Ireland got Stuffed!!

Great shows last week kid. Some great guests on Friday, which made me think there just might be a residue of singers, who can put over a song without voice enhancing techniques and gallivanting dancers in the background. "BRAVO!" yelled Tommy my cat. "Those guys really nailed it to the old barn door." I looked out the window, whistled and played with the purple fringes on my burka. Tommy snapped his braces, ran his fingers through his hair and hitched up his 1970's denim hipsters. "It's no good!" I yelled. "We MUST talk about, Euro 2012." Tommy sobbed and said, "I do feel sorry for the Republic of Ireland. With the country in hock to the Germans the boys in green rowed all the way to the Ukraine, with packed lunches and Boy Scout tents, only to get stuffed twice AND with the threat of a third stuffing hanging over their humiliated heads." "I told them before they left!" I cried. I said, "Boys, stay at home and watch it on TV." Robbie Keane, said, "NO! We shall return in triumph with lots of Irish luck and eleven or twelve dodgy penalties, we can be AND will be, champions of Europe!" "And he looks so normal," said Tommy, "to be talking such gibberish!" "NEVER MIND!" I yelled. "We've still got the hurley. An Irishman with an ash plant in his hands is a horrible and fearsome sight." Tommy concurred behind the sofa and then blushed like Mr Coyle, in an Ann Summer's shop. "England!" I yelled. "Perfidious Albion. Anglo Saxonists, Sons of John Bull and Lady Thatcher, you've done it again! I doff my hat, tug my forelock and hope you get stuffed eight nil, in the quarter finals." Tommy kicked a small, shrunken head into the kitchen and said, "I don't like football, BUT I do like football pundits. To hear retired footballers talk about, man marking, getting behind the ball, keeping the shape and counter attacks, is sheer poetry to me. HOWEVER!" yelled Tommy. "I detest, loathe and despise, RTE's, Eamonn Dunphy!" "BIG MOUTH!" I roared. "Old Eamonn Dunphy, with his wizened face wrapped round a pair of brilliant, white, false gnashers, is a disgrace to man, beast and banjos." "Mr Know all!" screamed Tommy. "The great, I AM! interrupting, talking over people, why the man is a veritable, Mr Coyle!" "Two peewheets from the same pond," I cried. "seperated at birth. One sent to the North and the other to the South." "JEDWARDS!" Yelled Tommy. "HAULD ON!" I cried. "Let's have a cultural exchange. Mr Coyle joins the RTE sports panel and Eamonn Dunphy joins Gerry in the studio." "So let it be written, so let it be done," Said Tommy. "My people will talk to your people." "Let's do lunch," I cried, "or dinner, or supper, it's all the same to me." "A midnight snack would suit me better," said Tommy.