Curry Chips

Snackbox Diaries would now like to make a small presentation on behalf of a new surefire money-making scheme that's got the country talking!

Yes yes yes, it's magical beans! On with the show.


MAGICAL BEANS

Magical = Out of the Ordinary

• Running successfully in Bulgaria for 8 years

• Gold and lots of it

• Normal beanstalk takes 4-6 months to grow
  
• Magical beanstalk grows overnight
  
• Normal beanstalk crumples under the weight of a 4-year-old
  
• Magical beanstalk takes the weight of an average countryman - even one with mucky wellingtons and an erection
  
• Normal beanstalk does not have a giant and lots of gold on top
  
• Magical beanstalk...does
  

A bizarre combination of mistaken identity and predictive text was last night blamed for the tempestuous war of words between warbling fruitcake Sinead O'Connor and Minister for Agriculture Mary Coughlan.

It appears that the Minister was in Luxembourg on official government business last Friday when she received the following text:

ha mary. i ducked ur hubby lst nite and swallowed his bun. luv sinead o'c

UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE

Pottzo, Ciffer and Cillit sit in a dark theatre.

On the stage are two men, Grimmp and Blatt.

Blatt has no ears.

Grimmp thinks he can fly.

They both stare at a huge chamber pot.

Nothing happens for forty minutes.

Suddenly Blatt breaks wind.

Grimmp says "I want to die. Kill me." before turning away from the audience.

Cillit wonders if he should get up and go home, but he is afraid that his friends will call him a philistine.

He doesn't get up.

He stays for another two hours.

Then his stomach rumbles.

On stage, Blatt says "Did you say something?"

The curtain comes down.

Yes indeed folks, Snackbox Diaries is unspeakably proud to present the epic tale of.....

The epic tale of one tuber's struggle to survive in 1840s Ireland.

Step 1! Go to www.finegael.ie

Step 2! GET YORE HAND OFFA THAT MOUSE! And check out Enda's promise-o-rama!

Step 3! Read on.

Thanks to some fine investigatory work by Globaleyes and Shitegeist, Snackbox Diaries decided it was time to fold a duffel coat over its lap and cast a squinty eye at the latest trend in smutsville; Lepreporn.

Nat Kingsize Poleslaw takes it from here...

One trip to the local XXXtravision and I came away with what had been billed as "the hottest Lepreporn release to date". I locked all entrances to the caravan, popped it into the machine and pressed play. My ears! I popped it out of the stereo and put it into the DVD player. And that's when my eyes widened and my mouth opened and some of my hair fell out. "Idiot!", I thought, as a knocker fell off the female lead, "This is Leperporn. Shite!"

One bout of sobbing and four hours of Disney movies later and I felt sufficiently reprogrammed to give XXXtravision another go. This time I came away with "Fucked in Ireland".

Helena: "Hullo and welcome to the weekly arts roundup on KOWPAT; I'm Helena Hegarty. This week I decided to do some subcontracting and handed the actual reviewing to Lorraine Riordan who is with us on work experience from Tralee RTC. Lorraine, welcome to the show."
Lorraine: "How's it going."
Helena: "Haven't you been the busy little sausage! This week we got you to review a film, an album and a book! Did you get round to all of them?"
Lorraine: "Oh Christ I did. I did."
Helena: "Grand. Sure we'll start so with 'X Men 3: The final stand'. What did you make of that then?"
Lorraine: "The X men! Oh, a fabalass film. Very crude though. You see, the X men are not your typical superheroes. They're mutants; they have powers that most folk would consider...unnatural."
Helena: "Like?"
Lorraine: "Well...will this be going out after the watershed?"
Helena: "No watershed on public access TV Lorraine, fire away."

Billy: "Tell me another story about when you wuz a kid in the wild west, grandpa!"
Grandpa: "Shore thang. How's about I tell y'all the sorry ass story of Juicy James."
Billy: "Yaaay! Juicy James! Juicy James!"
Grandpa: "Yep. Juicy James McDaid used to be a well-respected doctor in the lil' ole town of Little Kenny. Sang in the choir, helped lil' ole ladies cross the street, mayor-in-waitin', that kinda thang. But one day he decided to go to the Camptown races."
Billy: "Uh-oh!"

