Proof alone of why men should marry:

If left alone for too long, they end up doing pathetic arty skits like this. Come back, wife! I can't figure out where to cook my slippers!

Consider the following....

Since Ralph Feinnes has repeatedly gone by the same name for so many years, could he be condemned as a serial ralphist?

BIG TRAP TAKING KARATE LESSONS IN BID TO DEFEAT FRENCH NATIONAL TEAM, AVENGE DEATH OF FATHER

Had this to say in earlier interview,

"HiiiiiiEEEE WooooOOO YAAAAAAAAGHGHGHGH!!!!"

So this annoyed me...

Anyone about Dublin city centre yesterday may have seen some eggs sculptings dotted about the place. Yours truly noticed one beside Sean O'Casey bridge, and thought it to be hilarious to take a snapshot of brother younger vaulting the suspicious eggject. "Do not break it," I said, as he prepared the run and jump. One tweet latter, and I was on my way to missing a big opportunity.

Later in the day, DIT students appraoched their local miniature eggifice with 2001-esque trepidation, but rather than feed off any mind plankton, they smashed the object to reveal a PlayStation 3 console, theirs for the taking.

Adhering to their civic Web 2.0 duty, word spread via social networks, and soon every egg was relieved of it's encasing duty, showering armed and muscular savages with prizes.

Obviously a marketing stunt, but the question I want to ask is: what kind of behaviour does this reward or encourage? Answers on an electronic postcard, please.

Headlines With No Article Bodies

"How my sandwhich saved my life!"

"Two feet found hammered to cat."

"White people accused of producing more jam."

"Snow found hidden behind toilet."

"Health Minister denies existence of all cervixes."

"Votes gushied ahead of Lisbon referendum."

Happy Guinness Day, you drunken moron...

At 17:59 on 24th September (that's today, you twit), the world celebrates one of the most well conceived marketing ploys of the mighty Guinness advertising juggernaut. "Arthur's Day" is the new fake holiday that's set to rivatalise a brand that's become as stale as one of it's own at the end of the night after it being left on the floor beside the cigarette machine because it's owner was too flutered to wake up after falling asleep in one of the toilet cubicles.

Yes, every 1st-world commuting lad under the sun has already told his girlfriend / wife / Xbox Live team mate that he won't be home at the usual time. He's going to be part of a new movement, one that celebrates poverty of the pocket and soul, and live out the scenario that has been repetitiously image-beamed into his head - of compatriots-in-stout raising their glass and saluting the man who took all their money and made them that bit thicker. No doubt some moron will make it three times as unbearable by shouting 'To Martha!' right afterwards.

In fairness, Guiness is that somewhat more respectable draught. Many a Wicklow man I've met who could still have a sensible debate with me after downing nine pints of 'the black stuff' (no, not liquorice) in a single afternoon. Granted they'd have a big stupid grin on their face the whole time, but still, it's not the type of alcholic beverage that you'd associate with football hooligans, girls holding back their hair at the edge of the footpath, and Nicholas Sarkozy giving a press conference. It conjours up more images of your Dad in the corner, drawing faces with your finger tips, and that first child you had (going on the presumption that you're 60+ female who was fed the stuff via drip in hospital, as was recommended practice by the Genuinely Unassociated Intelligent .... oh, look, I can't come up with an acronym what spells 'Guinmess' and relates to a medical board. Just assume I'm funny. It makes life easier for everyone.

Anyway, whatever you do at 17:59 today, keep one thing in mind: Up Yours, Arthur Guiness, you rich, dead bastard!

Bob Geldof discovered in landfill

The search for Bob Geldof sadly ended last night as police and emergency services responding to an inadvertently accurate prank call discovered his living flesh capsule (human body) in a landfill site near Brighton. Geldof was immediately rushed to the nearby St. Luke's Hospital where he was pronounced "Geld-off".

More to follow...