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About this Episode
Plus Patrick's Day parades and Harris left out
Hosts & Guests
Transcript
All right, okay, welcome. Here is the Irish leader. Happy Pettys day. Welcome to the
Oval Office and my gold leaf bourgeois. I'm all prepared this year, Mr.
Pleasant. I've been thrown in for a fortnight and afraid to eat for a month. Thank you,
Prime Minister. He's speaking garbage once again. It's their native language.
It's a skill, Mr. Pleasant, sorry, but we should look. I'll just sit here and be quiet for most of
this. You can lag out away for 40 minutes. I won't be interrupting. You look like a crumpled piece
of tissue paper. Are you okay? It's like the chair is eating you. It is my default position.
Subjugated and ready to die for Ireland. Well, for Ireland's exports of sticky pills and fat
jabs. He told me there were 23 previous preses of Irish heritage. All of them drug. Can you
believe that? I'm the greatest, most sober president ever. A lot of people say that the most
syphilis ever, they say. Some of the greatest leaders in our country had the French disease.
Trust me. God, I hate the French little macaron. He'll be out of episode. What a loser he is.
I will correct you. He's not what losing one data center over. Don't mind me. I'll try a dry
smirk here for a while. NATO, they are just the worst. The worst. Tato, what did you say Tato? I
might have to step in here in terms of NATO. That's right. They've done nothing after everything I've
done for NATO. Threats mainly in smack dog. Few. NATO. No, that's grand. Carry on. Iran. Iran's
an evil, horrible country. The worst. Not necessarily. Nothing to do with me. They were about to
bomb Europe. Nuclear. Sorry. Which is overrun with immigrants. Europe. The worst ones. Not the
bad ones for marrying Ireland, dude. It would have been nuclear. Bombed. Bombed a bit. Mr.
President, if you ever want to bomb us, we'd write up a tax break for it. I'm at your service.
And the UK with a nasty Kier Stammer. Well, shite, this is my best coming up business. Where's
my notes? Am I sitting in them? They'll be all damp now. With me all mithered. That's right. Kier
Stammer, he's no Churchill. He was a real mad Churchill. You know, BMI, they should have killed him
when he was 30. Can I look like a boiled ham? I liked my prime ministers to be racist and
poor son. Kier, he's no Churchill. He's not even a little bit racist. He's not even trying. Could I
say something here? Hold on. Okay. Hold on. Crumpel still skid his try to speak. Quiet, please. Let
meekly Martin speak some garlic. Go ahead. Go ahead. You got two minutes. Why? No, I know this is
basic stuff, but I expect I'll be here later at home. If I just say that Kier Stammer is actually
grand after two pints, like, and also immigration is not too bad in Europe. Wow. Showing them into
quasi-slum conditions is a whole new way we can make millionaires, and we love millionaires
on making millionaires. Absolutely. And billionaires. Oh yeah. They're the last people
still voting for us, right? And can I say I think I've said enough now? A bit of we has come out,
so I won't be intervening again. Unless you go totally bloopers. That's okay, Ukraine. I don't
like Ukraine anymore. They won't help us. It's not like they're busy or anything. I've done my
bitch. I'll be pleading the fifth, as you say. Who else? Obama. He was the worst. Saddam, who say
no, Obama. That was his name. Look it up at his birth, sir. If you can find it. He's an
awfully man. Not worth me getting into a tizzy boat. Joe Biden, the sickest of the mole,
totally crooked, very sleepy. I'm glad he's dead. If he is, I don't know. A lot of people are
talking about it. I don't know. I'll be saying nothing about this either. The BBC, such a corrupt,
fake news, lies network, total fraud. They're the worst brits. No comment. Mr. President, the Irish
president said your war in Iran is illegal. Oh, affect this for a tin of biscuits. Sorry,
who said he said what? Who is he? The Irish president, sir. Well, he should be more thankful
than I'm here. I don't know the man. Who is this guy? Don't look at me. She hardly expects me to
defend her after all her tax annals. Hashtag, not my president. He's a real piece of work. This male,
this stupid dude. What a dumb bro. He must be. Ironically, we could have had a man president. You
would have liked him too. A grubby landlord like yourself. Okay, let's wrap this up. Oh, thank God.
