What's the hardest part of a Vegtable to eat?

This popped into my inbox today, it may be a bit painful to read but hold your incredulity for later and we’ll have a think about this one.

What would you do? You make the choice. Don't look for a punch line,
there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made
the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled
children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that
would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the
school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: 'When not
interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done
with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other
children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where
is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay,
physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an
opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it
comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew
were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me
play?' Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want
someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that
if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed
sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in
spite of his handicaps.

Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not
expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for
guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the
eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him
in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put
on a team shirt. His Father watched with a small tear in his eye and
warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father's joy at his son being
accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a
few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth
inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even
though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in
the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father
waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning,
Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded,
the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be
next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to
win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew
that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how
to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing
that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in
Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay
could at least make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung
clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to
toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung
at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder
and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay
would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's
head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and
both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!' Never
in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.
He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!' Catching his breath,
Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it
to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right
fielder had the ball ... the smallest guy on their team who now had
his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown
the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the
pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high
and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base
deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward
home.

All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help
him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run
to third! Shay, run to third!'

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators,
were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!' Shay ran to
home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the
grand slam and won the game for his team.

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his
face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and
humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having
never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, and
coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero
of the day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of
jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes
to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate. The crude,
vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public
discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and
workplaces.

If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that
you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who
aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message. Well,
the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a
difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day
to help realize the 'natural order of things.' So many seemingly
trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do
we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up
those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the
process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's
least fortunate amongst them.

You now have two choices:
1.. Delete
2. Forward

May your day, be a Shay Day.


Of course my first though was delete this obvious horse-shit, but then I got thinking, where’s the angle. I mean pardon my cynicism but generally stories like this end with a link to a donation site so I googled the author, more of that later.

E-mails like this annoy me. Their sycophantic over the top over-tones just make me want to reach for the barf bucket and exclaim “Sure! in my foot-tapping, get on with it, patented sigh of incredulity”. I’m all for Rudy and the little engine that could but this story is just a bit too far for me arriving into work on a Monday morning with my logistical processes in hoc to the Saturday night before. What really pissed me off was the sheer patronising tone of the whole thing. I felt like Shay’s memory had been raped. Shay wasn’t a hero, he was an object of pity lumbering around those bases while the noble players overthrew the balls. Imagine him tripping around the bases in half gait while everyone high fives each other in the stands, hey, look at us bringing joy to this little handi-cap kid. Woo-hoo. And it doesn’t stop there, Shay passes away from a mysterious illness, writers cramp probably, going out in a blaze of glory just one short paragraph later.

But Shay got me thinking, I guess that was the point. In particular this little ditty.

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's
least fortunate amongst them.

This is a bastardised version of an old English adage I’ve heard before that you can judge a man by how he treats his servants. It’s probably as old as time itself, how a Roman treats his slaves etc. Well let’s hold hands and have a look at how we, as a people have treated the mental and physically handicapped. At the outset I want to emphasise I have no particular expertise or familiarity with this subject and I’m probably as bigoted as the next man.

The Spartans casually tossed disabled children into a chasm on Mount Taygetos. They weren’t the only ones, the Greeks and the Romans also practised infanticide on the young disabled. These children were seen as cursed by the Gods and I think times may have been a bit leaner to support a child who may not have been able to support themselves. It’s hard to judge these societies by today’s standards so I won’t even try, suffice to say it happened.

