. This, however, is a far greater danger to Barack's (mental) health.

  • Sepp Blatter has issued a chilling threat that "football will suffer" if he is not re-elected to the FIFA Presidency. By "football", he means his pockets. And by "will suffer", he means will not anymore be lined by corrupt governments of struggling developing nations while he checks out lederhosen pictures on Google, laughs at the very idea of homosexual football fans and continues to be an arrogant prat while running the world's most popular sport during a time when even teams bringing in hundreds of millions a year can't turn a profit. But, since this is an election and I feel obliged to give this argument some kind of balance, I must let it be known that there are other wankers available in the world too. Such as Muammar Gadaffi. Only we attempt to usurp or kill, not re-elect, them.

  • Mark Gorton, the creator of Limewire, was hit with a settlement bill of $105million to pay off 13 record companies within the Recording Industry of America. Gordon had the last laugh, however, as when the label execs attempted to open the downloadable transfer of funds, they were hit with a Trojan Horse and a heapload of porn that had a deep, computerised voice saying "Bills Smash Hits dot com" over the groans of the women involved. RIP Limewire. If anyone asks I HAVE NEVER USED YOU.

A MUSIC LINK THAT YOU PROBABLY WON'T CLICK BUT I'M QUITE ENJOYING AT THE MOMENT


A FUNNY VIDEO THAT SHALL HAVE YOU IN STITCHES...I SWEAR...



And that's me done for the week. Hopefully, Anto and I will be back next week to keep your ears happy. Until then, this has been 'The Weekly Bloggo'.

Rick Nash is a DJ, radio host and now, evidently, blogger. He is also a former professional wrestler. So he can kick the shit out of you if you slag him for being a blogger. Or at least pretend to.

Subscribe to 'The Weekly Ranto' for free by clicking here. Or add us on Facebook too. We love to be poked. Though Anto prefers if you stroke his belly.

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