I'm surprised. Thank you. Let me teach it longer than div after this. I can't wait to go to the Irish
open in Dunebeck and insult some other leaders in countries unirish oil in the fall.
Absolutely. I'll get another summer road. But anyway, thank you, Mr. President. Thank you. Thank you so much.
Welcome back. And now we go to this year's round of Patrick's Day Parades with our
regional correspondence around the country. None of whom paid for their own coffees today.
Beginning with plastic sheeting. And the Oscar goes to Den Jo's Chipper on New Street
Calarney as a giant statue-ish in honor of Jesse Buckley and in probable breach of copyright laws.
He did the local parade here and stopped off for a cotton large to pay homage to Ham Nesh,
the motion picture for which he won the award. A very expensive ham the size of a young child
and provided by the migraine's butchers was paraded around the streets followed by a woman
screaming and crying. Effigies of Jesse's rivals Emma Stone and Kate Hodson were burned in the
town square along with a scarecrow of Timothy Chalamet made by the local ballet ballet society for
the occasion. It's wearing cork, ugly scenes at the killer parade as locals driven
demented by repeated plays of King Fisher's song killer threatened to become killers themselves
by throwing into the river de sewer anyone who so much has hummed about the land they call killer
and the lard up above. The band was put into witness protection for the afternoon along with
ample out of an abundance of caution. Plastic sheeting la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
rapidly retreating. Hark. In Dublin the Klondock and Residence Parade Committee admitted to
accidentally spending a lot of money ordering a Jim Gavan float. Roniously thinking he would win
the presidency but in the true spirit of Jim Gavan the money was not returned and the parade
was cancelled weeks before it began. In swords several people were arrested for impersonating
Gardy on the back of a bed for a TK 330 diesel 5 speed flat bed until it turned out the arresting
officers were themselves members of a local force class drama group playing Gardy who got a huge
cheer from the crowd and then in a marriage they were actually trying to steal the vintage lorry
and were subsequently arrested by more Gardy arriving on the scene where upon the real Gardy
were recognised as actual members of the force onlookers pelted them with butterfly bones
inadvertently handed out earlier by a Donna Bait hen shed. The local superintendent announced that
all Gardy real and dramatic would receive overtime for the effort to the great enjoyment of the
townspeople, including the ones staring menacingly from the ledge outside vape shops,
donkel rain, badly named, Dublin and we live more reach of parades later.
Good afternoon, soy boys, it's Simon Alpha Harris back again to establish his dominance over the
news timeline. I will be happy to provide several headline grabbing quotes as long as there
nothing to do with my actual responsibilities in job. Here you. How do you rate the T-Shicks
performance in Washington? No here he comes. He's getting a lot of praise for not folding like a
dick chair. Oh it's all me, all me, all me, all he did fine, okay he may not have filled it but
he certainly carried with all the posture of an insecure shrimp, a seating position I made famous
may I add. If I was in the Hatsi, Trump would be praising my anti-immigration attitude which I
think we can all agree is what the Irish diaspora would have wanted on that holy of holy day.
With quite the opposite, in reality, Mihal went toe-to-toe with Trump and European immigration.
Each to their own, I would have gone lips to feet with Trump myself.
But Mihal, much like a brazen refugee, entered territory that did not belong to him.
Immigration, that's my turf, Mihal.
Any further attempts to encroach on my talking points will be treated like an asylum request.
Tonicin' locked!
I thought your turf was finance, and serving pointless VEEP energy, aka Tonicin'
But any real journalist would know that finance minister duties include economics,
immigration, soundbites, and show his opinions.
Which leads me to my next point.
Congratulations to Jesse Buckley.
Though I haven't seen the film, I do appreciate a ham next.
Works very well for home together, my cooked meats as part of my paleo diet.
Paleo.
Speaking of your duties as finance minister.
What are the latest updates on your proposed state-saving skill?
I'm working on it.
It's a super reliable, super-investment opportunity that you will be a fool not to get on board with.
I was inspired to do my own investment opportunities after seeing a very helpful documentary called The Manosphere.
What?
Soon, the Irish people will be able to save for such life essentials as jet skis, barbeques, villas, and unfortunate haircuts.