What we can judge by today’s standards is the systematic foced sterilisations of the disabled with Good old Uncle Sam leading the way before the Nazi’s got in on the act and carted them all off to be “liquidated”

http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/disabled.html

This wasn’t an isolated event- there is a whole school of thought devoted to these subjects. It’s called Eugenics and it’s members may disturb you. H. G. Wells, Woodrow Wilson, Theodore Roosevelt, Emile Zola, George Bernard Shaw, John Maynard Keynes, William Keith Kellogg, Margaret Sanger, Winston Churchill, and Sidney Webb. I’m telling you, it was all the rage in the roaring twenties. Yes that’s right, the guy that invented Corn Flakes was a bigoted little shit. The US president for whom the Teddy bear was named after was all for trimming the genetic fat.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugenics

Every society has to battle with questions of morality. With physically handicapped people it’s simply a matter of supplying the goods. If society has enough means to support them, well it should and it shall. Every mother loves her child. As Christy Brown put it he was just a person trapped in a body that didn’t work. Now, the bit that leads to disagreement are the severely mentally handicapped. Unfortunately for a long time in society such people were segregated, locked away and forgotten about. Personally, I believe this is wrong but I think some objectivity is what this examination needs. Objectively do such people contribute to society? Can they hunt, or work, or exercise any function that brings back to the fold.

Subjectively one could argue that they bring light and love and joy to those that love them. Is that enough, I think it is but do you? It’s a moral issue and one that has divided people for eons and not one I am going to magically conjure any answers to. Ireland hosted the special Olympics and this topic was in the limelight. Reading the opinion pages and letters to the editors one swang between “celebrations of life” and “grotesque matinee of disfigured condescension”. I think if you went and asked those athletes did they enjoy the experience I have no doubt that they did, and they may have developed socially interacting with their fellow athletes. The question is to be examined then, Is their life worth less by their disability be it mental or physical? Are we entitled to draw a distinction between the two? Are all men really created equal. No, but they should be.

Anyway before I get drawn into a circular debate with myself and banish myself to Hell I’m going to go back to the author.

Google brings me EJ Nolan

http://www.baseball-almanac.com/poetry/po_shay.shtml

EJ is a bit of a jack of all trades, I suppose we could loosely file him under “Media chancer”. I found a Bio that I have no doubt was written by “Ed” himself.

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0634266/bio

Mr. Nowiski as he used to be known before his ethnic name got in the way of his burgeoning international career, apart from having a face for radio and I quote

EJ is writer and producer for Die Laughing Mysteries and the Ringmaster for the Annual Circus of the Stars held in front of Houston City Hall during the Houston Children's Festival in collaboration with the Nerveless Nocks 7th generation Circus Family.His jingles for Sun & Ski Sports and others are currently airing nationally. In his spare time he has written and produced a series of Educational Films on Substance Abuse for Brain Trust Films.

Here’s the bit that grabbed my attention though.

EJ is married to Deborah, Artistic Director of Dionysus Theatre, a theatre troupe for disabled and able-bodied teens and young adults. It was founded in memory of their son, Dustin who died of cancer at age 15 in 1997. They have another son Skyler, who is attending the Guthrie Theatre BFA program at the University of Minnesota.EJ, Deborah and Skyler all performed at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC in the Summer of 2004 to celebrate the passing of the Americans With Disabilities Act.

So Ed’s son, Dustin, died of Cancer aged 15. This puts a new spin on my hereto disregard for E.J’s little fortune cookie fairytale. I can emphasis for his loss and I have to wonder was Dustin disabled? It’s starting to resemble a soap opera here.

I’m reaching for an emotional response and all I have is sadness for poor E.J’s tale. I think that the little proverb of the disabled kid that hit the winner, well, it didn’t happen. Firstly the kid wouldn’t get a shot on that team, never mind at bat to hit the winner. It’s a nice story in the circumstances, bittersweet but we all know deep down that poor Shay wouldn’t have a hope. I think maybe Ed wrote that fairytale for himself. Writing a new memory to be disseminated to spark his own Disney fairytale, but Ed fucked it up. He went too far. In reality Shay would have been happy to swing and miss. There’s nobility in trying, regardless of success but Ed’s been sucked into the American dream and Shay has to hit the winner and we all cry “Foul”. I guess I’m saddened that such an over the top story is reflective of our own attitudes to the disabled. I’d be happy to have Shay on my team and who gives a shit if he strikes out. Why should he be judged on able bodied standards. Why can’t Shay be judged on Shay’s standards, but I know the answer. I’m reminded of Van Martel’s life of Pi where the investigator is given the incredible story and the truth and the fantasy goes into the book. Sometimes it’s better to lie to ourselves and pretend we believed it all along

Robbed of Dowrys Made of Smoke

You know in the current economic climate we’re taking it in turns to blame shadowy figures for the unending barrage of negativity that seems to be eking for all sectors. Bankers, politicians, Media hype, and (insert your own personal scapegoat here) taking it in turns to be the victim or our own global “boo-hoo” orgy.

