CRECHE
AND BURN
Everyone is talking about Prime
Time's investigation so I feel duty bound to join in. Just one
problem though, I didn't watch the programme. At the time of it's
airing my Twitter feed became inundated with #PT related tweets but I
just shrugged it off and presumed it would be old news by the
morning. However when the story spilled over into the next day and
the following one and the one after that I figured that I should
really sit down and watch the programme. The RTÉ Player was
practically begging for me to watch it. But still I didn't. Because
to be honest I'd heard enough. The second-hand sound bytes and angry
Facebook updates told me all I needed to know.
What I found more interesting was
the debate that followed, and in particular the belief that having
run-for-profit organisations looking after our children was always
going to end in tears (pardon the phrase). In other countries
childcare is run by the state and funded by taxes. Workers in the
sector are remunerated accordingly, unlike in Ireland where some
childminders get little more than the minimum wage. The cost of
running an organisation such as this would undoubtedly be high and
the spike in tax rates would cause yet more consternation among our
already disgruntled population. But if there's one thing we can all
agree on, and subsequently all contribute to, is the well-being of
our children.
READY
FOR THIS JELLY
Men are perverts. We know this you
know this, so what's the problem? We can't help it, we're obsessed.
We are obsessed by the female form and given the chance we would shag
each and every one of ye until our balls ran dry. That's just how we
are. You may look at us in disgust and admonish our fiendish
behaviour but do you think we enjoy being like this? It's not easy
you know, in truth it's something of a burden. All day every day we
see forbidden fruits that we just long to pluck from the tree and
gleefully devour, but we can't. Instead we ogle and leer like the
disgusting little pervs we are. Well most of us do anyway.
It's bad enough seeing fine young
fillies cavorting round our streets in next to nothing, but when a
global superstar starts shaking her rear end right in front of your
face what's a man to do? Why grab a handful of course. Or better
still give it a cheeky slap. Right? But Beyonce didn't see it like
that when an overeager Dane spanked her like the naughty girl she is.
Instead she threatened to have the saucy Scandinavian escorted out of
the gig for his over-zealous behaviour. Any man reading this story
would surely sympathise with the phantom fondler though, put in his
position any one of us would have done the same. It's just a natural
reaction. And anyway Beyonce didn't have him kicked out, and you know
what that means? She enjoyed it. Because she's a pervert too. Just
like all women are. Ye just hide it better.
I'LL
HAVE ERM, THOSE ONES PLEASE
There are certain things in which we
Irish lag way behind; infrastructure, health services, a working
government. But every now and again we found ourselves ahead of the
game, forerunners if you will. Remember the smoking ban? We were the
first country to bring that in and now it's enforced everywhere. Go
on little Ireland leading the way wha? There was plenty of grumbling
at the time but now we're congratulated for our prescience and other,
more, powerful countries have followed our lead. Feels good don't it?
And we're at it again now, not quite first this time around, but not
far off it.
Sadly it's another kick in the
stones for the smokers, but no one smokes any more so who gives a
fuck. But if you happen to wake up one morning and think to yourself
“Hmm I think I'd like to chug on some poisonous fumes and increase
my risk of lung cancer” you're not going to look half as cool as
you'd hoped. Yeah you'll still look like Paul Newman as you lean
against the gazebo wistfully staring at the couple of ould wans
fogging Superkings, but you won't be able to show off your brand any
more. By the start of next year all cigarette packaging will look the
same, so whether you're a Marlboro man, a Rothmans rogue or a John
Players playa it won't matter a jot. You'll just be another smoker,
another feckin' eejit wasting hundreds of Euro on your
life-shortening habit. Who knows maybe this will be the final nail in
the coffin for an industry which has, and continues to, claim
thousands of lives every year.
I'M
NOT RACIST I JUST DON'T LIKE........
