From the video description:
In the second of our interviews introducing the cast, music journalist Ginger Babczak sits down with Pádraig Ó Seachnasaigh, the DJ at Lucky Luigi’s Lingerie Lounge, which is next door to Nick White’s recording studio and thus the perfect hangout for the merry band of “eejits” from there.
Pádraig seems like a rather friendly bloke… at first… well, depending on your pedigree… anyway, he spills some tea about Nick et al.
Nick and Sally’s commentary:
“Sally, what does ‘gowl’ mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. White. I think it must be Irish for ‘friend.'”
“Ah, yes, that makes sense. But then what did Pádraig mean when he said it was ‘great craic’ to watch me fuck up?”
“Well, he must have meant that it makes him very sad.”
“I’ll never understand why the Irish have to have their own weird slang for everything. Just speak bloody English like we taught you lot! It’s like they think they have their own country and culture or something!”
“Oh, Mr. White, I don’t think you should say such things to Pádraig. You know how upset he gets.”
“Some people just can’t handle the truth, Sally.”
Yours truly as usual; an unreleased maQLu track called “Ginger.” Just a little bit at the top and bottom of the video, the better to hear Nick make an ass of himself.
Transcript (ie, spoiler alert)
(Same set up as for Nick’s interview, only instead of groupies, Pádraig is distracted with his laptop.)
GINGER: So, tell me about yourself, Pádraig.
PÁDRAIG: You first. You’re not fuckin’ English, are you?
GINGER: No, I’m half Irish and half Slavic.
PÁDRAIG: Tá Gaeilge agat?
(note: this is Irish for ‘do you speak Irish?”)
GINGER: Um… ta… well… um, what?
PÁDRAIG (growling): Foghlaim do theanga, a bhean!
(note: this is Irish for ‘learn your language, woman!’)
PÁDRAIG (normal voice): Never mind, ya langer. Where from in Ireland?
GINGER: Well, they left during the Famine and—
PÁDRAIG: The Genocide.
GINGER: Huh? I thought it was a famine.
PÁDRAIG: It was a genocide perpetrated by the bloody English to kick us off our lands that they stole from us. There was plenty of food, but the fuckin’ Saxon bastards stole it all!
GINGER: Oh. Wow. Um…
PÁDRAIG: Where did your family emigrate from?
GINGER: I think somewhere in Kerry.
PÁDRAIG: What’s the name like?
GINGER: Mom’s dad was a Nelligan.
PÁDRAIG: Ah, fantastic! David Neligan served Éire and the IRA in the war of independence, giving Michael Collins vital intel to help us win. Fine family. Pure patriots.
GINGER: Oh. Cool.
PÁDRAIG: What about your mother’s mother?
GINGER: Well, um, so… they’re from Belfast.
PÁDRAIG: Ah, one of the old pre-invasion Ulster families? What’s the name like?
GINGER: Oh. Um… Hunter.
PÁDRAIG: That’s not an Irish name.
GINGER: Well, that’s what the name is.
PÁDRAIG: The fecking Hunters came over during the bloody Plantation of Ulster. You’re not half Irish, you’re a quarter Orange!
GINGER: I dunno, that’s just what my aunt told me she found out.
PÁDRAIG: Goddamn West Brit tan bitch.
PÁDRAIG: I knew you were English!
GINGER: I’m half Polish and Ukrainian and a quarter patriotic Irish.
PÁDRAIG: No. You’re a fuckin’ Orange English eejit.
GINGER: What if I identify more with my patriotic Irish side?
PÁDRAIG: Then you’re a pure plastic paddy.
GINGER: So, no win, huh?
PÁDRAIG: Fuck you English colonizers.
GINGER: You’re friends with Nick and he’s English!
PÁDRAIG: Nick’s a pure gowl. It’s great craic to watch him fuck up. And there’s always plenty of sluts around him to make it worth my while.
GINGER: What if those sluts are English?
PÁDRAIG: Then you use them for the manky shit you wouldn’t do to a nice Irish cailín.
GINGER: Yeah, like Catholic girls are so pure.
PÁDRAIG: I amn’t Catholic, I’m pagan. Catholicism was imposed by the bloody English.
GINGER: No, it wasn’t! Really?
PÁDRAIG: St. Paddy was a dirty fuckin’ Romano-Brit, come to destroy our Druidic traditions.
