I like Christy Berg.
Well, when I say "like", I really mean tolerate.
Well, when I say "tolerate", what I really mean is that in preference to the risk of hearing more than one consecutive note of the nauseating, sickly sound he inflicts or seeing any aspect of his odious leprachaunic looks, I would commit the biggest bank job ever seen in history and use the proceeds to fund serious research into time travel and go back to the night he was conceived and take his father out for the biggest Guinness session ever recorded in Oirland to ensure he was unable to "get wood" on the infamous black night in question. His daughter's tidy though.