Next question.
Sorry, but how is the saving scheme meant to work?
Next question.
What is the scheme being launched?
Yeah, what are the details?
Sorry.
These questions were indicated that I have to follow up on this plan.
Aren't the good vibes enough?
No.
It's a vibes-based economy.
Okay, I will take definite action on this saving scheme in a very important way.
Very soon, that will make me look very important.
By which I mean, I'll have the advisors put together a list of bullet points explaining how this could work if we do it, which we won't.
Time to condition the plan.
So there's no concrete information on this.
Concrete information?
What is this?
A housing question?
That's not my brief.
I was just...
Now, who wants to ask me about how an Irish designer dresses and day are on Jimmy Kimmel?
What?
That's more my speed.
Connoisseurs!
Just fire those vibes at me!
Minutes away!
Connoisseurs!
Connoisseurs!
Connoisseurs!
Oh, your match, Oster.
Prime Minister, one appreciates you tearing yourself away from whatever it is you do all day.
Looking concerned in high-vis jackets, I believe.
Well, it is an important part of the role, sir.
We'll let us come directly to it.
I need you to get me out of this American business.
Out of America.
The state visited the Grand Tour.
It's a commemorative lap of dishonest.
Yes, the anniversary of independence.
Independence from us, Prime Minister.
It feels like being invited back to the scene of a crime to admire the chalk outline.
It was, if I may say so, conceived as a gesture of reconciliation, sir.
It is now feels like a gesture of surrender with canopies.
Besides, I can't be pictured with that man in the middle of a bloody conquest of the Middle East of all.
On the other hand, that would be rather fitting considering the history of the monarchy.
What, you need to get me out of this and you're the target of most of his burbs anyway.
He says you're new Churchill.
Much to your relief, I imagine, not to resemble a chap who's hated from Ireland to India.
Well, thankfully, I'm only hated in my own country.
But your majesty, for the benefit of English-American relations, perhaps you could endure it with a stiff upper lip,
grin a bearer, or perhaps some other facial-related euphemism.
No, one has to draw the line somewhere, old boy.
He said some truly unforgivable things in public.
Quite.
Even though it conjures up fond memories of my dear Papar.
Look, it is true he suggested British soldiers avoid the front line on Afghanistan,
which is quite the accusation from someone who dodged Vietnam.
Dreadful.
A level of hypocrisy right up there with a human rights lawyer, jailing peaceful protesters.
What?
I forget I said that.
How on earth did you get me into this?
I mean, it's whatever the opposite of a victory lap is.
Something akin to my first year in government, I imagine.
Sir, what?
There will be a carriage procession if you could just...
...winded nothings his modern partnership like a horse-drawn reminder of imperial overreach.
Are you mad?
I think you're up to the job of representing us, sir.
You are the face of calm will.
Of resolve.
Thank you.
Out of too much tannins at tea time.
Yeah, perhaps one could approach by appearing aloof the whole time as if I'm there, but reluctantly so.
There you go.
Sort of like every foodoo of Harry and William's standing next to me as children.
That's the spirit, sir.
The Brits have our own weaponry, too.
That's of aggression.
But let us be clear, if he raises the war, I shall nod gravely and blame you.
Naturally.
If he raises the late military assistance, I shall blame you again.
That's entirely appropriate.
And if he asks why one is there at all.
Yes.
I shall tell him I was sent by a chap in a high vis-jacket who looked gravely concerned.
Well, that would be consistent with government measures, Jim.
Cried.
Gin?
Well, I think carbon dioxide is hot.
I'm Mary Leonardick's connoisseur, chef.
I'm a wrecked, stayed up until the small hours to watch Jesse Buckley win.
I've been crocked since Monday.
Jim, about her mother's day in the UK, gaff.
Does a counter she threw in the coop of fuckle at the end?
I mean, who among us hasn't completely you turned on a policy and made it okay by adding a slaw and sleigh at the gerinock?
It's a quiet paddy's day for us.
No james, connolly, corn, beef, breakfast with A.O's, American donors, hey.
Mash, I stand joe for our decision not to travel.
Moral arc of the universe and all that jazz.
