The trouble with Johnny

Our politicians are a pretty useless lot. Actually, truth be faced, they’re mostly a not-so-pretty useless lot. Except, of course, for Lucious Liz and Mary Lou. You wouldn’t throw either one of that pair out of bed for eating crisps or issuing idiotic press releases.

But I digress, early. This week’s award for the most useless politician of them all has to go Fianna Gael’s chump in chief, Inda Kinny. In his most pathetic cry for electoral help yet, Inda has called for random drug testing in secondary schools. Not content with taking the piss, the man now wants to test it as well.
To paraphrase his old buddy, Mr. P. Floyd, Samuel J. Snort would like to lead the students of Ireland in a chant of, “Hey Inda – leave us kids alone.”
What the hell is the man thinking? Sam couldn’t have gotten through his schooldays without drugs. That’s why I’ve forgotten them so fondly.
We’d usually kick off the day with a massive joint of skunkweed behind the bicycle shed, which would generally be enough to get us through double maths on a Monday morning. Depending on the strength of the weed, a quick one-skinner in the jax would generally be sufficient for Irish class.
During break, we’d either top-up with a few stolen snifters of wine from the school church sacristy or drop some of Spud’s mother’s pills – usually Mandrax or Valium. These would usually carry us hazily through the middle period of the day.
After lunch, though, we’d change classes – moving smoothly from Class C to Class A drugs. A few lines of speed would generally keep you awake through the latter half of the day. Provided we stayed in school. Which we rarely did.
Of course, that was just in primary. By the time we hit secondary, we’d discovered poontang and, of course, that was the end of it. Still, it never did me any harm. Look at me now, Father Fuckwit! I’m Ireland’s greatest undying rock journalist.
(True, as you predicted, Spud passed away soon after his Leaving but he was always a mad cunt anyway.)
But enough schooldaze memories. We were talking about Inda Kinny’s idiotic suggestion. Why doesn’t he call for random dope testing in Leinster House? The corridors of power in this country are jammed full of random dopes. And some of them are on drugs. Lest we forget, there were traces of cocaine found in the toilets of the Dail Bar not so long ago.
Of course, Inda doesn’t have the monopoly on foolishness – not by a long shot. Step forward, Green Party candidate Elizabeth Davison who single-handedly launched a campaign to destroy Johnny Logan last week.
Why him? Or as he sang himself, when he heard the news, “why me?”.
Well, recently in the Sunday Indo’s Death magazine, the three-time Eurovision winner expressed the opinion that a certain female journalist needed “a good kick in the gee.”
The remark led to Davison publicly calling for the Irish J-Lo to be dropped by McDonald’s from a high profile marketing campaign featuring him as the heroic Eurosaver (geddit?). According to a statement posted on her website, she said that she was “deeply shocked at Logan’s use of offensive, insulting and violent language.”
She then called on Ronald McDonald to “remove him immediately from its advertising campaign and to make a substantial contribution to Women’s Aid to indicate condemnation of this disgusting statement.”
When Sam first heard news of this foolishness, he immediately left a message on J-Lo’s answering machine. “Yo Johnny,” I said. “It’s your old buddy, Sam, here to save your sorry ass once again. Listen to me, here’s what you need to do. Just release a statement saying that the Sindo scribe misheard you and that you actually said ‘kiss on the gee’. This will make that Green Party idiot look like she’s making a stand against muff-diving. Genius, eh? You owe me one! Later.”
However, apparently kicking back in New York when the controversy broke, J-Lo obviously didn’t get my message. I’ve gotta say, though, his own response was fucking inspired. A real gee-kicker of a statement!
“It’s always an indication of a party bankrupt of real ideas when they look to generate publicity from some off-handed, inoffensive, unintended remark,” he said. “This is political correctness gone mad, when they have to pick on Johnny Logan!”
So far so true. But then came the inspired bit...
“Who is this crazy guy? He deserves a kick up the gee! Ha, ha!”
Ms. Davison swiftly conceded defeat and took the statement down off her website.
Sheer unadulterated brilliance! Hat’s off and rock on, Johnny! You are the coolest man in a white suit on this planet since Don Johnson.
In more international news, I see that young – actually, not so young anymore – Robert Williams has checked into rehab once again. This time he’s gone in to combat his addiction to prescription anti-depressants. More like he’s gone in to generate some sympathy sales of his last album.
Sorry, but I haven’t trusted Robbie ever since those pictures of him shagging his missus on a poolside sunbed were published a few years back. They were supposedly tabloid snaps shot from a tree or something, and Robbie duly issued a statement complaining about invasion of his privacy. Any fool could tell that the pictures had been taken from just a couple of feet away and were obviously posed.
Nah, he’s looking for sympathy and publicity. Fuck off and make a decent album! That’ll cure your depression. And possibly ours as well.
Speaking of people looking for sympathy and publicity, poor old Kerry Katona – and I mean that literally. Brian McFadden’s troubled ex tied the knot with her new beau Mark Croft on Valentine’s Day. By all accounts it was a “curry and chips” affair. A far cry from the star-studded Slane extravaganza of just four short years ago.
I have a question, though. Kerry’s two autobiographies have been topping the charts and fouling the shelves of every bookstore in the land for months. She must have been paid a fair old wedge for that waste of trees. Then there’s the lucrative magazine deals and the advertising and the TV gigs.
Also, it was recently reported that Brian has given her a hundred grand in their divorce settlement. Not very much, admittedly, but certainly enough to cover the cost of a decent wedding. Instead, we have to read about a cheapskate marital affair. Sam smells a rat.
Of course, the wedding guests may have smelt far worse. According to newspaper reports, bride and groom stayed in a humble Scottish B&B – and even had to share a bathroom with the other guests. Presumably it wasn’t until the following morning that they realised the curry had been a really bad idea.