In case you were wondering what the Red Mist looked like, Voilà

Brian Lenihan has cancer. That's bad. But what's also bad are the effects of the budget he instigated, many of which kicked in over the past few days. Now, if you're like me, you live in Ireland, and if you're in Ireland you are in the Land of The Insincere. You see, if someone an Irish person hates, someone who literally did a shit on your mum, got ill or died, you'd still go to the funeral, and you'd stand there with the other people whose mums were collectively shat upon and you'd say something like, "God, isn't it a terrible, terrible thing, a terrible, terrible thing. Sure, wasn't he a great fella, a true poet and a gentle hand to all that passed. He was never wanting for a friend and many are those who missed his kind face and gentle way. Once, didn't he extract a single fathead fish, the ugliest fish known to man, from a plastic sixpack binding? He did, and I said, fair play to him. T'was a rare creature that didn't lie on its back at night, moaning his name" or something. And I hate it. Charlie Haughty, that was a good one. A quarter of a million people watched his funeral on tv, despite the fact that he spent the last decade of his life being unfurled as an increasingly evil, dirty political bastard who (allegedly) had opponents and people he didn't like much murdered by the IRA. But, then again, he did die, and isn't that a terrible, terrible thing? He could have been Pope, Ted.

Nobody would wish cancer on somebody, and if they did and that person did get cancer, the wishmaker person would probably be all like, "Holy fuck". I've had 3 grandparents and 1 uncle die from cancer. For Lenihan to think he can continue in office fighting the condition is, simply, selfish and misguided. What Ireland needs is a man or woman to step up and fill his role, in Lenihan's interest as well as our own. The reality is that the stress of his political position is a contributing factor to the onset of the disease. In all our interests, get out of office and get well soon.

The outpouring of emoticons in the press is making me feel a little ill myself. Some moron on the radio called him a hero. A. Hero. A hero. A hero. A hero? What? He drew up a budget that offered no incentive to start the economy, butchered the pubic sector, and then went after the elderly, the sick, the blind, the young unemployed and mothers. Then he got ill. An ill butcher is still a butcher. He's not Lance Armstrong or Neil Armstrong or even Louis Armstrong. In the barber's, the tabloid that does the soccer news (I didn't bother learning its name) had the secondary headline, "'I'll defeat it or it'll defeat me', declares defiant Brian". Obviously the guy writing the headline only read as far as "or". Either that or he found a new use for the word "defiant". Maybe that makes the writer a hero too.

Anyway, I took my diseased kidneys to the bank today, and got a surprise. Under the old scheme, I received a whopping €53.30 in social welfare, for the privilege of living no life in a country that has failed me and my master's degree totally. The budget stated a decrease of 3.5% -4.2%. So I went in and received €45. For about 0.1 of a second, the red mist threatened to descend. This has already got me black-listed from one country. But then I realised I wasn't that surprised. For the record, and I want all of this on the record, €8.30 is the amount I was decreased. That's not 3.5% to 4.2%. It's not even 10%. It's a staggering 15%.

After I staggered home, I took a closer look at my docket and my options. I realised what the bastards had done. I am not entitled to the full rate of receipt based on a scheme of "means testing". This implies that payment should be made based on what my single-income family earns gross, not net. Gross pay for my father is obviously relatively high, but net is a whole other story. As a civil servant, he is taxed at a higher rate than anyone else in the same private sector earnings bracket. So because he pays for Blackie and Tatiana's scotch (and if the smell and vernacular of the Laois social welfare office is anything to go by that's not nearly as racist as it sounds), he's expected to fork out more money on top of that for me to live a semblance of life, filled with empty sadness. That's quite simply retarded, Mr. President.

So what happened was, some four-eyes with a calculator tabbed up the means and decided that because I live at home and have excellent prospects (no kidding), he concluded that my "means" tabulated to €151 per week. This ostensibly amounts to the money my parents spend on food, housing and clothing so that I don't have to. Now, I'm not going hungry, but I don't fucking want to live at home, and I have literally bought 1 jumper since I finished college. It's very hard to have a life on €53.30 per week. Let's see how €45 works out. And here's where the ridiculous becomes red-mistifiying: The original €53.30 was found by taking €151 from the old basic social payment of €204.30. The new figure of €45 is found by taking €151 from the new basic payment of €196. Did that click? €196 is a 4.2% reduction of €204. So if you were entitled to the highest payment, you lost 4.2%. As the payment goes down the scale, the percentage you have taken from your despairing hands increases, until you've lost 15% or more, or what little they debased themselves to offer.

So what can I do about it? Because I don't know enough French people, I can't have a riot, which is the first thing I would have liked to do (last August). The Irish people are such a bunch of stupid pricks they can't stir themselves enough to act on the talk going on in every meeting point in the country. Stop talking about and just do something, for Jesus' sake. So no. So I rang the council and asked if I could be reassessed since my father's wages are being cut by what the medical profession terms "a fortune", but [alarm bells ring] I'd have to send a whole load of forms and stuff to somewhere in Dublin for that, where, presumably, the most foureyed of them all sit in a darkened room with the largest possible calculators, and a simple mantra of "not a penny more". That's what happened when I tried to get a medical card. Oh, yeah, did I mention that every month I have to buy medication totalling €120? That's almost 3 weeks payments. Brian, why do you want me to die?

So here is how to fix the government's woes. I personally guaran-goddamn-tee that the Irish population would be so in favour of this that they'll call Brian Lenihan a hero. And it's based on your idiotic notion of sliding scale/increasing reductions.

First, consider this: why do government ministers and affiliates, like, you know, their wives, get all expenses paid? Ministers earn €191,417 per year. I won't offend you, my readers by offering what our Taoiseach earns (you'll break your jaw on the floor). If you earn €191,417, why do you get your expenses paid? You can afford things people only dream about and yet you don't have to ever spend. Don't you feel left out? All that lovely stuff and some other gentlemen and women paying for it all. Imagine that. You earn all that pretty money and must have nothing to spend it on. So why don't the expenses count against the salary? You could consider your salary your "means", because that's what they are, and when you have all that delicious money, you can use it to pay your mortgage, your petrol, hotel rooms, limos, secretaries, pens, all that crazy stuff. You can even pay for your kid's stuff since you love that shit so much! So we could take that out of your payments, and leave you with the remainder to take home. The more expenses you claim, the less you keep. For those of you who have expenses totalling more than your salary, first of all: how do you sleep at night? Secondly, fuck you. Thirdly, you should have to pay it all back, every last penny while I personally beat you about the face. I should threaten to break your legs, and, to show you that I'm serious, I'll break both your arms right now for a mere €45. Tighten your belts. Be smart with your money. Isn't that what the people, the people who believed your lies and put you where you are, are being told? Well hold up whey-face, I'm calling the bear and we're going to take all your honey, honey. The decadence is over, ladies and gentlemen; ladies and gentlemen, let's get decadent.

Only it's not, is it. Politics used to mean something. Great men would work for free to serve the community and its people. Gladstone. Pierce. Parnell. But now? I'm never going to vote again in my life. We won't be naming any streets after Lenihan or his greedy freeloading thieves, no matter what they eventually die of.