Through my own vigorous research and divinations I can now reveal the mastermind behind our misfortune. One Mr. Walter Elias Disney. It’s the vestiges of Walt’s narcissist ideology that has led us to this place. The thought that Beauty can marry that mean ugly bastard Beast for love and be rewarded with unending “Happy ever afters”, that toiling for two hideously ugly sisters will bring a prince to your door with your missing shoe (that used to be an item of household grocery before midnight?) and the thought that you too are entitled a dreamland where wealth, health and happiness await you all the days of your life.

Walter started in simplier times, in Kansas City animating laugh-o-grams (the cartoons not the drug). He didn’t mean for you lot to take him seriously. He is up there in the misunderstood category with Allah and Jesus who too preached love and compassion and on whose behalf foul and murderous deeds were instigated on man’s fellow man. Walter showed us a magical place, a place of dreams and wonderment. His first animated success in Hollywood came with “Alice Comedies” based on Alice in Wonderland. “Oh Walter, why did they have to follow you down the hole.”

Walters trueism that was taken to heart by his generation’s offshoot was the destruction of the class system and the promotion of self before the collective. A shell shocked generation, weary by war spoiled their children, embellishing their hopes and dreams and the heady, giddy, joys of the sixties were born. When the euphoria wore off and they realised that peace and love wasn’t going to be forthcoming they retreated to middle age and disgruntled servitude but they never forgot that dream and foisted it onto their own children to carry it around like a basket of testicles, ever so gently, so that it may some day shoot forth in a rich creamy orgasm of creation and self indulgence. The dream is Horatio Alger, rags to riches in a day without the lottery but on the back of one’s great and glorious self, talent and hard work are optional add-ons.

There is no other way of explaining the current generation of humans we have fielded on to this burning down planet of ours. Let’s take the top of the pile, our politicians. These are the people we elect by the people from the people to be our responsible governance, to make our laws and dictate our directions. These persons are meant to be representative and the representatives of society. What we have are squabbling children whose whole persona is based around the ego. Bertie Ahern’s policies were so god-damn awful that he ditched them and ran, and won, an entire election on the back of his personality. Just him, the man down the road. The friendly accountant with no bank account and unexplained cash sloshing around won on a horse he can’t even remember. He’s not the only one, Barack Obama, can you name one member of his cabinet besides Hilary, the other bobble head ego? Do you know where he stands on the issues, any issue? Just a thought. It’s just a presidential version of X factor where the winner gets a nice white house and a big shiny red button that they are NEVER supposed to touch. For God-sake, don’t elect Sponge Bob.

Let’s stay on X factor, the gaudiest bobble of the lot. Where the gullible queue in the thousands ready to be packaged, exploited and resold back to the masses. The appeal is that through little talent, no back work and a propensity for Karaoke you can be a global star. A fame prostitute held up as a shiny new penny but one whose value will depreciate until you are cast aside for a new years mint, another cutting on the editing floor. The failing isn’t X factor itself but a clink in the modern human condition. The exploitation of the “me” factor. Girls and camp looking guys have been sleeping in their little glass caskets and are ready to cast it off to live out their days amongst the richness of the fairytale.

In case you think this self promotion is relegated to the lower echelons of society take a look at the banking sector in which self promotion is joined in unholy matrimony with its incestuous brother “entitlement”. That is why bankers in the US have taken the public bail out monies and paid themselves BILLIONS in bonuses. Greed knows no class bounds and self praise is worth a lot more than nothing.

