Nailbag Wants to be Made

So, a letter came in the post for me today.. I’ve recently been shopping an updated and alternative version of ‘Mailbag’ aka ‘Nailbag’ around the TV production houses. And let me tell you – these people are absolute gobshirts. Unbelievable. Like Oh My God.

My take on things was called ‘Nailbag’. Picture this. Every week, people would email me their bitchy complaints about the telly. I’d get some lackey to print them out for me. Then I’d hunt for the offending telly person, take my pink nailgun and pin the email to that dumb fuck’s head. It’s priceless. I’d get to read the email on camera, so you can get inspired seeing me there and then I’d inflict some pain on the idiots that are fucking with you. Imagine the fun I could have with Derek Mooney.

So, I’ve got some twelve year olds sending back ‘constructive criticism’. Nailbag wants to be made, by not by you, you gobshirts.  

I Don’t Have a Face For Radio

Sometimes I really dispair. I really do. More often than not, radio studios are filled with goblins. Ugly people. Yawh, people with protruding jaws, oversized eyeballs and greasy hair like the Killer Kenny and Joe Duffy. And let’s not get near the trendy-casual dress they insist on wearing. Someone call in Trinny and Susannah to tarten them up.

That’s why I really love getting radio time on Newstalk when Shiny Sean has a hangover. I get to show the drab coops and terminally depressed researchers what showbiz is. The poor dears. Not a looker, hoofer or hooker amongst them. And Oh My God, if I get another Henry hug, it’ll be too soon.

You see, I don’t have a face for radio, but maybe I can help tarten up their mugs. Now, to spike Sean’s smoothie.