Ireland is an incredibly racist
country. You may have a different opinion and you would be entitled
to it, but you'd be wrong. Sure, the more enlightened of us know
better than to judge someone by the colour of their skin but racism
is rife in this country. Why don't we hear more about it then? Simply
because most incidents of racial abuse go unreported. However when
Úna-Minh Kavanagh was racially abused and then assaulted in a busy
Dublin street on Thursday afternoon she felt compelled to speak out.
Ms Kavanagh, who was born in Vietnam but has lived all her life in
Ireland, was attacked by a group of youths who took exception to her
heritage. Her ordeal lasted no more than a matter of seconds but in
that time she was branded a 'chink' and then spat at by these
charming young gents.
In her subsequent interviews she
spoke of the humiliation and degradation she felt at being treated
this way. But she also alluded to a lifetime of racial abuse. And
like it or not this is the norm in Ireland. Some people may attempt
to justify their actions by pointing to those who come to this
country for the sole purpose of availing of our generous welfare
system. But even that is no excuse. Perhaps you could call refugees
in our country disingenuous but who can blame them? The guilt lies in
the hands of a government who were totally unprepared for such an
influx. There is a lot of anger in our country at this moment in
time. We have become embittered by our circumstances. But instead of
lashing out at those different to us we should be taking a closer
look at ourselves. Because ultimately it is we who will determine
whether this country climbs out of the hole it is currently in.
WRONG
PLACE, WRONG TIME
Any time I hear a story concerning
drugs and young people being submitted to hospital I always find
myself more than a little disconcerted. As someone who it's fair to
say dabbled, and in one
instance spent a night under medical supervision, I can empathise
with the two girls who are currently in a Drogheda hospital. The
cause of their visit is as of yet unconfirmed but it is being linked
to a contaminated batch of cannabis in the North-East region.
Toxicology reports may prove otherwise but it appears that the drug
was mixed with a synthetic substance which led to both women falling
seriously ill. We can only hope that they pull through and in the
process refrain from further drug consumption as a result.
In
the immediate aftermath of this story, and I'm talking immediate, a
familiar head popped above the parapet: Luke 'Ming' Flanagan. Anyone
with even a passing interest in politics will recognise that name. Mr
Flanagan's ultimate aim as a TD is to pass the legislation of
cannabis in this country. A noble cause I'm sure you'll agree.
Whether the drug should be legalised or not is a debate for another
day. But what should be debated is why Ming took to the airwaves on
Friday morning. Riding on the coat-tails of these girl's misfortune
he underlined his desire to see the drug decriminalised. He pointed
to the fact that under a regulatory system a disaster like this would
never have occurred. He accused his opposing panelist of dodging the
issue and proceeding to shout down the presenter. He made a complete
idiot of himself. And all the while those two girls lay in intensive
care fighting for their lives. There's
a time and place for such discussions, sadly Mr Flanagan neither
understood, nor seemed to care, about that.
MYLEEN'S
MILK
I
don't really drink milk, I'll have it on my cereal but that's about
it. Which is just as well really because at this rate we won't know
where it's coming from. Cows, goats, dogs, C-list celebrities, who
knows? Myleene Klass, the mildly attractive, former talent show star
turned musical genius believes that her own bosom brew bears
comparison to anything the humble cow could produce. She is so
confident about it's quality that she feeds it to her friends,
whether they like it or not. Hmm, I wouldn't mind getting closer to
Myleene's mammaries, but her milk? Nah you're grand thanks.
Even
more concerning is the notion among some circles that a mother's milk
is a cure for all that ails. This has led to online milk banks where
visitors can order it by the gallon. It is said to help numerous
medical conditions but then again doesn't everything? A couple of
years ago it was Manuka honey, then it was green tea and now it's
milk from another human being. I'm not sure where this is going, but
if anyone thinks I'm donating any of my bodily fluids for some sick
kid with meningitis they can form an orderly queue outside.
Alternatively they could just call round Myleene's, who knows what
she'll give ya.
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