Gerry Ryan's Friday Giveaway.

Friday morning at 11 o'clock with Gerry Ryan as he gives out prizes for the most disgusting stories possible.

GERRY: And now on Ryan's Friday Giveaway, we have Barbara from Killester.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: Howya Gerry.

GERRY: Well Barbara, I've heard from Brenda that you have a story about shite.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: That's right Gerry.

GERRY: Good, I love a bit of shite. Entertain us, Barbara.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: Well Gerry, I was in the Maldives last year with me husband Brian and one day we were at the beach and we were after eatin' ice-cream.

GERRY: Right.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: And so Brian says to me, Jaysus Barbara, I think I'm goin' to have the scutters. And so I says to him, well, what are ya goin' to do about it. And before I knew it he'd scuttered all over his jocks right there in front of everyone on the beach.

GERRY: What a great story. Amazing. I think that one deserves a round of applause lads. Ah, nothing like a bit of shite on a Friday morning. Barbara, hold the line there, I think you might be in with a chance to win our fabulous prize of a fifty-euro voucher for Ann Summers' in O'Connell Street to buy yourself whatever sort of vibrator you like. Now, I hear that next on the line we have Linda from Cabra who has a story about snot. Good morning Linda.

LINDA FROM CABRA: Good morning Gerry.

GERRY: So Linda, is it true that your daughter failed her Junior Cert because she was picking her nose?

LINDA FROM CABRA: Well Gerry, me daughter Jacinta was in doin' her Junior Cert home ec exam and she was making an apple tart and when she thought the examiner wasn't looking she picked her nose and flicked it into the apple, but she got caught and got zero for it.

GERRY: Well that was a bit silly wasn't it? But, I mean, why shouldn't a young girl be allowed to pick her nose in full view of another person? I think it's appalling nowadays how dictatorial schools are. In my day you weren't just allowed to pick your nose, you were encouraged to do it. Extra points if you could flick it into someone else's dinner. So I say fair play to your daughter and may she have many more days of nose-picking ahead of her. Margaret from Finglas good morning.

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: Good morning Gerry.

GERRY: So tell us your story.

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: Well, one time back in the 90s when I was in holiday in Courtown myself and me husband were ridin' in our caravan when next thing he shoves his mickey by accident into the bed and it goes through and gets caught in a spring and fell off.

GERRY: Amazing. So what happened to it?

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: Well, he had to get it stitched back on by the paramedics. So we weren't able to ride ever again.

GERRY: You mean you haven't had sex since the 90s?

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: That's right Gerry. Well, I had a vibrator I bought down in Courtown afterwards but the batteries kept running out and it broke there for good about two months ago. So I haven't had me hole since.

GERRY: Oh dear, oh dear. Well we can't have that. Buy that lady a vibrator!

GERRY RYAN AND VIAGRA FOR THE LIPS

NEWSFLASH: Today in RTÉ, famed radio presenter and fat Gerry Ryan pioneered the newest medical treatment for men's health, Viagra for the Lips.

"Mrs. Ryan left me because she said my lips weren't sexy enough, so I decided to launch my own brand of male health products so that men can have the best rides possible. I just thought it would be great if you could have lips as hard as your cock for a bit of an aul' shag."

The Legion of Mary protested outside RTÉ holding banners which read "Jesus and Mary hate the Gerry Ryan Show", but nobody cares about them because they're nothing but a bunch of holy aul'ones.

Well done Gerry.

The Adventures of Mr(s). Henderson and Various Other Gays.

Jeremy-Sue M. O'C. J. C. M'Q. Henderson. What a mouthful of a name for such an unfortunate character. Join him/her as s/he travels through the anachronistic world of 20th-century Dublin and beyond looking for Love and the Meaning of Life, trying along the way to unravel his/her own murky past/present in a world gone gay.

"The oddest thing I've read all year."--Gay Byrne.

"Complete and utter shite. I love it!"--Gerry Ryan.

"A human story for the 21st century."--Mary Robinson.

"A load of me cock."--Some aul'one on Capel Street.

"Completely incomprehensible."--The Irish Examiner.

"Such a load of bollocks."--Hugh Leonard.

"NOT EEN MAY RHEPABLICK!"--Éamon de Valera.

"Faaabulous."--Rufus Wainwright.

"What?"--The Observer.

"Vulgar, offensive left-wing homosexual claptrap."--Alive!

"BEST BOOK EEEEEVAAAH!"--Senator David Norris.

Gaybo's Hammer.

Hello there, hello, hello, and welcome to the latest installment of the little Blog of the Bram, yes, that's the one, thank you very much, well done to you, well done.

