RTÉ admits paying Tubridy €345,000 more than declared

It's like she just showed up like the annoying bosses kid and bullied her way in to a garbage slot and no one told her to go away. I cant go near 2fm as a result.

In the land of broadcasters, tall and thin,

There lived a man, deceitful within.

He preached from his pulpit, oh so high,

His sanctimonious speeches reaching the sky.

With a demeanor so righteous, he'd proudly proclaim,

His moral compass was never to blame.

But little did we know, behind the scenes,

This man was caught up in dubious schemes.

His suits were pressed, his tie so neat,

His public persona, hard to beat.

He spoke of integrity, of kindness and truth,

But underneath it all, he hid a dark sleuth.

In secret rooms, he'd plot and scheme,

Dodgy dealings, like a twisted dream.

He juggled the numbers, moved funds with ease,

A wolf in sheep's clothing, eager to please.

Oh, the irony of this broadcaster's tale,

As he wore his mask, his charade set sail.

The viewers were captivated, unaware,

That their trusted host was entangled in a snare.

But as karma dictates, the truth found its way,

His clandestine dealings brought judgment that day.

Exposed for his actions, his empire did fall,

And the sanctimonious preacher lost it all.

Now his voice is silenced, his pedestal crumbled,

As the public learned they had been humbled.

So let this be a lesson, a cautionary jest,

Beware of those who claim to be the best.

For behind the façade, there may lie a trick,

A tall, thin man with secrets so slick.

So laugh at the irony, relish the tale,

Of the broadcaster who thought he couldn't fail.

In the realm of showbiz, a talent agent appeared,

With slicked-back hair and a silver tongue revered.

He strutted into the committee, oozing with charm,

Ready to spin his tales, causing alarm.

With a twinkle in his eye and a smug, toothy grin,

He weaved his words, dancing with sin.

Dodgy contracts and strange dealings were his game,

But he thought he could fool us all, all the same.

"Oh, dear committee, let me set the stage,

These contracts, they're misunderstood in this age.

Sure, they may seem peculiar, quite bizarre,

But trust me, they'll take you oh so far."

He spun his tales, oh so grand,

About endorsements from a distant land.

But as he spoke, the committee grew wise,

They saw through his charade, his deceptive guise.

No amount of spin or smoke and mirrors could hide,

The fact that this agent was taking them for a ride.

His strange business dealings, now laid bare,

Left the committee gasping, with a collective stare.

From pyramid schemes to a circus of clowns,

His world of illusion came crashing down.

The talent agent squirmed, his confidence cracked,

As the committee called out his acts that lacked.

He tried to defend, to wriggle away,

But his deceitful web had no more sway.

With a flick of their pens, the committee decreed,

No more shady dealings, no more trickery to feed.

The talent agent's empire began to crumble,

Leaving him humbled, ready to stumble.

So let this be a lesson, a cautionary tale,

To beware of agents with schemes that derail.

For in the world of showbiz, where deals are made,

Not all that glitters is gold, nor should trust be swayed.

Laugh at the agent's folly, relish his demise,

As his deceitful web unraveled before our eyes.

No longer could he spin, deceive, or persist,

A talent agent exposed, no longer on the A-list.

Ah Lottie Ryan, who recently described herself as 'self-employed contractor for RTÉ'. In most other industries you would be a contractor and work for various companies at different times in your career but she's a contractor for just one company it seems. Except when she'd promoting brands on social media.

I think the initial anger from people in RTE when all this came out has been replaced by - ooh Fook, we have a good gig here that we would get nowhere else in Ireland and better protect our station.

You are right......sure in Tubs/NK fantasy land, Ryan Tubridy is the most trusted man in Ireland and loved by all the children....

.....except of course for the few minority rascals who call him a cùnt when he is on his little jaunt for ice creams and merriment...