Callan's Kicks s01e03 Episode Script
Episode 3
1 Coming up tonight, golf champion Rory Mcllroy on his split nationality disorder.
God save amhran na bfhiann.
Tom Cruise discovers gay old Ireland.
What if there was a country that was far and away the best place in the world to live, work and do business.
Five! And the Meath man connection to Mad Men.
And we mark the night the Garth Brooks concerts were meant to start.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
Sit back, relax, open a Hennessy and slip into something more comfortable, like that dirty gardener with the immaculately trimmed lawn you've been eyeing up.
It's Friday night and this is Callan's Kicks.
What if there was a country that was far and away the best place in the world to live, work and do business.
Five! Somewhere where all your risky business practices feel right at home.
Where the few good men have emigrated and the government keeps its eyes wide shut.
Is that a mission impossible? Be gorraah be gotcha Tom.
That place doesn't exist at all, at all, at all.
'Tis only a legend I hear.
You're away with the fairies, telling tales.
Tale.
A cocktail.
I love cocktails.
I was acting.
I'm Hollywood star and movie producer, Tom Cruise.
This place does exist and it's called Ireland.
What if there was a woman you wanted to date? She's tall, handsome, successful and doesn't want anything to do with you because you're a creepy dwarf.
Whoo! First step is you have to destroy her self esteem.
I love doing that.
But what if her self esteem is already non-existent? God, you're repulsive.
I feel so worthless.
Even better, right.
It's just like Ireland.
Man, I love Ireland! Not right now.
I'm wearing make-up.
Sexualism.
Wait a minute Tom.
Wouldn't it be expensive to move my mutli-national business to that cow shit stained rock in the middle of nowhere? No it won't.
See, I was acting again.
Ireland brings you in.
You pay no tax.
If you lose all your money they give it back to you What a bunch of fing a.
I love cruising.
I know what you're thinking.
Ireland, what about all the rain man? The best thing about Ireland.
.
Shit.
Call an ambulance.
She can't be dead.
Fuck.
What's going on here? This is bad.
Mission impossible too bad.
You've killed that woman.
Hi.
I'm Tom Cruise.
Hollywood actor and movie producer.
I know who you are.
That doesn't allow you go around killing people.
My people are from Roscumon, you know.
Why didn't you say! Man, I love a Goeyanus.
Man, I love Ireland.
See, you can get away with anything here.
Best of all, the people are so broken they still go to see my movies.
Top of the road to you all.
Too-ra-loo mo lassie.
Hi, I'm Marty Morrissey.
President and founder of Marty's Party Nights which were subject to a hostile takeover bid by Ronan Collins' swinging showband dinner discos for an undisclosed 3 figure sum.
Hurling.
The so-called All Ireland championship that features three counties, and Clare or Offaly once every few decades.
Kilkenny are so dominant that during the 4 in a row in the noughties, they played of the finals drunk just for the craic and even fielded a few Kilkenny footballers to make it interesting.
Tonight, a countdown of the top hurling celebrations down the years on Marty's Hurling Party Chart-y.
It was 1973 and the peace process had stalled after Taoiseach Jack Lynch had drunkenly tried to cash in Monaghan for half a bottle of Powers and a housing estate in Newry.
Limerick had just won their last hurling title of the millennium.
Little did they know back then that today they'd be struggling against lowly Wexford, or the caravan site as it's known to holidaying northside Dubliners.
It was from here on the roof of Limerick Prison that Richard Harris and Oliver Reed serenaded the inmates with Limerick You're A Lady before vomiting from 3 storeys into The Shannon, thus making it the most toxic river in Europe.
Although I was only a young man in my early 40's, I left Angela in ashes that week.
There wasn't a sulky rode or a bag of yokes sold in Moyross for a fortnight.
It was 1998 and the world was topsy turvy.
Tony Blair and Bertie Ahern were popular.
Brian Cowan was awake and the health minister, Leo Varadkar was but a glint in his mother's eye.
The early Celtic Tiger was starting to roar, nowhere more so than here in Offaly where the first Opel Ascona with a wind-open sun roof had just been sold third-hand to the richest farmer in the county.
It was from this uninsurable wreck that they celebrated winning their fourth and final All Ireland Hurling title.
There wasn't a calf tagged or a cousin shagged in Monegall for a fortnight.
Let's go see the number one Marty's Party.
