One of the most common complaints about Irish journalism - up there with gripes against idiot social diarists, sleazy hacks cum TV judges and the ISpy column - is that the Irish media tends to play things just a little too softly with the great and good of our society.
And then there is Mongrel magazine.
Having been the best Irish publication - Indo excepted, of course - since the sad demise of Slate Magazine, Mongrel has made a name for itself with its annual assault on the boring and mediocre of this country.
The 'C-word list' (that's about as close as we can get without being shut down, but you can probably imagine what the unexpurgated phrase is) first caused a controversy last year when Pat Kenny publicised the list by running to the media in a fit of hilariously misjudged pique.
It was a classic piece of guerrilla journalism. Who, for example, would disagree with the statement that: "It's a depressing sign of celebrity devaluation when Fran Cosgrove, this monolithic gobshite, can go from security guard to nation's favourite in a short time he was only famous for chucking one up an Atomic Kitten..."
They also have a righteous pop at Fianna Fail, The Jehovah's Witnesses and the FAI among others but, frankly, the rest is too funny - and too insulting - to repeat here.
Go out and find the mag yourselves, you lazy buggers, and enjoy every spleen-filled, mean-spirited and utterly accurate comment in the list.
Magic 'shrooms ban?
About time too
May this column be among the first to congratulate the Government for banning the previously legal sale of magic mushrooms in shops in Dublin and Cork.
This change in the legal heart comes after the family of a man who jumped out of a window in Dun Laoghaire, following a combination of drinking beer, playing Trivial Pursuit and necking shrooms, campaigned against them.
Needless to say, civil libertarians have pointed out that prohibiting the sale of something which grows naturally, and particularly when the sale of said substance is more heavily regulated than the sale of drink, is rather odd. But they're wrong.
Because when it boils down to it, several generations of middle-aged Irish hippies will recall terrible tales of waking up in the middle of the night and heading off on long treks to the Hellfire Club or their local golf course, where they would scratch the hands off themselves while scrabbling through the undergrowth before poisoning themselves with the wrong kind of mushroom.
Why should this new generation of kids be able to buy such things over the counter? Honestly, between their PlayStations and their drugs, this generation doesn't know it's born.
Nothing but ribs
There has been an unfair rumour that the current Pope is even more dogmatic than the man whose youth organisation he once belonged to.
But, just to prove that it is not the case, a further perusal of his latest encyclical, Deus Caritas Est, shows just what a swinging liberal he really is. Apart from describing contraception as "intrinsically evil" - tell that to over-populated Africa - our German friend also points out that women are "rib-made helpmeets" of men.
So the next time the missus starts giving you static, you know what to call her - and you've even been given permission by the Pope.
It certainly gives a new meaning to the phrase "throwing her a bone".
At it again
Good old Kerry, the uber slapper that other slappers look up to. Apart from getting into another catfight with a former friend in some grotty English club over the weekend, she has now been accused of stealing one of her mates' boyfriends.
According to Louise Oortwyn: "Kerry thinks nothing about stabbing her mates in the back. All she cares about is number one. She has broken my heart by stealing Mark. It's not like she hasn't done this before. Has she got any idea of the hurt she is causing?
"No wonder Brian left her - she is pure trash. She has f***ed all her friends off in one way or another."
Seems like Katona is running out of mates. Altogether now... awwwwww!
Cornwall cleric Stuart Bill White certainly earned the admiration of his congregation over the weekend when he chased down three thugs who had robbed some of his parishioners during service.
The quick-witted vicar saw three knackers legging it from the Mass and barrelled after them, before apprehending all.
As he says himself: "I did well to catch them because I am significantly overweight. I used to play on the wing in university but now I look more like a second-row forward."
Truly, if Britain needs any more evidence that its young people face an obesity time-bomb, it's in the fact that three teenagers can be chased down by a 47-year-old priest in full ecclesiastical garb.
Honestly, what are today's young offenders coming to?