“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.”
Animal Farm, George Orwell
We are led by the least among us – the least intelligent, the least noble, the least visionary. We are led by the least among us and we do not fight back against the dehumanizing values that are handed down as control icons.”
Terence McKenna
There was outrage expressed from Wicklow County Council patricians this week regarding how a simple Freedom of Information request divulged far more than usual about how our humble servants of the public are living like modern-day pharaohs during a domestic cost-of-living crisis. With the patriarchy officially smashed at precisely 3.14pm on Nov. 22nd, 2016, the innocent taxpayer plebs correctly expected our now hierarchically gender-quotad dear leaders to banish the historically and uniquely male FAI-esque behaviours of the old boys’ network of local government to their Neanderthal dustbin of history.
Unfortunately, this fantasy was indeed obliterated this week with news that the Pankhurstian suffragettes of the female-led Wicklow County Council have merely picked up the gilded and diamond-encrusted baton from their boorish male pig predecessors in getting their greedy snouts into the bottomless public trough too. Who run the world? Girls! Your humble narrator was granted exclusive reporting access on the specially chartered Gulfstream jet spiriting our administrative gods stateside whilst kissing the clouds where they rightfully belong.
“Like the British absentee landlord of old, we are very busy promoting tourism abroad 3,000 miles away whilst running your local town into the ground back home. Since 1981, Arklow has been proudly twinned with the South Bronx, sharing a rich history of mass unemployment, crime and drugs, so it is only right and proper we continue to share this strong bond of social degeneracy and astounding local government ineptitude,” barked an unrepentant council Boss Bitch, Ce O’Patra.
“I resoundingly refute this claim that we were swanning around Manhattan like Sex and the City on the taxpayers’ dime or something. Does King Charles slum it in hostels for fuck’s sake when he represents his fiefdom abroad? We are proud ambassadors for Ireland and women everywhere fighting male oppression, and what better way to do this than flying over 3,000 miles to legitimise a rapist, Epstein-file paedophile ‘grab ’em by the pussy’ U.S. President and all the while suffering through these civic duties in €633.63 a night hotels. I could have stayed in The Mark Hotel penthouse suite at 75k a night so I think I still represent excellent value to the Wicklow taxpayer! It’s not like we are FÁS or the KWETB, for fuck’s sake!” barked O’Patra whilst being hand-fed a bunch of moist and plump grapes.
“As a modern Wicklonian woman, we have had to endure so much like constant fear of being sold into sex slavery to the savage tribes of Rathdrum and mountain men of Ballycoog, random symphysiotomies, ovarian cancer, breast cancer, a return of the Mother and Baby homes, the Magdalene Laundries and Tinder dick pics. We won’t sit at the back of the private jet any longer! Besides, I’ve already instructed the council comms team to announce a smoke-and-mirrors library in fuckin’ Aughrim so this debacle is already yesterday’s fish-and-sanitary-towel paper.”
Not everyone was contented with this newfound egalitarianism rippling through the corridors of power though, with Councillor Fitzbollocks being relegated to economy class to make way for ‘Girl Power’:
“For fuck’s sake like, I’m all for women’s lib but not when ya have peak Roy Keane of Arklow Municipal District like meself stuck back here with the scum and zero leg room. Like, what the fuck is the point of the gravy train at all, at all when this is it?”
Amongst all this gut-wrenching human-rights abuse and political persecution of our dear leaders, your humble narrator noticed a shackled and orange-jumpsuited young man sobbing at the back of the plane. A well-thumbed copy of A Tale of Two Cities lay amongst his miniature beer-can-littered flip-down table as he informed me that, as part of the aforementioned special twinning relationship between Arklow and the South Bronx, he was being deported to the Fort Apache for non-payment of parking fines, with further fines accruing daily as he could not afford to keep his head above water with the latest rent and energy price increases.
“As a member of Generation Shafted and, by accident of birth, politically and professionally unconnected back home, I’m to be handed over to an ICE detention centre for torture and summary execution upon arrival,” sobbed the condemned man, who shall remain anonymous.
By now, an already visibly inebriated and farting-like-a-prize-heifer Ce O’Patra brusquely interjected in this poor soul’s nadir of grief by stating:
“Well how else are we going to pay for this jolly-up ya whining cunt? I bet ya you were one of those fuckin’ wanker fuel protestors. Just be grateful we saved the council a few quid by allowing you over on our flight in the first place!” cackled the callous pharaoh.
“In fact, Fitzbollocks, get him out of my sight right now!”
The once-proud leader of Arklow council begrudgingly did what he was told as he Hail Mary’d the prisoner overboard, disappearing into the Atlantic Ocean until the same proportion as a pearl of Ce O’Patra’s freshly arrived Beluga caviar.
“It’s not my fault, this is just the new world order now,” Fitzbollocks wistfully muttered whilst blessing himself during a robotic incantation of Our Father.
We live under a species of corporate colonialism. The engines of white supremacy, which constructed the forms of institutional and economic racism that keep the poor poor, are obscured behind attractive political personalities […] These faces of diversity are vetted and selected by the ruling class […] This game disguises their passivity in the face of corporate abuse, neoliberalism […] They do not confront the institutions that orchestrate social and economic injustice. They seek to make the ruling class more palatable.
Woke Imperialism, Chris Hedges