And at number 1 is Clare's ultimate pool party after last year's All Ireland.
Taking in the unholy trinity of Boston, New York and Cancun.
I for one was more than happy to go down Mexico way.
Sadly Clare were knocked out of this year's championship after only three matches, with Davy Fitz citing dark forces at work.
Although personally, I prefer it with the lights off.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off for a doggy paddle with Clare and Clare.
And why not, Clare as well.
I'm Marty and I like to pool party.
We are in an area of the country which was completely destroyed and demoralised by Fianna Fail's last term in government.
The gobshites and I were the ones left destroyed and demoralised in the last general election.
We were ashamed of ourselves.
We were left out in the cold.
As a result our manliness and our logo shrunk commensurately.
Tiny! Tiny! However, during those 3 years we discovered all we had to do was say nothing, blame the global economy for the crash.
.
(ALL SHOUTING) Then I had the best idea since I came up with the HSE.
The BFG's.
(CHEERING) These are the beautiful female gobshites.
Thankfully, ye the voters, have the memory of a goldfish after an all-nighter at the Electric Picnic.
So now we're back.
We're the biggest party in local government.
Hold on.
Hold on.
Don't forget local government is what made us great in the past.
It gives us real clout in the community.
Such as filling in pot holes, cleaning up doggy doo.
And of course, rezoning.
(CHEERING) And massive civil engineering contracts.
Listen to the man.
We have reclaimed the high moral ground.
So I am categorically ruling out sharing power with Sinn Fein.
Until the next election.
(CHEERING) And with our rehabilitation almost complete now, it is time to consider our candidates for that election and bring about real change in our country.
The soldiers of destiny are back.
Welcome back.
The main story tonight is that the silly season has begun in earnest.
Mick Wallace made the headlines when he was arrested for staring at planes in Shannon rather than for that time he under declared 1.
4 million euro of VAT.
He was arrested and released alongside socialist Clare Daly who just realised that the only way for her to get coverage is to stand next to Mick Wallace when he's doing something unparliamentary.
Also making the headlines for some unknown reason is Lucinda Creighton, who for the 17th time has said there should be a new political party.
Yes, who do you suggest for that Mrs.
professional politician.
It takes you until lunch to decide what you're having for breakfast.
Just have the Coco Pops.
Deputy Creighton said she needed to consult her conscience further.
Meanwhile in a statement, her conscience said, who is this bloody moralising woman, why can't she just make a decision and leave me alone like a normal person.
Finally, the silly season means sudden attention on international matters and not just sport or who Cheryl Cole is marrying this week.
As the world pressurises Vladimir Putin for answers over the attack on the Malaysian Airlines plane over Ukraine, Barack Obama has issued a fresh warning to Russia.
He threatened in the strongest possible terms, that he would unfriend Mr.
Putin on Facebook, stop liking photos of him riding bears topless and suspend his Netflix account.
Afterwards Barack Obama promised to change his clothes but he waivered for too long and congress filibustered his choice of tie.
Great democratic model there America.
Now go back to your Kardashian flavoured ice-cream.
I'm done.
We'll have more later.
You'd even give a squeeze bullock the horn.
Ah stop, you pair of rotten gombloos.
Well men, this is the new girl.
Peggy.
This is Don Draper, genius bowsie.
This is Roger Sterling, charming pervert bowsie.
Well.
No bother.
Good girl sure.
Good man yourself.
Mind you for a second.
Hi.
Don, I have those samples for the pratai client.
The ad for the spuds.
Lovely.
May I present Mr.
Pratai.
No, it needs to be more sophisticated.
This is dinner dance food.
It's decent grub.
Okay, gotcha.
How's about Mr.
Spuddy? He's pure decent ateing.
What about Mrs.
Spuddy? Shut your mouth hole.
You're to be seen not heard.
How's about Pratai in a hot tub.
Spud in a tub.
Jacket potato.
That's pure silage talk.
This is men's food for men.
He should be a man of style, a man about the town.
He should be more round and jaundiced from the constant abuse of the drink.
I give you.
.
Mr.
Tayho.
Except in the city, they pronounce their T's so it should be Mr.
Tay-To.
Tay-To.
To.
To.
To.
I wouldn't kick her out of the bed for ateing Taytos.
That's it! You have it! The Ray Darcy Show on Today FM.
Welcome back to the programme.