Okay okay, it’s starting to resemble a rant and who has time for all these macro considerations so lets go back to Walter’s happy ending. Love. The cornerstone of society and the inspiration for Beethoven, for Shakespeare and the reason Van Gogh cut off his ear for his sweetheart to mind. The pillaging of collective values has relegated love to a shopping list. Little girls dream of prince charming with a shiny new steed ( a Porsche is good I hear) to come sweep them off their feet so they can have many epidural affected C sectioned children to run around playfully in their Italian marbled summer home in Venice. Let me break it to you now girls, he ain’t coming. As for fella’s, they are no better, they want an angel faced virgin who is naturally born with bedroom tricks that would make a Geisha go for the ice cabinet and a quiet lie down, the ability to let them watch sports when the soaps are on and to never, ever, question where they were when they stumble home, vomit on the couch and then sleep on it. It ain’t gonna happen, she’s gonna kick your hole. Most people now meet their spouse’s on-line these days where they can filter suitors with their own individual style of bigotry. They will promptly invent a cover story more in line with the fairytale. “Oh, we met at a children’s orphanage in Beruit where we were both doing some volunteer work on Christmas day”. You know who you are.

An entire market of bullshit has grown around this promotion of self. Self help books, Self realisation. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Seminars, weekend retreats all tapping into to this vast, never-ending market of self. How you can realise your unrealistic wants by asking the Universe for it. (By the way, all you have to do is ask the universe and then work really, really hard for it, and it might happen says the author) Is it any wonder that children raised with Santa and the Tooth-fairy don’t want to grow up and want the stream of presents to continue. Do we ever really grow out of being selfish? The key it seems to me is, and wait for it this might be hard to accept. Living in Reality. A little hope is a good thing but we have a disgruntled generation who expect fame and sucess to come knocking on their door. A little humility would be more in line from responsible parents to bestow. The real world is not a fairy-tale. Yes, some of us strike it lucky, but if you examine it more often than not it’s just that, luck. Enterprising individuals that build successful companies have made huge sacrifices in their personal lives for that success. Lawyers, and doctors, you guessed it – study. Everyone is busy peering into other people’s crystal balls and they don’t see the work that went into the little globe or all those jaded persons for whom the dream never happened. Single mothers who are raising children alone because they don’t fit into the fairytale, Cinderella didn’t have no 4 year old. People chasing other kinds of highs living on the streets dying broken and forgotten by our egotistical politicians with us too busy discussing their private lives to poke them about their professional ones. For the record there is a homeless shelter built in Dublin that would house them lying idle due to lack of funds

http://hse-ireland.blogspot.com/2008/05/homeless-die-as-shelters-idle-for-lack.html

These are just two examples. It's a way of thinking that has Ireland's public servants threatening industrial action as they are not getting raises when mass amounts of the private sector are being laid of. The old "Fuck them, what about me!" argument that somehow garners sympathy. We’re too busy looking in to bother to look around. Don't believe me? You're wearing shoes probably knitted together by a child halfway across the world, whilst we burn some fossil fuels to fire up the aul computer.

As for me, well I'm no better so I'm off to play the lottery.

Anyway, In case it's all too much of a downer here’s one happy thought from Walt:

Mickey Mouse is concerned about his and Minnie's marriage, and sees a counselor. At the end of the session, the counselor agrees to speak with Minnie.
The counselor says to Mickey "I spoke with your wife, and I must say, I didn't find any evidence of mental instability; she is not crazy."
Mickey says "Crazy!? I never said Minnie is crazy. I said she's fucking Goofy!"

Run!! Paedo Google is coming.

As I was wandering on the t'internet today, as you do, I came across this wonderful new invention from Google. It's find (stalk) a friend (ex) service allows you to view where your designated contacts are on google map. Whilst we have had the invention and widespread application of chipped dogs for some years now this new invention allows you to watch your friends and loved one's cheery little avatars stumble all across town, and stagnate in the developed worlds traffic jams.

