Dragon's Den is just draggin' on. . .
That Dragons' Den -- God aren't you sick of it?
So, you have a new idea for a new eco-pea shooter, and you want to become a millionaire.
You have set up a new dating website for hamsters.
Well small swingin' rodent's micky! Do you honestly think I care?
I couldn't give a flying monkey's tit what your little business is, thanks very much.
I'd sooner lie upside down in a dungheap in Dunganstown reading the phone book backwards than watch that entrepreneurial snoreworthy twaddle.
God be with the days when we didn't have to watch some jumped-up little pipsqueak boring the pants off a mullah with his business plan -- and how he hopes to sell 10,000 widgets in the first year.
Of course most of those gadgets you see on Draggin' On are about as useful as an empty condom machine in a nunnery.
Did you see that one Sarah Newman and the hurler are having a spot of financial bother.
She may have been a Dragon, but now she's run out of puff.
As the man said, now I understand why Elvis shot his television. He was probably tuned to RTé.
The Apprentice is even worse. The other night there was this bint on it and she actually said: "Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are footprints on the moon."
I'd give those eejits footprints on the backside.
Celebrities taking out super-injunctions -- wouldn't they just drive a man to cut-price supermarket gin?
Okay, some overpaid guttersnipe Premier league footballing clown had five-in-a-bed romps with a bevy of blonde buxom beauties from Brighton.
And now he's gone to court to stop people reading about it -- even though we weren't interested in reading about it any way.
Jesus, I'd go to court to stop having to hear about those feather-brained ball-juggling baloobas and their over-painted over-hyped witless WAGs.
Here's my stop now
MICK THE MAVERICK