Okay Will, any texts? No texts Ray.
No texts.
Okay.
I don't know what we're going to do.
Do the competition again Ray.
Okay, we're playing what's in Ray's head for the chance to win 1,000 euro and just to recap, it's not a ukulele.
It's not a block of Edam cheese, a man's shoulder, a glass of Ribena.
Any calls Mairead? Tom from Dundalk on Line 2 Ray.
Hello Tom.
Sorry.
Wrong button there.
Tom hello.
Is it raining in Dundalk? It is, yeah Ray.
Okay, what's in Ray's head? ls it a smug sense of superiority? It's not.
Next caller.
Mary from Tuam on Line 3 Ray.
Hello Mary.
Is it raining in Tuam? It's not actually.
Oh wait.
It's just started lashing now.
What's in Ray's head? Is it a burning desire to rally all your listeners insupport around some minor irrelevant cause of the day that you only care about because it negatively effected you personally somehow? No.
Hold on a second.
Yes, you're right.
You've just won 1,000 euro! My God Ray.
I don't know what to say.
That's amazing.
No time for that.
Sorry.
It's time for me to launch my new crusade and you know I'm really serious about this one because I'm swearing.
Bollocks.
Is it the learner drivers again Ray? No it's not.
Is it Rights for cyclists Ray? No and you're leaving so you don't have a say.
It's about the obesity.
I am fing tired of people eating crisps.
One third fat they are.
Hold on a second.
Those Hunky Dory models that we had in studio last year.
They were your idea.
You loved crisps then.
No, they were fit and hot.
They don't count.
What about Denis O'Brien? He's really fat.
Don't mention his name! Just before Mairead left there she was talking about Denise O'Brien, the big lady for Leitrim.
Mairead's gone on a leave of absence or as we call it here, a Sam Smith.
Who are we going to get to replace her Ray? Anton Savage or one of his relatives or some of his teeth.
That's all we've got time for today.
Join us tomorrow on the programme for our Paolo Nutini special.
That was poor.
That was really poor today.
Everyone was poor.
Will, you were especially poor.
I don't know what's the point any more.
This was a segment of satsuma I was keeping as a treat for myself.
I don't deserve it.
Mairead, cheer us up with a joke about your tits.
She's gone Ray.
Only we're up against Ryan Tubridy we'd be f king screwed.
Coming up after the break, a bit of this.
The Ha'penny Bridge is fantastic.
It brings together both sides of the city and young people travel from all over the world to leave their names on padlocks as a symbol of their enduring love.
We'll be back in two minutes.
Rory Mcllroy did the nation proud this week with his Open win.
Although which nation he wasn't sure.
It's great to win the Home Open for guys like me although, it's not my home of course.
My home is in Monaco.
Sorry, I mean Miami.
No, Northern Ireland.
Six counties.
This great role model for youngsters almost had his moment spoiled by an autograph hunting hooligan.
Not wearing any Nike.
Contrary to reports from typical begrudgers, our Mac is always thinking about his fans.
Who said that? Here.
See that guy over there.
I want him chucked out.
Have him deported back to the 26 counties as well.
He was coy about his relationship with Irish model, Nadia Forde.
Which one is that again? Can I have your number? She wasn't wearing any Nike.
RTE Sport's favourite new hero is busy preparing now to represent Ireland at the next Olympics.
God save amhran na bfhiann.
During our 3 minutes with him, the ever decisive Rory ordered a pizza, got through to a wrong number but proposed to the caller anyway.
I love you and I want to marry you.
Before cancelling the wedding as he hung up, even though he'd just sent out invitations to Bill Clinton and the Dalai Lama.
Rory, will you sign my coleslaw please? Is it Nike coleslaw? Des Cahill, we love you Rory.
RTE Sport.
I'm the richest man in cabinet.
Now I'm the Minister for Children and haven't a care in the world.
Sorry Leo but there's one thing I like to do more than anything else.
Hello.
I'm James Reilly and I wreck things.
This week on Wreck It Reilly we find out what happens when Mr.
heart monitor worth tens of sounds of euro, meets Mr.
golf club which I enjoy in Balbriggan.
Remember I'm a qualified doctor so don't try any of this at home.
That seems like a shocking waste but not nearly as bad as the millions we've spent on free health care for under 6's and none of the GP's will co-operate.
We must be mad! If Reilly can't wreck it it can't be wrecked.