Now in the course of the little position of the Ombudsman of the Road Saftety of the little old Gaybo of the uncles which was given thank you very much, it was decided that all those persons of the driving persuasion in the little old town of the Dublin would be encouraged to park themselves in a manner becoming to that of little old citizens of the municipal area—ye wha' Gay?—municipal area of the Dublin of the city.

So, to whom it concerns, for that reason and for that reason alone and for a number of other little reasons thank you very much good old uncle Gaybo has decided that persons discovering the cars of other persons parked in an incorrect manner will be entitled to break the windscreen of the offender's car with a specially made little hammer of the colour red which would be issued to all those little driving people of Ireland. And so, there's one for everyone in the audience. Thank you, well done, well done.

Jurry Royn update.

Further to the previous announcement of Gerry's renewed self-rerealisation programme, Gerry has gone a step further and has split up with Mrs Ryan. Rumours abound as to how this actually happened, and many have said it might involve Gerry being caught by Mrs Ryan doing bold things with a vye-brator, but of course that is purely conjecture, fnar fnar!

So in this time of personal turmoil for poor Gerry, who we greatly empasympathise with at this point in time (despite the general overtone of sarcasm on this pathetic publication—"Now that's sarcasm, Mrs Doyle"), let us review Gerry's greatest moments to date.



There's Gerry repioneering the threepiece suit back in the '80s or so. Shame about the hair, but fair play anyway.



There's Gerry with a pole up his arse standing next to a picture of Bono.



There's a picture Gerry took of a train somewhere in England while he picked his nose.



That was Gerry's first album, including such memorable songs as "It's a Long Way to Clontarf", "Vibrators in Paradise", "Shag Me Twinky" and "Snot and Shite (Are My Favourite Things)".



There's Gerry in his favourite place in Ireland, Abrakebabra.



There's Gerry a while back with his face on the Point. When I saw that I dropped my chips. Actually, I felt like throwing up, but that was because I was in my nan's little blue car (bottom of picture) and she'd just crashed into a traffic island for the sixth time that day.



There's Gerry in his Gaelic footballing days. Well done.



Gerry captured on camera doing his favourite thing in the world: having a shite.

Poor old Gerry Ryan, for he has taken to the vibrators and cocaine, but sure that's nothing new. He'll be back on Monday with another helping of scatological shite, nine 'til twelve, 2FM.

Hih, hih.

Happy new year, you stupid fuckin' dickheads.

O Shite.

Poor old Alvin Absolom. Apart from having a stupid name he had a terrible problem which was very embarrassing for all involved. He was fat. Very fat. In fact, he'd put B. Mulvey to shame with the amount of pure and utter flab that was to be found around his middle and surrounding areas. But not only did he have a massive stomach (even larger than Bill Ten Thousand Stone, God rest him), he also had a gi-normous arse, slightly larger than a small country. (Fair play to Neil Hannon for that one, and also to Liam for inspiring me to talk like him for some reason.) Thus it was very hard to get by him if you met him in a corridor or something. In fact it was well nigh impossible. And imagine meeting him on a bus. God, it was desperate. And this is just like a Mr Men book.

Though Alvin sounded like he was, he wasn't actually Jewish, though it would have been very hard for him to prove it considering he had so much pure flab around that area. I mean to say, he could have had a Star of David branded onto his arse or something, like a lot of them Jews do be doing these days. As a matter of fact he was baptized as a Catholic, but he stopped going to Mass a few years back because it was bad for his health, but in particular his presence was hazardous to small childs whom he regularly sat on (completely by accident, of course), forgetting that the fat around his arse was so voluminous.

But the reason we mention Alvin to you is because a few months ago he came to the attention of Brenda O'Donoghue of the Gerry Ryan Show, who was investigating the various shite phenomena of Ireland (that being shite as in "Gerry's Cup Lán de Shoite" as in excrement as in poo poo, and not just shite as in rubbish as in not-very-good). Alvin's particular problem with shiteing stems from the fact that due to his enormous body mass the sheer volume of his shite is very difficult to deal with. After a particularly heavy meal Alvin's shite was very often of catastrophic proportions. One particular day he visited Eddie Rocket's only to find himself caught very short indeed after a meal of triple hamburger dripping with blue cheese followed by five Oreo cookie malts and three bowls of disgustingly cheesy garlic fries, all washed down with a nice bottle of Gaviscon and a few Rennie Deflatines. Feeling the shite coming ever quicker, Alvin dashed for the jacks but could only manage a rather hasty plod. Once he had squeezed through the doors he sat his enormously fat arse awkwardly onto the toilet bowl and awaited the explosion. As a matter of fact, he shat so fast that he caused a sonic boom which shattered the mirror and knocked the door off its hinges. The black guys at the door were just ready to call in reinforcements, fearing the angry customer had returned to throw another few punches, but after inspecting the loos they realized poor Alvin's most embarrassing predicament and left him to clean up the lava-like shite which now plastered the walls of the gents' jacks.