Sorry, I'm late, folks.
We've got jet lag post-New York.
Sorry, Louise.
What were you doing in New York?
Mary, New York.
I was meeting with Comrade Zora Mamdani.
Shut the front door.
Who sent you that?
Why wasn't I there?
She incredible.
You just said you were happy to skip America.
This is true.
Tell us was Mamdani as Mamdreamy as he is on Instagram.
Those eyes when he's fired up about righteousness.
I can't believe I miss meeting him in the golden period before he destroys them
and had an economy with his insane socialism.
Sorry.
They're also error-belief.
Good-kinged.
Yeah.
But I also believe in enjoying an Oscar-themed wine weekend called
One Bottle After Another.
It doesn't make it a good idea.
Yeah.
Also, I don't know if the New York mayor is solid on the national question.
Yeah, but even the Donald is in favour of a United Airlines now.
He said to the D.U.P. leader that he's all for marriage.
That's right.
Maybe that's how we need to start pitching this to the centrist.
It's not reunification.
It's consolidation.
That's good.
Someone booked me on Bloomberg.
Maybe next time.
I must say the surge in energy prices has given me great cause
for some righteous anger in the dollar.
It's a disgrace.
T-shirt.
A total disgrace.
Foolish with the Operation Epic Fury.
We lost our cache on housing.
Now we're just yelling the same things on repeat.
Right.
We need to arrest our slide into a relevancy with some moon-shot plans.
OK.
Project Hail Mary Lou will call us.
What?
Is it just me or is Ryan Gosling getting hosher as the agent?
Well, I've got a lot of ideas on policy if you want to discuss them.
Yeah, put them in a voice, Snowce Pierce.
Remember, we don't want to end up like Timmy Chalamet, loads of buzz.
But ultimately, always going home, empty-handed.
Right?
That's me, John.
See you.
Mary Superie.
You're still dead to me, Lou Lou.
Bye, everyone.
See you.
Helen's Kate.
We now return to our roundup of the regional parades starting in Wexford.
In Pena Scotty, the Parade Committee budget was blown on a very impressive mechatronic killer
robot called Ivan Yates, a forward to transist transformer programmed to destroy political
careers.
The robot stopped in the centre of the town to smear an older woman doing keeping
the oppies in the style of Katharine Conley.
There was much laughter when it emerged the smearing involved a red paste made from strawberries.
Connor Kane, Wexford.
Skyrocketing fuel prices meant a satirical Flintstones team for Kilmalik and Limerick
with vans, trucks and cars been driven by barefooted cavemen, sorry, local residents
who instead of using their engines push their feet through the bottom of their vehicles
and round down the main road.
The marshalling the parade was former prison officer and traitor star Paude Maloney in
his Fred Flintstone outfit from dancing with the stars, using his bone club as a truncheon
to fend off excited fans.
Westport County Mayo had an unusual parade this year to celebrate the town producing 100%
of the world's supply of Botox, not one of the performers, floats or vehicles moved,
remaining frozen, much like the expression of Nicole Kidman or any of the middle aged Hollywood
actors currently morphing into late stage Michael Jackson face.
Ringer Skitty, County Cork, the world's largest producer of Viagra joined in on the
farmer's surgical fun as their team was rising stars, celebrating local talent in every
sense of the word.
Pat McGraw, U-A.
Here in the North West, the smallest parade was held in the village of Drom Balaport,
with all sex of the residents walking from their home to the local pub at 12.45 this
afternoon.
Two of the residents had to eject the other four from the pub, following a ride at 2.30
pm.
A good time was had by all.
A disappointing parade for the people of Taven Town, who chose the theme Wicked for
Good, where the entire lineup from last year's parade was wheeled back out again to celebrate
the disappointing musical sequel and in an on-point bid to see if money.
Shiro Kerihin painted a Shiro train of the North West.
Here we go.
It's a beautiful day.
Quiet quiet.
We've had such a great week.
The Irish shell shock was here.
My shoes are still wet from his visit, that guy he could do the best growling knows what
the shut up do is going to make someone a really great wife one day.
In Japan, they didn't like my Pearl Harbor joke so much.
That's okay.
I was nice.
They didn't get it.