If you fancy a round, why not try the beautiful course in Balbriggan.
I'll be in the 19th hole.
Hi.
I'm Derek Mooney and I earn 220,000 euro a year and that makes me an expert on everything.
In this new series I'll be talking off the top of my head about the secrets of the Irish landscape.
Today my producers have given me my biggest challenge yet.
I need to prepare for any conditions as I leave the civilised world of Dublin 4 and venture to the grim, lawless waste of Dublin 2.
But I was surprised to find Temple Bar was a safe place to perambulate, where the only crime was the price of a pint and a packet of crisps after midnight.
Temple Bar is fantastic.
Founded in 1980's by visionary Minister Charles J.
Haughey, it's a haven for artists who avoid tax, drink too much and engage in promiscuity, much like Haughey himself.
Temple Barf more like.
It was built as Ireland's answer to the Left Bank but turned out closer to the West Bank because between Paddy's Day and Arthur's Day, the streets turn to rivers of blood and vomit.
Yasser Arafat was hung, drawn and quartered for less.
Speaking of getting locked, time now to look at a novel approach to romance.
The Ha'penny Bridge is fantastic.
It brings together both sides of the city and young people travel from all over the world to leave their names on padlocks as a symbol of their enduring love.
Is nothing safe from young foreigners and their adolescent lust? All these serve to do is let northsiders practice their lock picking skills, as they rampage south to burgle the homes of hard-working tax payers who keep them in benefits.
Now I'm looking forward to going somewhere I've never been to before.
Dublin's northside.
This was the toughest hike of my life.
The heavier gravity of the northside was making me feel nauseous but that could've been the stench of low quality burger joints.
The only saving grace was the beautiful flowers of Henry Street, until I realised they must've been stolen from Grafton Street.
The Millennium Spire is fantastic.
Built during the golden age of the last Fianna Fail government, it's a symbol of the regeneration of O'Connell Street.
Its construction a masterpiece of city planning, clearing away the centuries old maple trees that had besmirched this neon-lit paradise.
Monument of shite more like.
It's basically a homing beacon for tourists and pick pockets.
All it allows for is the exchange of thoughts and wallets between this two groups.
The only good thing about it is if it fell over, it would take out half of Henry Street with it.
Sorry Arnotts but if I can live without Switzers, I can live without you.
Now let's see how our tits are getting on in their new home on the northside.
A pleasant surprise.
The northside wasn't all binge drinking pyjama girls and overflow parking for Icky-a or Ikea if you don't know any better.
Viewers hoping to catch a glimpse of my marvellous tits are going to be left frustrated.
Because tragedy has struck.
As soon as I moved them to the northside, my tits were pinched and vandalised.
Knowing someone has grabbed my tits is a horrible, horrible feeling.
I sadly make my way home through the only landscape I know.
Donnybrook.
Then I realise that you can take my tits but you can never ever take Mooney's money.
Bye! I wanna show you how to drive a Massey.
Wanna show you how to oil a chassis.
Wanna show you how to squeeze a Friesian bull.
I wanna bring you down to Lisdoonvarna and the grand aul shed I have in Barna.
If it's class you want then I'm your number one.
I wanna stop your wagon wheel and get you off.
Wash your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
I seen girls go west in Glenamaddy.
Taken in by high falluting daddies.
They steal your land and use you up till you are done.
They've slotted sheds and big milk holes.
They lead you astray with quare aul' notions.
Keep clear of them cos I'm your number one.
I wanna stop your wagon wheel and get you off.
Wash your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
Now I'm sitting on me porch alone.
This sight would draw tears from a stone.
All I want to do is share this lonesome throne.
But then you come in from the milking shed.
Kick off them wellies, jump into bed.
I'm a lucky man cos I'm your number one.
I wanna stop your wagon wheel and get you off.
Wash your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
I stopped your wagon wheel and got you off.
Washed your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm your white trash.
I've cleaned my act up.
Now I'm standing tall.
You've fairly stole my heart for you're some doll.
You really stole my heart.
You're Dessie's doll.
Get your coat.
We're going home.
That's all we've time for.
Log on to Callan's Kicks, Facebook and Twitter, to see Dessie Dallas's full uncut music video.
If you must.
Join us next week when Michael D sings for monarchy.
Goodnight and go back to sleep Ireland.
God save amhran na bfhiann.