Such is the way with fat people and shite. But God love them, it's not their fault really, it's just the gland in the back-passage that has them that way.

A Reading from the Third Book of Gee Chronicles.

A man was once called Mrs. Henderson. He was on TV, but he was a manwoman, but yet not a womanman. S/he/it was in an adaptation of Roger Rabbit. The director fancied a risqué angle. So, during a nightmare sequence, Roger(ina) got his mickey cut off by a woman dressed as Margaret Thatcher. And henceforth, he became a woman. Now, Mrs. Henderson felt pity for the newly feminized Rogerina and offered him (err...her) a job in a brothel. It soon came out (or in Rogerina's case, it didn't and went in instead) that Mrs. Henderson was actually a big man, not just a small man we'll have you know. Actually he wasn't a mná at all. He was banned from the gentleman's jacks because he hadn't a mickey. S/he did however not have a vagina in any case which makes things rather complicated. But in the end, they did a swap of genitalia and all were happy, especially Rogerina, who found a mickey in a cup of coffee in O'Brien's on Liffey Street. It had a Polish air about it and was, in fact, very polished by the staff of Rasputin. Hail. Thus, the nightmare ended and Roger woke up to see Bob Hoskins wearing no trousers with a hockey stick and, thus, a new nightmare began.

This adaptation of Roger Rabbit flopped on Broadway though it was marginally more successful than "Éamon deValera: The Brooklyn Years".

Also...

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A new innovation in the general new showbiz fashion of comfort and sensual appreciation of the shaft-shaped soft things. Available from all good mickey shops internationally. So, what can one do with their Big Red Mickey™?



Here's a few inventive uses that you may not have thought of.

You could put it in the fridge and then take it out again. In these fresh circumstances, you are officially taking the mickey out of the fridge. *Warning: do not try to direct traffic or conduct an orchestra with your Big Red Mickey™. These misuses may result in death by cars or cello.

Go swimming with your Big Red Mickey™.

Bring it to Royal Ascot and throw it at horses (e.g. Camilla).

Use it as an oversized hair-curler.

Whack it off... the wall... or the toilet seat. Obviously here, we mean the Big Red Mickey™.

For those who are vertically disadvantaged, bring your Big Red Mickey™ along to barber and use it to erect yourself in the chair.

Bonk it.

Bash people on the street!

Cut it into pieces and microwave it as a stress-reliever.

Throw it in front of F1 race cars.

Hold charity days of Big Red Mickey™ sponsored hugs and kisses. Charge more for kisses and even more more...well, more adventurous.... behaviour....

Bring it to Mass. Bash people who don't turn off their mobile phones. Then bring it into the Confession box.

Give it a hug, a nice big squeeze. O yes says D. Norris.

Post it in to Gerry Ryan and ask for a prize.

Use it to beat your woman until you get satisfied.

The Big Red Mickey™ is available in Jewish and gentile versions. Jewish forms lack zips so in practice you can't zip up your mickey. D. Agnew, we hope you're not a Jew.

If you have any problems with your Big Red Mickey™, contact our inventive support service. You can call us at Callsave 1890-hows-yer-mickey.co.uk. Our online support team of mickey-fiddlers are always free to answer any queries. Email us at mickeysupport@gmail.com (g as is gee). Visit our website at www.bigredmickey.org/home/mickeyandgeeco/geepart/products/.

So, talking about dirty things...

These dirty whooooooores in da Pavloovians. Shag off and go home. "We've already shagged and we don't have a home to go to. What do you think I bought these crotchless jocks for?" says he as she fiddles his mickey. These young ones polish the ornamental mickeys of the future with their pregnant ways and foreign cultures. The Jews, for example, don't even go to shopping centres, unless they're kosher. Uuum/Oom, as the case may be, comma, full stop. Tick tock. Doc, Dub, The Doc of the Dub, The Mighty DubDoc. More on the DubDoc later (with Jools Holland).

Bye.

Only joking.

I forgot to say "kisses".

Bye, kisses. Mickey.

Fair Shitty.

I am posting here because the rest of the Christmas party are watching "Fair City Sings". I mean, what sort of wank is that? Though that judge chap would make one a bit hot under the old collar I'd say, "wink" "wink", nudge nudge. But it's still a load of Gerry Ryan's mickey if you ask me.

Speaking of Gerry Ryan, yesterday he had "Santa" on talking to him and various little shites children from around Ire-land, as is customary for Gerry of a Christmas (shite) Eve. As "Santa" (really the aul'fella from the Lambert Puppet Theatre) was chatting away to the childs I bet Gerry was in the back room fiddling his mickey with Twink, the durty old hoor.

So there you have it. Listening to Bach is a million times better than Fair Shitty, I reckon.

Happy Christmas Lorna.