That's fine.
I had to leave my hilarious Hiroshima limerick for another day.
Too sad.
What a shame I forgot to do.
My potato family routine for the mix.
Can I ask him about the horse?
The war is going really well.
It's not a war.
They tell me.
Sure looks like a war.
We're spending a billion.
A day a billion.
The biggest ever.
The most expensive nut war of all time.
I sure hope Pete Higgs said there's a plan because I do.
And it involves firing Pete Higgs at when it all goes to Shiite.
Is that a lie?
Is that a lie?
And Netanyahu is totally not in charge.
I'm the one I alone decide when and whether to do the war things that he tells me to do,
which I do.
I don't choice.
Always my bottom line.
I've got all the power.
I'm like BB's power, bottom really.
How come?
We won't say when the war will end that would ruin the surprise.
We don't want Iran to know what we're doing.
They say, what are you planning?
Mr. President, can't tell you.
We can't let Iran know.
The one thing for sure is that we don't know what we're doing.
So Iran will never know either.
It's genius to say a lot of people say genius.
Thank you.
Have a great weekend, everybody.
Thank you.
Pressure.
Pressure.
Pressure.
Pressure.
Pressure.
Pressure.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
Uh.
What?
I've been underplay as a Yeti and at nighttime I dug a tunnel out so I could see it.
Oh please, no, make this is real.
So what's up with you?
Have you stuck it to the man this week?
Unless, no, I wanted to be sent to Syria for Patrick's Day but the T-Shook would only
deny me.
The her?
I feel so cooped up in this house.
I pleaded with Aunt T-Shook to send me abroad.
If I could not become a voice for peace, maybe I could become a voice for Greece or
less Swiss.
Very good.
Would my joshies kept me here to mark Patrick's Day?
No, it's sent, Patrick's Day.
You're only a railing up the Neocans.
Just call them sent, will you?
He most certainly will not.
He was Patrick first.
Just like the Unionist conhiption when I said dairy and not l- l- l- l- l- l can't say it.
What a hound!
It's only a prefix, like.
Please, I just don't do them.
I can only call them fixers as well.
It was dairy, fussed and foremost.
We shouldn't add things aren't just when stuff happens in history.
Like should we change the name of Affoli?
Since the arrival of Barack Obama Plaza to chicken fillet were all Affoli?
I think the bit first that I should love that to be fair.
And it's been a difficult couple of days, Mick.
I was lambasted and mischindered by Donald Trump.
That's right.
He was a man and that I was lucky he existed Affoli.
Happens to me all the time.
From behind you see I look like a beautiful woman.
Oh God.
No, I'm in a hurry, so I get to the pine.
Yes.
I was wondering if you thought about your council of state?
Yes.
Oh, well, I've been very busy, you see.
I really haven't thought about it at all.
Oh.
I had to visit the Lakeland Bord sanctuary
because I promised to become a voice for geese.
For geese, but look, I have a lot of experience.
It was also a national tree week of four,
a four-nighter call.
And that was a lot of organizing.
And I always said I would be a voice for trees.
You mean trees, not the trees?
Look, your Stalin has been four months.
Just announced me in Claire.
I'm tired of hiding at the zoo president
to keep trying to meet me with one of the Calabas monkeys.
Oh, please, would you excuse me?
I have to stop housekeeping for my earning the cartons again upstairs.
What?
After all, I pled to become a president and a voice for Greece.
Ah.
This is here.
Can I just ask what...
Off the ball on NewsDog brought to you by watching Louis Theroux
inside the manosphere and reassuring every woman you know
that you're not like that.
I swear.
All right, lad.
Welcome to the program of Join,
is ever by the indistinguishables.
My sidekicks.
Still suffering the effects of the Six Nations hangover.
Three rugby matches in one day,
where they're trying to kill a man.
I'm still having flashbacks of the unspeakable things
that they had Saturday night.
Oh, yeah.
Why'd you do pass out at an Eddie Rockets?
Score the wrong birds.
Oh, man, I cheered for England.
Oh!
I think I even sang Swinglow's sweet charred at one point.
Oh, man.
Yeah, for a brief moment, it looked like England,
my two was a favor and beat France.
