Brian McFadden Makes Me Angry

I'm not sure why but the sight of this man makes me want to throw things at the TV. For those of you who don't know who he his here is a very short biography: Brian McFadden found fame in the Irish boyband "Westlife", left after a few years, met Delta Goodrem (an Aussie singer) and moved to Australia. He should now employ me as his official biographer as I did such a damn good job just there.

I have no qualms admitting it could just be simple jealousy. He's famous, successful and has a lot of money. It could be that he seems to play up his Irishness to ridiculous levels whereas I find myself using new Aussie slang everyday. My dislike of football could be at play here too as he is the host of a reality show called "Football Superstar".

Maybe I'm just pissy he's diminishing my novelty. I foresee a bleak day when people who have just heard my exotic brogue will no longer swoon and demand I say "Top O'the morning" for their voicemail recording but shrug their shoulders and say "Oh like Brian McFadden off the TV". Never!

I should be careful whose toes I step on in the Aussie show business though. One day when my writing here on TIFI shoots me to super-stardom (stop laughing) I may have to call in some favours from my compatriates. The conversation may go something like this:

Brian - "So you're the guy who shamelessly flamed me on the internet like a coward."

Shane - "Yes, sir. The very same. Could you say my name within earshot of important people?"

B - "I don't know. I may have to make you work for this privilege since I am a very famous and awesome man. Look at my floppy hair and perfectly grown stubble. Don't they mesh perfectly to paint the picture of a rogueish yet sensitive character?"

S - "Since the year is 2042 and you are getting on in years I'd wager that those fancy follicles of yours are nothing more than modern cosmetic chicanery."

At this point in our encounter Brian and I would probably engage in some sort of gentlemans duel involving muskets. My comparative youth would no doubt win the day as I would be able to keep my weapon steadier than Old Man Brian. Luckily for him however my musket would be loaded with nothing more than confetti. He would be unharmed but would have learned a valuable lesson. One that he would swiftly forget as he gently wet himself.

You have been warned Brian! Should we cross paths thirty three years from now, think twice about what you say!