Tom Cruise discovers gay old Ireland.
What if there was a country that was far and away the best place in the world to live, work and do business.
Five! And the Meath man connection to Mad Men.
And we mark the night the Garth Brooks concerts were meant to start.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
Sit back, relax, open a Hennessy and slip into something more comfortable, like that dirty gardener with the immaculately trimmed lawn you've been eyeing up.
It's Friday night and this is Callan's Kicks.
What if there was a country that was far and away the best place in the world to live, work and do business.
Five! Somewhere where all your risky business practices feel right at home.
Where the few good men have emigrated and the government keeps its eyes wide shut.
Is that a mission impossible? Be gorraah be gotcha Tom.
That place doesn't exist at all, at all, at all.
'Tis only a legend I hear.
You're away with the fairies, telling tales.
Tale.
A cocktail.
I love cocktails.
I was acting.
I'm Hollywood star and movie producer, Tom Cruise.
This place does exist and it's called Ireland.
What if there was a woman you wanted to date? She's tall, handsome, successful and doesn't want anything to do with you because you're a creepy dwarf.
Whoo! First step is you have to destroy her self esteem.
I love doing that.
But what if her self esteem is already non-existent? God, you're repulsive.
I feel so worthless.
Even better, right.
It's just like Ireland.
Man, I love Ireland! Not right now.
I'm wearing make-up.
Sexualism.
Wait a minute Tom.
Wouldn't it be expensive to move my mutli-national business to that cow shit stained rock in the middle of nowhere? No it won't.
See, I was acting again.
Ireland brings you in.
You pay no tax.
If you lose all your money they give it back to you What a bunch of fing a.
I love cruising.
I know what you're thinking.
Ireland, what about all the rain man? The best thing about Ireland.
.
Shit.
Call an ambulance.
She can't be dead.
Fuck.
What's going on here? This is bad.
Mission impossible too bad.
You've killed that woman.
Hi.
I'm Tom Cruise.
Hollywood actor and movie producer.
I know who you are.
That doesn't allow you go around killing people.
My people are from Roscumon, you know.
Why didn't you say! Man, I love a Goeyanus.
Man, I love Ireland.
See, you can get away with anything here.
Best of all, the people are so broken they still go to see my movies.
Top of the road to you all.
Too-ra-loo mo lassie.
Hi, I'm Marty Morrissey.
President and founder of Marty's Party Nights which were subject to a hostile takeover bid by Ronan Collins' swinging showband dinner discos for an undisclosed 3 figure sum.
Hurling.
The so-called All Ireland championship that features three counties, and Clare or Offaly once every few decades.
Kilkenny are so dominant that during the 4 in a row in the noughties, they played of the finals drunk just for the craic and even fielded a few Kilkenny footballers to make it interesting.
Tonight, a countdown of the top hurling celebrations down the years on Marty's Hurling Party Chart-y.
It was 1973 and the peace process had stalled after Taoiseach Jack Lynch had drunkenly tried to cash in Monaghan for half a bottle of Powers and a housing estate in Newry.
Limerick had just won their last hurling title of the millennium.
Little did they know back then that today they'd be struggling against lowly Wexford, or the caravan site as it's known to holidaying northside Dubliners.
It was from here on the roof of Limerick Prison that Richard Harris and Oliver Reed serenaded the inmates with Limerick You're A Lady before vomiting from 3 storeys into The Shannon, thus making it the most toxic river in Europe.
Although I was only a young man in my early 40's, I left Angela in ashes that week.
There wasn't a sulky rode or a bag of yokes sold in Moyross for a fortnight.
It was 1998 and the world was topsy turvy.
Tony Blair and Bertie Ahern were popular.
Brian Cowan was awake and the health minister, Leo Varadkar was but a glint in his mother's eye.
The early Celtic Tiger was starting to roar, nowhere more so than here in Offaly where the first Opel Ascona with a wind-open sun roof had just been sold third-hand to the richest farmer in the county.
It was from this uninsurable wreck that they celebrated winning their fourth and final All Ireland Hurling title.
There wasn't a calf tagged or a cousin shagged in Monegall for a fortnight.
Let's go see the number one Marty's Party.
And at number 1 is Clare's ultimate pool party after last year's All Ireland.
Taking in the unholy trinity of Boston, New York and Cancun.
I for one was more than happy to go down Mexico way.