Anyway, there are a number of interesting features, firstly, you can set your devices visibility and secondly you can control who can view you. Bear this in mind, we'll come back to it later.

http://www.google.com/latitude/intro.html

As is usual for the advent of any new technology it doesn't take long for the Chicken Licken's to roll out of their cramped little pens and start screaming that the Sky is falling down. Here is a gem I picked up in the Scotsman. The first thing tht got me going is the reporters last names. A chap called “Christ-is-on” has been teamed up with the appropriate partner “Howle” (Hole). It would be a shame not to crucify them not that they have taken up the cross on this crusade.

http://news.scotsman.com/scitech/Fears-over-Google-phone-.4948515.jp

First up to the batting cage is Helen, a family lawyer to let us know that these devices may be used by people to abuse their spouses. The little control freaks even go through the rubbish grabbing receipts! The bastards. Imagine what they could do with this technology. Awful nice of these abusive husbands to get Mommy a blackberry with her black eye for Christmas and hang on, didn't we say you could turn this off?

The next manical rant is the Big Brother slant, now this is probably a good point, especially when eminated with someone with Dr. before their name. Dr. unpronouncable who is mooted as a computer expert, so good in fact that he is holed up with Howle, in Glasgow. (They really went all out there) warns us that them skinny little geeks at Google are the new Big Brother and will be watching us all furiously and compiling how many steps we take to the bus stop and home again presumably to co-ordinate buses with personalised advertising plastered on the side to shadow us all the way there.

They then criticise the hypothetical unforseen implications of Google storing said information. Whilst already charging they don't believe Google's promise (not that he's bitter that they probably turned him down for a job or anything) that they are not, with a pinch of salt for, wait for it, police or anti-terrorist use. OH NO! The use of mobile phones tracking has been used in a number of high profile cases to track criminals movements without which convictions may not have been possible. They are already doing it. This new feature is not a new technology. It's been out there for quite some time and I'm sure the eminent Dr. “computer expert” is hip on this.

Next comes my favourite bit, the real fear whoring that we see plastered in the media whenever they want to sell some smut. Paedo Bear!

But the technology has raised concerns that people will be able to spy on their partners from home – and fears that it could potentially place children at risk from paedophiles.

And further:

The software, which is free to use in the 27 countries where it has been launched, has also caused concern for child welfare organisations.

Nikki Kerr, projects manager at Kidscape, said: "It is a concern that children are posting precisely where they are. There is the danger that they don't realise what is out there." (Yeah a dodgy organisation called Kidscape. Is that not a perfect name for a dungeon for kiddies or should it be "kids-no-scape!")

First off in nearly all cases, children are abused by people that are close to them, mostly a family member, after that maybe a bent priest or a twisted little grade school teacher. The Paedo has become the new dark stranger in the quet little western town. The long haired freak masterbating furiously over the internet and stalking 6 years olds on their blackberries, skulking around town with their apple wi-fi making little beep beep noises as they creep closer and closer. Lets cut this scaremongering horseshit out right now. Parents these days are afraid to let their kids out the door in fear of the faceless stranger and meanwhile little Susie is getting groped upstairs by a brother or grandparent. I'm not going to roll out statistics but have a look, it's shocking. The most high profile abuse case in Ireland happened where a mother abused her children to almost universal silence from child protection groups who were to busy villifying nameless ghosts outside the door.

The central non bullshit argument comes from a Mr. Scott. (in Scotland! I'm having fun with these names today)

John Scott, a lawyer who specialises in human rights cases, said: "There are privacy implications that should be looked at and the question that should be asked is not can we do it but should we be doing it?"

Right on Scotty now get those engines going!. Privacy. I for one don't want my significant other, or ex significant other knowing when I am on the can and just how long I am staying there.

But the answer to that comes in a succient little reply from Google's spokesperson:

A spokesman for Google last night responded to security concerns by pointing out that users need to turn on the tracking software and can choose who is able to view their location.

That's right geeks, turn the motherfucker off or stop inviting strangers you just met at paedofriends.com as your viewing partners. Unfortunately for us here in Ireland the technology is not yet available, or Scotland for that matter. Guess we won't have to lock the kids up just yet.

