We come together this morning, my friends, in the spirit of mourning.
And like any close community, we shall all pull together and try to help each other cope with our collective loss.
To what am I referring?
Well, dummy, I'm obviously talking about the fact that Perfidious Albion has stolen Georgia Salpa from our fair isle.
As if 800 years of oppression wasn't bad enough, now the bloody Brits have enticed Salpa from our shores and have transplanted her on to the set of Celebrity Big Brother.
Frankly, this is bloody unconscionable.
Who now will stand on Grafton Street in minus five degrees wearing only her underpants in a bid to publicise a mobile-phone company?
Who will turn up at some nightclub in darkest Navan and promote the place?
Things are bad enough as it is without this country's top dolly bird buggering off to another country.
But in the spirit of self-reliance that we're going to have to adopt in this country, I am going to propose a solution -- from now on I'm going to stand outside Stephen's Green in a bikini, in memory of Ms Salpa.
Yup, you can see me everyday at lunchtime wearing nothing but my smalls and a smile.
It's what she would have wanted.
Nope – I refuse to believe it
Truly we live in strange and terrible times where stupidity reigns and ignorance really is bliss.
And I blame Twitter for this.
In fact, I blame Twitter for lots of things, usually as a reflex, but with the possible exception of Joey Barton it seems that any time someone goes on to their Twitter machine it ends up causing them grief.
You know the deal -- someone has a couple of drinks too many and rather than slurring their words privately, they end up alerting the world to the fact that they're locked as they say things that they shouldn't.
Let's put it this way -- late-night tweets are never a good idea.
That was certainly the lesson learned by Labour's Diane Abbot last week.
Abbot, as you know, is one of those archetypal former Blair Babes -- she is eloquent in conversation and, as Britain's first black female MP she became a bit of a poster child for her party's drive for equality and diversity and fairness and all that sort of rubbish.
But she is now in trouble after she said that: "White people love playing divide and rule. We should not play their game."
She has spent the last weekend fending off calls for her resignation (unless, since writing this, she actually has resigned, which makes the whole piece rather moot) with people accusing her of the most egregious form of racism and racial prejudice.
This, of course, is utterly outrageous.
After all, as we all know, only white people can be racist and to suggest that someone from an ethnic minority might have vaguely bigoted views towards another skin colour makes you worse than Hitler.
I hope you're happy with yourself.
Here is the news – for the dumb
I have a healthy relationship with the police force -- I stay away from them and live in hope that they stay away from me.
But, sadly, due to the nature of the job I have had occasion to deal with them on several occasions (usually when some mad person starts making death threats and that sort of thing) and I have found them to be polite, professional and as baffled at the levels of eejitry expressed by some people as I am.
After all, if you're going to kill someone you don't ring them in advance to let them know you're on your way up with a gun or a bottle of acid. Although that is an entirely random example and not representative of anything real.
But in the wake of the Leveson enquiry into collusion between cops and journalists, some interesting recommendations have been made for the average Bobby.
Dame Elizabeth Filkin heads a committee which has issued a list of dos and don'ts for cops when it comes to dealing with journalists and it makes for rather interesting reading.
Included among the hints are the following: "Avoid late-night carousing, long sessions and another bottle of wine at lunch... Flirting, often linked to alcohol, is designed to get you to drop your defences, be careful."
And then, as if all of that wasn't insulting enough to my trade, this mad woman then goes on to outrageously suggest that: "Some journalists do not practise abstinence, be careful when drinking with them."
How very dare she!
Actually, I was going to write about this earlier last week but I got locked and forgot.
But that's not the point, this woman has totally defamed journalism.
Well, maybe not quite, but I am still mildly irked.
Well, everyone’s a critic these days
As Monty Burns once pointed out: "I don't know much about art but I know what I hate."
And that would seem to be a sentiment shared by 36-year-old Colorado native, Carmen Tisch.
Tisch has found herself in a spot of bother after she was busted causing 10 grand's worth of damage to a painting valued at more than $30m.
According to reports, she first spat at the painting before dropping her trousers and, well, there's no delicate way of saying this, she rubbed her ass all over it.
According to the arresting police officer: "It appeared that she was drunk. You have to wonder where her friends were by the time she got that intoxicated."
Well, I imagine if they had any sense they had bloody well legged it as far away as possible from the crazy cow.
But that's just me.
Guess he didn’t see that one coming
Navy SEALS are meant to be the best of the best -- you know, they're the rootingest, tootingest, toughest hombres there are.
But some of them aren't that smart, it would appear.
Twenty-two-year-old Geno Clayton is proud to be a SEAL and was showing off his collection of service revolvers to a prospective date last Thursday night.
And, you guessed it; he promptly shot himself in the head with a gun he thought was unloaded.
He's currently in a hospital in San Diego after he nearly became this year's first recipient of a Darwin Award.
Somehow I doubt that he's going to be welcomed back into that elite unit with open arms any time soon . . .