Sadly Clare were knocked out of this year's championship after only three matches, with Davy Fitz citing dark forces at work.
Although personally, I prefer it with the lights off.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off for a doggy paddle with Clare and Clare.
And why not, Clare as well.
I'm Marty and I like to pool party.
We are in an area of the country which was completely destroyed and demoralised by Fianna Fail's last term in government.
The gobshites and I were the ones left destroyed and demoralised in the last general election.
We were ashamed of ourselves.
We were left out in the cold.
As a result our manliness and our logo shrunk commensurately.
Tiny! Tiny! However, during those 3 years we discovered all we had to do was say nothing, blame the global economy for the crash.
.
(ALL SHOUTING) Then I had the best idea since I came up with the HSE.
The BFG's.
(CHEERING) These are the beautiful female gobshites.
Thankfully, ye the voters, have the memory of a goldfish after an all-nighter at the Electric Picnic.
So now we're back.
We're the biggest party in local government.
Hold on.
Hold on.
Don't forget local government is what made us great in the past.
It gives us real clout in the community.
Such as filling in pot holes, cleaning up doggy doo.
And of course, rezoning.
(CHEERING) And massive civil engineering contracts.
Listen to the man.
We have reclaimed the high moral ground.
So I am categorically ruling out sharing power with Sinn Fein.
Until the next election.
(CHEERING) And with our rehabilitation almost complete now, it is time to consider our candidates for that election and bring about real change in our country.
The soldiers of destiny are back.
Welcome back.
The main story tonight is that the silly season has begun in earnest.
Mick Wallace made the headlines when he was arrested for staring at planes in Shannon rather than for that time he under declared 1.
4 million euro of VAT.
He was arrested and released alongside socialist Clare Daly who just realised that the only way for her to get coverage is to stand next to Mick Wallace when he's doing something unparliamentary.
Also making the headlines for some unknown reason is Lucinda Creighton, who for the 17th time has said there should be a new political party.
Yes, who do you suggest for that Mrs.
professional politician.
It takes you until lunch to decide what you're having for breakfast.
Just have the Coco Pops.
Deputy Creighton said she needed to consult her conscience further.
Meanwhile in a statement, her conscience said, who is this bloody moralising woman, why can't she just make a decision and leave me alone like a normal person.
Finally, the silly season means sudden attention on international matters and not just sport or who Cheryl Cole is marrying this week.
As the world pressurises Vladimir Putin for answers over the attack on the Malaysian Airlines plane over Ukraine, Barack Obama has issued a fresh warning to Russia.
He threatened in the strongest possible terms, that he would unfriend Mr.
Putin on Facebook, stop liking photos of him riding bears topless and suspend his Netflix account.
Afterwards Barack Obama promised to change his clothes but he waivered for too long and congress filibustered his choice of tie.
Great democratic model there America.
Now go back to your Kardashian flavoured ice-cream.
I'm done.
We'll have more later.
You'd even give a squeeze bullock the horn.
Ah stop, you pair of rotten gombloos.
Well men, this is the new girl.
Peggy.
This is Don Draper, genius bowsie.
This is Roger Sterling, charming pervert bowsie.
Well.
No bother.
Good girl sure.
Good man yourself.
Mind you for a second.
Hi.
Don, I have those samples for the pratai client.
The ad for the spuds.
Lovely.
May I present Mr.
Pratai.
No, it needs to be more sophisticated.
This is dinner dance food.
It's decent grub.
Okay, gotcha.
How's about Mr.
Spuddy? He's pure decent ateing.
What about Mrs.
Spuddy? Shut your mouth hole.
You're to be seen not heard.
How's about Pratai in a hot tub.
Spud in a tub.
Jacket potato.
That's pure silage talk.
This is men's food for men.
He should be a man of style, a man about the town.
He should be more round and jaundiced from the constant abuse of the drink.
I give you.
.
Mr.
Tayho.
Except in the city, they pronounce their T's so it should be Mr.
Tay-To.
Tay-To.
To.
To.
To.
I wouldn't kick her out of the bed for ateing Taytos.
That's it! You have it! The Ray Darcy Show on Today FM.
Welcome back to the programme.
Okay Will, any texts? No texts Ray.
No texts.
Okay.
I don't know what we're going to do.
Do the competition again Ray.