Having seen the laugh-a-minute funfest that is "The Magdelene Sisters" over the weekend, I decided that it would have been much better if it had been done as a musical.

Scene 1
It's new year's day 1963, and young Theresa gingerly approaches her father in the living room of their small house in Ballyconker...

Theresa: "Da? Da, I have to tell you something."
Da: "Muh? Wassafug. Readin' Farmers Journal. Shagoff."
Theresa: "Da, this is important. Da!"
Da: [silence]
Theresa: "Maybe you'll listen to me if I sing it then."

I am 16 going on 17
last night I was naive
when uncle Ray said
come to the hay shed
to celebrate new year's eve

Fabalass news from the CSO! It's 2006 and unwitting tourists by the wheelbarrow are flocking to our shores to clamp their damp gropers on traditional Irish activities the like of:

The Ryder cup today found itself embroiled in a whiskery beer-stained nudy romp controversy as Tiger Woods reacted furiously to news that former Dubliner Ronnie Drew was performing a "lewd" show in the Irish capital called "She's looking grrrrreat!" - centering on Tiger's lovely wife Elin Nordegren.

The musician and raconteur claims he's got "candid snaps of the sweaty-palmed variety" of Mrs.Woods which form the backdrop of his live show. He also claims that the songs were written over the "dozen-or-so" years that he spent as a houseguest of Mr and Mrs Woods - claims that Tiger sensationally denies.

Chris De Burgh has sensationally claimed that he can cure people. Addressing a packed press conference in Carlow yesterday, Mr De Burgh described how he lets the body hang for eight days in a well-ventilated area before applying a good salt/sugar mix and leaving it for another two days in the smokehouse. He then...

Wait. Sorry, wrong Chris.

Time again for Snackbox diaries to take a stiff drink, cross our legs and flick over to Helena Hegarty on the KOWPAT channel. Take it away there Helena...

Helena: "Good evening, hello and welcome to another nipple-stiffening instalment of the arts show here in the cosy confines of the KOWPAT studio.

This week I've got more pulsating juice-filled nuggets of inconsequential tat for your delectation, and what better way to start than with Razorlight. Led by chipmunk-faced yukelele-botherer Johnny Borrell, they've really shaken up the charts these past few months with their unashamedly old-fashioned approach to rock'n'roll, tight trousers and elephantine egotism.

I caught up with young Jonathan in Paris earlier this week after he'd tried to run away from me. It's his little legs, poor thing. Roll VT!

For years, most Paddies wandered about the place completely oblivious to the fact that they all slotted into neat little categories.

Breakfast Roll Noel, DIY Bri, Ready Meal Neil...little did they know that they all behaved in utterly predictable patterns.

That was all about to change, thanks the advent of...the Messiah.

Lo, did he descend from Mount Merrion with the good news. The news that we were all...the Pope's children.

Irish urban-rural relations were said to be "at an all-time low" following a "deeply ruralist" profanity-laden performance by Michael Richards during a stand-up act in Dublin.

The incident, captured in digital-camera video footage obtained by the rural website TheMulchieZone.com and circulated over the internet on Monday, took place during Richards' live performance on Thursday night at the Bleeding Horse pub on Camden Street.

Ah sure lookit.

There's Padraig (pronounced "PAW RICK" by foreign sports commentators) Harrington, and he accepting an honorary velvet head-poof from an Irish university that obviously has too much time on its hands. And there's the missus, all cock-a-hoop and beaming it up.

To the paintshop, good friends!

Jimbob is your average happy-go-lucky country lad, working in Dublin.

He likes nothing better than a bit of hostelry hoo-haa with the lads, a few gallons of beer and a tongue sandwich on the bus home if he can still manoeuvre his head through the fog of inebriation.

Jimbob's life was uncomplicated.

Until one fateful night...

It is with tinselly testes that Snackbox Diaries presents its Christmas record purchasing assistance guide!

Yes. Yes yes.

Who out there can stand up and say "I would rather find a mound of stir-fried turkey vomit in my stocking than any of these"?

First up, the ever reliable Declan Nerney. Always one to court controversy, this Christmas sees Declan aiming for the niche "Regretful post-op trannie" market.