GINGER: But you hang out with English people all the time?
PÁDRAIG: I’m paid to put up with them like.
GINGER: Nick pays you?
PÁDRAIG: He buys rounds. And his family’s been here for 3 generations, it removes some of the stink.
GINGER: Wait, I thought he was English from England?
PÁDRAIG: That’s what the Saxon bastard wants you to think. His grandfather came here to Canazuela in 1914 to shirk his duty to die for his rotten fake English Kraut king. Also because his meager allowance as the 4th son of a duke went a lot further here in the far reaches of the empire.
GINGER: So… that English accent… it’s—
PÁDRAIG: It’s as phony as your red hair.
GINGER: Hey, this is my real color!
PÁDRAIG: Yeah, real right outta the feckin’ dye box.
GINGER: So Nick gets a pass because his English family’s been here for 100 years but I don’t and my Northern Irish family—
PÁDRAIG: English, ya cunt!
GINGER: Whatever, they’ve been here since the 1850s!
PÁDRAIG: Grand, only took ya 250 years to get the feck out of Ireland!
GINGER: Ugh. Whatever. So, tell me about your coworkers Paris and Atlanta.
PÁDRAIG: Paris is a dirty English gold digging hoo-er like. Atlanta is a money-grubbing Kraut Scot, but at least it’s her own money.
GINGER: I thought Atlanta was Latina.
PÁDRAIG: Ah, sure look, Buenos Aires by way of Berlin in the 1940s. She doesn’t even speak Spanish!
GINGER: But Sally does, right? From the studio next door?
PÁDRAIG: Sally’s a grand señorita, your real Latina. She’s pure sweet but she’s got that Saxon spanner Nick’s DNA all over her. And in her!
GINGER: I thought she had a boyfriend.
PÁDRAIG: She does, but when the tequila starts flowing it’s another story. She could do a lot better than that fella, you know.
GINGER: So she’s trading her man in for Nick?
PÁDRAIG: I said she could do a lot better.
GINGER: Right, she’s after Nick.
PÁDRAIG: English eejit, how many times I gotta tell ya? Better than Nick like.
GINGER: Oh. Well, back to the strip club, do you enjoy working there?
PÁDRAIG: It’s a paycheque like. And I get on grand with Luigi ever since he made a half mil off a crypto scam tip I gave him last year, so I can do whatever I want on me shifts.
GINGER: Like what? You’re the DJ, aren’t you?
PÁDRAIG: I am. And I get to play whatever the feck I want no matter what the girls say. Luigi hates hip hop anyway and keeps trying to get the sluts to use old Sinatra. He’s on my side, he is. Well, there is one exception. Any time that English whore Paris is up, I always play Kanye West’s “Gold Digger.” It’s the right thing to do, innit?
GINGER: And Betty’s OK with this?
PÁDRAIG: It isn’t Betty’s club. ‘Tis Luigi’s. And I always know when he’s coming because he’ll phone me, so Sinatra it is, otherwise, it’s whatever’s in me iTunes and I can’t be arsed to take fuckin’ requests like.
GINGER: But isn’t that your job?
PÁDRAIG: No, me job is to become the world’s richest Irishman, so it is. I can’t interrupt me crypto and day trading to bother with some two-bit fuckin floozie’s stupid song request.
GINGER: So, when Betty complains, then…
PÁDRAIG: I tell that oul dirtbird to take it up with Luigi like.
GINGER: OK, so what about the other guys over at Nick’s studio? Tell me about Richard.
PÁDRAIG: Bloody fuckin degenerate, he makes Nick look like a pure gentleman.
GINGER: What’s the worst Richard’s done?
PÁDRAIG: I’ve it on good authority that he brings his own dirty arse dildo from home to the champagne room. Then demands the girls ram it in him without paying the extra fee for butt stuff. And he doesn’t even tip.
GINGER: Eww. What about Jason?
PÁDRAIG: Jason can’t afford to tip well, but he has the decency to not call ‘round the champagne room.
GINGER: The two of you are good friends, aren’t you?
PÁDRAIG: We are. Jason’s a grand boyo, at least as far as bloody Vikings go.
GINGER: Everything’s about ethnicity with you, isn’t it?
PÁDRAIG: Naw, just with you filthy fuckin’ invaders. Now go ‘way outta here, I’ve crypto trades to make!