Okay, we're playing what's in Ray's head for the chance to win 1,000 euro and just to recap, it's not a ukulele.
It's not a block of Edam cheese, a man's shoulder, a glass of Ribena.
Any calls Mairead? Tom from Dundalk on Line 2 Ray.
Hello Tom.
Sorry.
Wrong button there.
Tom hello.
Is it raining in Dundalk? It is, yeah Ray.
Okay, what's in Ray's head? ls it a smug sense of superiority? It's not.
Next caller.
Mary from Tuam on Line 3 Ray.
Hello Mary.
Is it raining in Tuam? It's not actually.
Oh wait.
It's just started lashing now.
What's in Ray's head? Is it a burning desire to rally all your listeners insupport around some minor irrelevant cause of the day that you only care about because it negatively effected you personally somehow? No.
Hold on a second.
Yes, you're right.
You've just won 1,000 euro! My God Ray.
I don't know what to say.
That's amazing.
No time for that.
Sorry.
It's time for me to launch my new crusade and you know I'm really serious about this one because I'm swearing.
Bollocks.
Is it the learner drivers again Ray? No it's not.
Is it Rights for cyclists Ray? No and you're leaving so you don't have a say.
It's about the obesity.
I am fing tired of people eating crisps.
One third fat they are.
Hold on a second.
Those Hunky Dory models that we had in studio last year.
They were your idea.
You loved crisps then.
No, they were fit and hot.
They don't count.
What about Denis O'Brien? He's really fat.
Don't mention his name! Just before Mairead left there she was talking about Denise O'Brien, the big lady for Leitrim.
Mairead's gone on a leave of absence or as we call it here, a Sam Smith.
Who are we going to get to replace her Ray? Anton Savage or one of his relatives or some of his teeth.
That's all we've got time for today.
Join us tomorrow on the programme for our Paolo Nutini special.
That was poor.
That was really poor today.
Everyone was poor.
Will, you were especially poor.
I don't know what's the point any more.
This was a segment of satsuma I was keeping as a treat for myself.
I don't deserve it.
Mairead, cheer us up with a joke about your tits.
She's gone Ray.
Only we're up against Ryan Tubridy we'd be f king screwed.
Coming up after the break, a bit of this.
The Ha'penny Bridge is fantastic.
It brings together both sides of the city and young people travel from all over the world to leave their names on padlocks as a symbol of their enduring love.
We'll be back in two minutes.
Rory Mcllroy did the nation proud this week with his Open win.
Although which nation he wasn't sure.
It's great to win the Home Open for guys like me although, it's not my home of course.
My home is in Monaco.
Sorry, I mean Miami.
No, Northern Ireland.
Six counties.
This great role model for youngsters almost had his moment spoiled by an autograph hunting hooligan.
Not wearing any Nike.
Contrary to reports from typical begrudgers, our Mac is always thinking about his fans.
Who said that? Here.
See that guy over there.
I want him chucked out.
Have him deported back to the 26 counties as well.
He was coy about his relationship with Irish model, Nadia Forde.
Which one is that again? Can I have your number? She wasn't wearing any Nike.
RTE Sport's favourite new hero is busy preparing now to represent Ireland at the next Olympics.
God save amhran na bfhiann.
During our 3 minutes with him, the ever decisive Rory ordered a pizza, got through to a wrong number but proposed to the caller anyway.
I love you and I want to marry you.
Before cancelling the wedding as he hung up, even though he'd just sent out invitations to Bill Clinton and the Dalai Lama.
Rory, will you sign my coleslaw please? Is it Nike coleslaw? Des Cahill, we love you Rory.
RTE Sport.
I'm the richest man in cabinet.
Now I'm the Minister for Children and haven't a care in the world.
Sorry Leo but there's one thing I like to do more than anything else.
Hello.
I'm James Reilly and I wreck things.
This week on Wreck It Reilly we find out what happens when Mr.
heart monitor worth tens of sounds of euro, meets Mr.
golf club which I enjoy in Balbriggan.
Remember I'm a qualified doctor so don't try any of this at home.
That seems like a shocking waste but not nearly as bad as the millions we've spent on free health care for under 6's and none of the GP's will co-operate.
We must be mad! If Reilly can't wreck it it can't be wrecked.
If you fancy a round, why not try the beautiful course in Balbriggan.
I'll be in the 19th hole.
Hi.