We were robbed, so we were...
You were slain in the team.
No.
Calling for Andy Farns' resignation a few weeks ago, only.
Yeah, but that was before I realized all the other teams are shy, too.
And that we were in with a chance of being, you know, the least shy.
Yeah, fair.
However, we did win our fourth triple crown in five years, lad.
No one cares about winning a poxy silver plate.
Yeah, it looks like somebody had win at a point-to-point horse race.
So, Robbie is dead to you.
We're a football country now, man.
We're rebooting USA 94 in Trump's America, baby.
Who are you?
Who are you?
Too fascist, too furious.
That's right, less than a week away from the biggest Irish match
in a decade.
Will it be checkmate or game over?
What?
Over, like Navratel over.
Yeah, no.
You know, Marys Slav Kubek doesn't rate a sorry, who?
The check manager is supposed to know this.
Ah, here, look, man.
This match is like the early episodes of The Traders.
I'm not learning anyone's names if I don't have to.
So long as you know the country's called Chekia now.
You are?
I knew that.
Yeah, it's like Mauro becoming boost all over again.
Wow, mind blowing.
Anyway, I can't wait.
Come on, Ireland.
Who are you big?
Can you say it like that?
Don't know, man.
Twitter's dead.
Lad, are we just taking it for granted that we'll beat Chekia?
Yeah.
Even though they're ranked above us.
We've a rake of injuries.
What?
Even that geopolitical mark of things they're going to beat us.
They're going to beat us.
Very few rate us.
Look, a cold-hearted facts are not accepted here.
Did Lulu vibes only?
Yeah.
Who's winning on tour, see?
Oh, Lord.
America.
And he was going to pay for it.
New stuff.
That's what we're doing.
Actually, Lad.
The Germans have already said no.
What?
It's nice.
Anyway, coming up, the GA League.
Is it still on?
Are we meant to care?
We'll find out.
Maybe.
You're welcome back to Betwix, the sheets of the story.
Annual humiliation, that is, the Shamrock ceremony.
Political correspondents sharpen their keyboards or ready to pounce on any faux pas.
It turns out all you had to do was smile gormlessly, stay silent and scarlet for half an hour.
And the Irish press corps fell onto their knee halls, heaping praise on the forever thiche,
who's as popular as salt and vinegar flavors in a tatoo sangage.
That's right.
Meha Martin's most recent approval rating 37% well below Trump's 43% flop line,
which means Behal's roughly on what Joe Biden was on during his afternoon nap.
Indeed, Meha spoke so softly that Trump had to wish the entire room.
Yes.
Just so people could lean in and hear the corkman speak in such a nervous squeak
that only the brainworms in RFK Jr's head could hear him.
Are our standards for politicians now so low that a man,
shirking back in a chair and hoping nobody notices him?
Yes.
Counts as a notable moment of diplomacy as one wag hysterically put it.
Wow.
And left wondering if the high fructose corn syrup in Yangkola has gone to their heads, Meha.
I know.
It's hard to believe these were the same journalists feasting on leaks from phenophile meetings
calling for Meha's shrunken head just a few months ago.
Whatever happened to that heave?
When my sources tell me phenopholis went into a Christmas turkey coma not long after
the Jim Gavin report was issued and forgot all about why they even exist.
And this hyper puffing now of such a weakling politician means that any minute
James Lawless will be seen as some sort of swaggering liberty.
Though it must be said that Meha, like many's the lad after an electric picnic,
can expect a serious calm down when he gets home.
He's facing the kill on the cost of living, rising fuel prices, the housing crisis, of course.
Which his government is doing sweet flip all on.
Unless he count James Brown schmoozing with property, developers and fund managers in can.
Once again phenophol hell bent on making builders a fortune.
It's back to the future and they've sent George McFly and a son holiday
to sweat out his career prospects in the south of France.
But it's all ahead of Mehaal on his return.
He'll have a serious case of the Glen Rose, that's for sure.
The podcast has ended going piece so long from Mehaarie Lehanahad.
But we'll just stop trying to make fetch happen Lehanahad.
Lehan and Barry will do.
Or how about Bar Hall, Lena Lehan?
I'm not doing this anymore.