In "I wanna love as a man again", Declan sings from the heart as one who wishes he could turn back time and fend off that crotch-bound scalpel.

On the plump side after the festive feastiness?

Too lazy to unglue your arse from the sofa and walk the spare tyre off?

Then sweat no more! Just pick from one of these fantastic diet plans!

Having debunked the myth of the elitist snot-nosed Gaeilgeoir in "No Béarla" by wandering around Ireland making normal people look foolish, the erudite and fabulous Manchán Magan now tries his hand with the French.

"No Fraincís" sees Manchán trying to make his way around Normandy, relying solely on his wits and his Gaeilge.

Hilarity is bound to ensue! Let's join Manchán as he contemplates the port town of Cherbourg.

Good on you, Tony Killeen. Sure couldn't it happen to a bishop.



More: I wrote what now?

Snackbox Diaries is delighted to present a WORLD EXCLUSIVE: A rare insight into the life of a modern day crimefighter.

A crimefighter by the name of Paul Williams.

Who keeps an eye on the bad guys? He does, stupid.

KEY EXTRACT FROM PAUL'S DIARY, DATED MONDAY, JANUARY 22

It's 7am. Normal people can sleep on, I can't. I open my eyes, say "Let's do some good" and swing my feet out of bed. Immediately I step on an upturned plug. I hop around a bit, swearing and making "hoo-haa" noises. That's when I spot my spouse, my LIFE PARTNER doing a pretty poor job at stifling her giggles. So I grab up the plug and give her an emotional "THESE BASTARD PLUGS WON'T STOP ME FROM DOIN' MY JOB" speech. Catty bitch goes into the bathroom before I can finish. Another day in your ivory tower, baby. If only you could spend a day in my shoes.

I head out to the bus stop. People raise their eyes when they see me coming. People who don't have to worry about reaching into their pocket for their mobile phone and finding a stick of fucking dynamite. The bus pulls into the stop. I tell the driver who I am, and together we conduct a thorough sweep of the vehicle. It's clean.

More

Hey pop-pickers, it's the Craigster here. Stop wishing you were due south with snorkel gear and listen up.

During a recent dinner party in the London pied à terre of an eminent and illustrious thespian, I deigned to engage in monosyllabic conversation with a certain premiership footballer (and played under-the-table footsie with his young fiancee, natch) when my cell rang.

Van the ever-expanding man

U2 FRONTMAN BONO has sensationally accepted a position as Junior Vice President of Product Management and Marketing at Corona Cigars.

Anything Fine Gael can do, Fianna Fail can do better. Auction politics, cabbage-brained deputies and now...photoshop.

Here's our eminent leader, and he enjoying a cut'n'paste joke with some young voters.

[Scene: JHT Construction boardroom.
Advertising hotshots John Scrote and Brendan Langley are trying their darndest to secure a lucrative contract plugging a new development on Dublin's northside.
JHT Chief Executive Mikey Drumm sits opposite and tries not to think murderous thoughts]

John: "Before we begin Mr.Drumm, can I say that we both genuinely appreciate the opportunity to present our vision of how we see the exclusive development at Belmayne being presented to the public. I'm sure you'll find that it-"

[Mikey drums his fingers loudly]

John: "-eh..."
Mikey: "Right, so, ye found the place anyway."
John: "Yes! Traffic on the M50 was just insane, wasn't it Bren?"
Brendan: "Totally! It-"
Mikey: "Like I said, ye found the place. Now before you pair of pricks get started, I'd like to give ye a brief history lesson."

[Mikey flicks on the projector]

My name is Pat Rabbitte and today is the longest day of my life...

Currychips is delighted to announce the launch of a new campaign to shoot irksome ubiquitous ginger Gaeilgeoir Hector O'Heochagain into the sun.

For far too long has this pesky hoor been allowed to blight our airwaves with incessant plugs for hooch and horse-racing, not to mention his ghastly "Hanging with Hector" series where he mimsies around sucking farts from the arsehole of one "likely lad" celeb after another.

The time is nigh, brothers and sisters.

We'll be relying on our faithful readership to supply the wonga so we can purchase a rocket with sufficient oomph to send the irritating fucker to a richly-deserved crispy demise.

At the moment, we hope to organise the launch from a field in Co.Meath at some point in 2008.