Something's rotten in the State of Dem-Lark!

Hmmm A Mortgage you say? I don't see why not

I spotted this in a paper the other day. Some clever gimp had written in,

“Owners of capital will stimulate the working class to buy more and more of expensive goods, houses and technology, pushing them to take more and more expensive credits, until their debt becomes unbearable. The unpaid debt will lead to bankruptcy of banks, which will have to be nationalised, and the State will have to take the road which will eventually lead to communism”

Sound familiar? You’ve probably had it fired across to you by a co-worker recently. It’s attributed to Karl Marx and “Das Kapital”. Except it’s not. It’s bullshit. You don’t believe me? Look it up clever gimps.

It seems there’s a lot of bullshit going around the last few years. The bankers have been sitting on their gold plated toilets pulling off reams of quilted soft toilet paper with pictures of little puppies and young professional couples queuing for mortgages on them. The toilet paper in case you missed it was freely available loan capital from the European and World banks. Except the toilet paper has run out and the place is really starting to stink.

I’m sorry if my terminology upsets those with gentle constitutions but there is nothing more terrifying that discovering there is no bog roll left, especially when you’ve just dropped a whopper and oh boy have they dropped a big whopper. Developers like Sean Dunne paid €50 million an acre, (€379 million overall) for a site in Ballsbridge with an audacious and ostentatious development in full and calculated contravention of the city development plan. Dublin city council approved the majority of it, out of concern for the welfare of the residents apparently, who naturally were up in arms about the whole thing. I’m not saying hands were greased but I’m sure a few councillors got a nice Christmas hamper that year. Investigations are on-going but the last time we investigated this sort of thing a number of Senior and Junior Council were able to retire to holiday homes in Dubai on their profits and no-one got prosecuted. God save us from these investigations which seem to be more corrupt than the spoofy little bastards they are investigating. An Bord Pleanala has recently rightly overturned this decision. The only oasis of government that has followed procedure and Sean’s left shovelling. More stink. The last ten years of corrupt, ahem, careful planning that have led to thousands of apartments being built without a thought to ancillary developments. Hundreds of houses without proper access roads or footpaths not to mind a local shop, left poor Sean and others thinking this is how development was done in our crazy little country. One wonders what is to happen to these utopian residential concentrations once the kids start turning thirteen and start looking for something to do without any facilities within any commutable distance.

I’m not going into the cause of the property bubble and the banks whoring money to us for “expensive new train tracks, ching ching” because it doesn’t matter now and the end result is when they stop making it, we do too. The past is the stinking past and we all have to clean up the mess left behind. The Government has sought to flush the toilet by shoring up the developers plaything, Anglo Irish bank. Anglo Irish Bank was founded in 1964. Its €72 billion loan book is extended mainly to builders and property developers. That €72 billion, as we all know is about as sound as the tooth fairy as in, in theory you can ask for the money but don’t be surprised if it’s not under your pillow in the morning. Anglo Irish was run by a delightful little man named Sean Fitzpatrick. Sean gave a lovely little speech in October 2008 in which he urged the government to cut spending on what he called the “sacred cows” of Irish society, namely the children, the ederly and healthcare. Sean sounds like a true socialist who undoubtedly has read Das Kapital cover to cover. In the meantime it transpires Sean had been fiddling the book at Anglo concealing hundreds of millions in personal loans to himself and his fellow directors in a devious little exercise known as “teaming and lading” which involves whipping the money around in various accounts to conceal the loans. In his case these loans were comfortably hidden away within the folds of Irish Nationwide towards the end of each fiscal year when the auditors arrived and cosily put back once they had departed. This is the bank you’ll remember that had to issue an apology as inappropriate comments by the CEO’s son, Michael Fingleton, who used the governments deposit guarantee as an advertisement urging UK investors to deposit their cash in Nationwide on foot of these guarantees. When charged about the collapse of the bank’s loan book back in October for being reckless and having the taxpayer interject Sean cited global forces and refused to apologise for extending farcical sums and failing to exercise fiscal responsibility.