I'm Derek Mooney and I earn 220,000 euro a year and that makes me an expert on everything.
In this new series I'll be talking off the top of my head about the secrets of the Irish landscape.
Today my producers have given me my biggest challenge yet.
I need to prepare for any conditions as I leave the civilised world of Dublin 4 and venture to the grim, lawless waste of Dublin 2.
But I was surprised to find Temple Bar was a safe place to perambulate, where the only crime was the price of a pint and a packet of crisps after midnight.
Temple Bar is fantastic.
Founded in 1980's by visionary Minister Charles J.
Haughey, it's a haven for artists who avoid tax, drink too much and engage in promiscuity, much like Haughey himself.
Temple Barf more like.
It was built as Ireland's answer to the Left Bank but turned out closer to the West Bank because between Paddy's Day and Arthur's Day, the streets turn to rivers of blood and vomit.
Yasser Arafat was hung, drawn and quartered for less.
Speaking of getting locked, time now to look at a novel approach to romance.
The Ha'penny Bridge is fantastic.
It brings together both sides of the city and young people travel from all over the world to leave their names on padlocks as a symbol of their enduring love.
Is nothing safe from young foreigners and their adolescent lust? All these serve to do is let northsiders practice their lock picking skills, as they rampage south to burgle the homes of hard-working tax payers who keep them in benefits.
Now I'm looking forward to going somewhere I've never been to before.
Dublin's northside.
This was the toughest hike of my life.
The heavier gravity of the northside was making me feel nauseous but that could've been the stench of low quality burger joints.
The only saving grace was the beautiful flowers of Henry Street, until I realised they must've been stolen from Grafton Street.
The Millennium Spire is fantastic.
Built during the golden age of the last Fianna Fail government, it's a symbol of the regeneration of O'Connell Street.
Its construction a masterpiece of city planning, clearing away the centuries old maple trees that had besmirched this neon-lit paradise.
Monument of shite more like.
It's basically a homing beacon for tourists and pick pockets.
All it allows for is the exchange of thoughts and wallets between this two groups.
The only good thing about it is if it fell over, it would take out half of Henry Street with it.
Sorry Arnotts but if I can live without Switzers, I can live without you.
Now let's see how our tits are getting on in their new home on the northside.
A pleasant surprise.
The northside wasn't all binge drinking pyjama girls and overflow parking for Icky-a or Ikea if you don't know any better.
Viewers hoping to catch a glimpse of my marvellous tits are going to be left frustrated.
Because tragedy has struck.
As soon as I moved them to the northside, my tits were pinched and vandalised.
Knowing someone has grabbed my tits is a horrible, horrible feeling.
I sadly make my way home through the only landscape I know.
Donnybrook.
Then I realise that you can take my tits but you can never ever take Mooney's money.
Bye! I wanna show you how to drive a Massey.
Wanna show you how to oil a chassis.
Wanna show you how to squeeze a Friesian bull.
I wanna bring you down to Lisdoonvarna and the grand aul shed I have in Barna.
If it's class you want then I'm your number one.
I wanna stop your wagon wheel and get you off.
Wash your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
I seen girls go west in Glenamaddy.
Taken in by high falluting daddies.
They steal your land and use you up till you are done.
They've slotted sheds and big milk holes.
They lead you astray with quare aul' notions.
Keep clear of them cos I'm your number one.
I wanna stop your wagon wheel and get you off.
Wash your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
Now I'm sitting on me porch alone.
This sight would draw tears from a stone.
All I want to do is share this lonesome throne.
But then you come in from the milking shed.
Kick off them wellies, jump into bed.
I'm a lucky man cos I'm your number one.
I wanna stop your wagon wheel and get you off.
Wash your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm poor white trash.
Don't achy break my heart.
Just be my doll.
I stopped your wagon wheel and got you off.
Washed your lobby down the hills of Donegal.
Don't have Charlie's pride nor Johnny's cash.
I'm no Garth Brooks.
I'm your white trash.
I've cleaned my act up.
Now I'm standing tall.
You've fairly stole my heart for you're some doll.
You really stole my heart.
You're Dessie's doll.
Get your coat.
We're going home.
That's all we've time for.
Log on to Callan's Kicks, Facebook and Twitter, to see Dessie Dallas's full uncut music video.
If you must.
Join us next week when Michael D sings for monarchy.
Goodnight and go back to sleep Ireland.