Painstaking research has allowed us to construct the following table which should give some idea of the funding required, as well as the projected destination of the rockets.

We here at Currychips are only too aware of the significance of June 7 this year - it's when Leaving Cert students take on Irish, paper 1. The poor doomed bastards.

In light of this, we have decided to present a helpful guide to the Irish classic "Peig" and what better way than from the horse's mouth (no offence, love). Over to you, you mad old cow...

"Hello, welcome, pull up a seat there beside the range and listen to one woman as she paints you a picture of her hard life. Oh far be it from me to call it hard, but you could say that twas filled with loneliness, despair, freezing muck, driving rain, punctured wellies, lost sheep, stale potatoes and the odd bit of death and deprivation.

Dublin commuters! Does this look familiar?





Then you'll be needing this....

Ist been too long sinceder last katalog for der discernische purchasinkz bongoheddzenz!

On mit der schow!

Original yanked from here...

To be continued...

Just when you thought the depths of bad taste had been probed and the barrel had been scraped comes...Big Poppa 2.

Part 1

Cone-headed God-bothering loon Sinead O'Connor looks certain to court controversy with her new album "The Bearded Clam".

Described by O'Connor as "a deeply personal tribute to that most enduring of feminine symbols", the album includes guest appearances by Liam O'Maonlaí and Damien Dempsey.

Yeah so I've nowt else clanging round in my tiny mind.

That's why I'm resurrecting odds'n'ends I did for the sorely-missed Blogorrah.

Been a long since we rock and roll ja? On mit more DIDL gudness!

STEAMY seductress / journalist / amazon / novelist / secret agent Catherine Townsend is at it again.

Another chapter of her no-frills, horse-it-into-me-boss-ness appeared in Thursday's Irish Independent to shock the hairy-handed denizens of ye olde Catholic Ireland to their very core.

Will Catherine fulfil her ambition of getting a slap of hunky Evan's wet lad?

Will we be able to get through it without getting a nosebleed or pitching a tent?

Will the Indo be recognised as an industry ground-breaker for pitching the unorthodox idea of a woman writing candidly about sex? What year is it again?

Let's have a quick shufty at an extract.

At this stage, Catherine is frustrated as she has thus far failed to boink ex-fling Evan despite them taking a skinny dip in the briny...

Far be it from me to stick the boot into a man when he's down, but you really can't expect to have your mug plastered all over the papers plugging Samsung tellies (with a hilarious "I'm converted" gag) and not expect some "internet messer" to pick up on it.

Apologies for the poor quality, but it was scanned from a newspaper.

So then, potatoshoppers. What else do you think RoRo is watching on his telly?

What a week it was for Twink.

Tuesday found her defending her honour against the hordes of sweltering oiks on Liveline. Oiks who rallied to the call of one Stephanie Elliott.

Stephanie isn't an artist. She's not even famous.

And yet she has the gumption to question the integrity and partiality of a true artist like Twink who has funneled her creative juices into a big bedpan called "Class Act".

Liam Brady is a former Irish international and currently works as a coach and television pundit. Noted for his quickfire retorts and tangerine-tint tan, Brady is bound to make an engrossing interviewee.

Times have changed since our hero last challenged nefarious foes like "The Crinkler".

However, his updated diary shows that he still has the balls to take on organised crime, no matter what form it may take....

Heh heh. It sounds like bankers!

It is with immense pride that Curry Chips presents an exclusive preview of the new Ken Loach masterpiece "Train Driver".

Set in Cork, Ireland during the early part of the 21st century, "Train Driver" is a harrowing and at times touching account of one man's struggle to maintain his dignity and identity in the face of ruthless corporate oppression.

What if you were on trial for a crime you didn't commit and the jury consisted of these morons?

Right-click and select "Play"

Mucho thanks to autoplay-disabling Draco

The country's going to hell in a handbasket.

Who will save us?

Michael Flatley of course, in his new show "Recession Republic"!

Or maybe neither.

Sure we haven't had one of these in a while.

It's your patriotic duty to put an effort into photoshopping our beloved ex-leader and he standing there downloading data from the mothership.

August 2008.

Dublin.

It's important that I try and record this so folk know what went down.