Y'know what? I'm sick of it. I'm just bloody sick of it.
Why is everyone always picking on us poor little Irish people?
I'm referring, in the first instance, to the thoroughly racist series of merchandise in Urban Outfitters which make fun of the Irish stereotype about us being heavy drinkers.
I nearly spat my Guinness out of my mouth when I saw that one.
And now multinational Nike has joined the Paddy-bashing with a new range of runners (pictured above) called 'The Black And Tan'.
This is obviously a direct endorsement of those British auxiliaries who caused so much grief back in the day, even though the company has come out and immediately apologised, saying that they used the name in relation to the beverage and not murderous renegades.
But that's quite simply not good enough.
Indeed, as one Irish emigrant group pointed out: "Would they have called a shoe the 'al-Qa'ida shoe?'
When contacted, al-Qa'ida's commercial director fumed: "We already own copyright on al-Qa'ida shoes after Richard Reade tried to blow up that plane with a bomb in his shoe. If Nike steals our trademark, we will use every legal avenue open to us."
Wow -- what lovely guys
I am not a vegetarian. I eat meat and enjoy it. On the other hand, I abhor cruelty to animals and hate pursuits such as sport fishing and, particularly, big-game hunting.
My theory is that the bigger game you hunt, the smaller your manhood is.
So Donald Trump's sons (pictured above) must have minuscule members.
Donald and Eric are unashamed of their recent big game-hunting trip to Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe (a beautiful part of the world ruined by Mugabe) where they spent their time merrily blasting away at everything that moved.
In his defence, Donald Jnr said: "I hunt and I eat game."
Now, hunting for the pot is fine, but among the pictures they took we see them with a dead leopard and, particularly vile, there's a shot of one of the little shits holding the tail he had just cut off a dead elephant.
So, here's an idea -- if they're such big, macho men, why don't they go into the bush armed with nothing but their hands and their wits and see how long they last against a leopard?
I'd pay to see that one.
When tweens attack
When you're a journalist who sticks their head above the parapet, then you have to accept that sometimes you're going to annoy people. And I mean really, really annoy them.
It can be great crack sometimes (I did a piece taking the piss out of the GAA a few weeks ago and some people went completely apoplectic, much to my amusement) and then there are other occasions when it's a pain in the neck.
I had to waste valuable drinking time a while ago by sitting in a police station giving a statement after some whack job started making threats, and some of my Muslim friends have also been rather threatening.
And now Herald rock hack Chris Wasser is going through the same thing.
Wasser reviewed boy band The Wanted (pictured) recently and he wasn't impressed.
This incensed the band's female teenage audience and he has now been subjected to death threats on Twitter.
So, threats from a random nutter, threats from Islamic fundamentalists or threats from hormonal teenage girls?
Sorry, Chris, but if I was you I'd start looking for a safe house right away.
That lot really are dangerous.
I have a solution
A woman in Michigan is being targeted by a rather strange pest -- a wild turkey that locals call 'Godzilla'.
She says: "I'm afraid to go out of the house. I have to go to the post office at 6am to avoid him."
But I know how she can make sure he doesn't bother him again -- just sprinkle a few boxes of sage-and-onion stuffing around the perimeter of your house.
That'll make him think twice about coming in.
So, have you tuned in yet?
Thankfully, gambling is perhaps the one vice that I don't have.
Now, don't get me wrong. That's certainly not as a result of my high moral fibre. Rather, it's down to the fact that I am a remarkably mean person who doesn't like handing over money that I might not get back.
Let's put it this way: I did the Lotto once, didn't win and sulked for the entire weekend.
So, when I think of Cheltenham, I think of the three horses that died on the opening day.
Having said that, I have some friends who are into the gee-gees and they tend to get very defensive about their 'sport'.
It's a thing of beauty, said one of them, who angrily denied it was only about gambling.
But, I countered, if you remove the gambling all you're left with is a bunch of culchie midgets whipping a horse and, unless you have some very weird fetish, that's not particularly attractive.
He hasn't spoken to me since. Funny that.