The cause of our problem was global, so I can't say 'sorry' with any kind of sincerity he said

With light of recent development and his own personal finances they might have well asked the leaders of Hamas to a bar mitzvah. When the scandals were uncovered Sean stepped down and slunk away into the night oozing a train of slime, and the financial regulator, Patrick Neary, behind him who looked like he’d been trapped in an Austrian dungeon for the past ten years engaging in some S&M with some big-wigs from Formula one. In reality, the financial regulatory had uncovered the loans when it was poking around in the loan book of Irish Nationwide. It is still being investigated whether Fitzpatrick’s actions broke the law. Generally loans to directors are prohibited by the Companies Acts unless loans are given in the ordinary course of business of the banks. One wonders if the ordinary course of business of Anglo was to give millions of unsecured loans to unscrupulous individuals. A quick examination of the loan book shows it probably is.

A new chairman, Donal O’Connor has been parachuted in, a few heads rolled and then the government stepped in to pass the Anglo Irish Bank Corporation Bill 2009 which passed through the Senate without vote or debate. Minister Lenihan stated that "clear blue water" had been inserted between the old and new versions of Anglo and defended the nationalisation by saying that if the government were to let the bank fail it would be saying to Ireland and other economies that the country was "closed for business". One shudders to think just what “business” we are open for. Apart from this obvious rhetoric any sane person has to examine just what the hell was the government’s logic for hocking the taxpayer and probably all the way down to our grandchildren. Personally I’ll follow Sherlock Holmes on this one, once you have discounted the impossible, whatever’s left, no matter how illogical must be true. We know that Anglo’s loan book is, for all practical purposes worthless. It may have secured loans but it cannot call in those loans as in reality there is nothing to call in. Anglo does no dabble in the two up, two down domestic mortgage markets. Therefore if it went to the wall it’s not the ordinary working people that would stand to lose. It is impossible that the Governments logic was to save the ordinary working folk from financial ruin and the workhouse. What’s left is a conscious decision from Ireland’s elite political class to save Ireland’s elite financial class although elite is being overgenerous in both cases. What we are bailing our are land speculators and greed merchants. Builders who passed Go, collected two hundred dollars and landed on the go directly to financial Jail space but have played their get out of jail free card that was promised over €400 a plate dinners in those crisp white tents at the Galway races when the boom was on and there was enough gout to go around.

Normally this probably wouldn’t bother the rest of us. What’s new I hear you cry, politics, business and corruption is as old as Rome itself. It’s human nature, and a lot of us would probably think that we don’t want to change the system we just want to be the beneficiaries of this corruption. Think of the simple pleasure of blagging the VIP area in a top club or event and pumping down tarts and torts for free! Now multiply that feeling for an unfettered gravy train for years. Ask that other little prick at FAS, Rody Malloy, a career civil servant ( there’s a hypocrisy just who is he serving?) who went on the airways to inform us all he was “entitled” to travel first class and bring his wife along too. For whom hundreds on movies and beauty treatments were “chickenfeed” in the scheme of the trip and you get some idea of the culture at the top. What’s wrong is that our little economic island is adrift in the global economic sea and we’re all rowing in different directions. The politicians who have had nothing to do for ten years only take credit have suddenly sought to stem the tide by taking a leaden institution like Anglo and wrapping it in gold foil and pretending that it’s good currency. It’s not. What’s wrong is loading the public finances with the developer’s debts and then watch them descend like vultures on Anglo to withdraw their funds. What’s wrong is cutting teachers and increasing class sizes, scaling back on essential public services like Dublin Bus. What’s wrong is robbing the three sacred cows on the advice of a black hearted bastard like Sean Fitzpatrick. You get the idea. What we need is some independent leadership in this country but it’s quite easy to know what you are against and another to know exactly what you are for. One thing is certain though:

This flushing exercise will not take away the stench.

©Setanta Landers 2009