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 Hi Honey,
As you are aware I have worked every day for the past 44 years, contributing my fair share to the wasted finances of this State. During those 44 years, I have never once obtained a solitary Social Welfare payment. My employers have always, over the years, “Stamped Me Card,” Deducted Me Taxes, Me PRSI and Me USC Contributions, none of which have as yet offered any benefit to either me or my family. Not so much as a false tooth, a pair of glasses, a confirmation dress or a €60 to neuter me dog, have I ever received.
I learn from media reports that you now intend to crackdown on dole claimants, those little beggars who do not turn up for FAS interviews. This new get-tough move, I understand, is part of a deal with our new masters from outer space “The Troika,” latter who recently landed and now currently govern this country, and all aimed at getting unemployed people back to work, in a State where work is no longer available.
Do remember however, one occupational group should be exempt from FAS training. Those of whom I speak would be our fine body of garbage collectors. Those employed in this worthy highly paid occupation “just pick it up as they go along,” so training is not necessary.
I understand new figures released by the Department of Social Protection have revealed a dramatic increase in the number of people reporting suspected Social Welfare fraud. This number of ‘Squealers,’ have jumped from 6,500 in 2009 to nearly 17,000 in 2011. Well when you are an out of work civil servant, a sacked banker or a failed developer, the site of anyone getting €140 every week for nothing, would make you roll up the window of your BMW, take your Blackberry out and begin secretly texting the authorities.
Your department has made savings of €645m through fraud prevention and control measures in 2011, well in excess of its €540m target. Over 30,000 fraud investigations were completed and 750 employer inspections undertaken. Your findings however, will see only 270 cases considered for prosecution under the Social Welfare Act, while only 174 cases have been referred to gardaí for criminal prosecution.
Here in Tipperary, we have quite a few individuals unemployed, who take money from the State and who to-date have escaped your sweeping investigations. I feel it is my civic duty to report the names of these individuals, so that they can be included in your new legislation which will enable Social Welfare officials to investigate their suspected fraud and present findings directly to the Director for Public Prosecutions.
However, before I “name and shame,” causing you to rush out to interview those I blow the whistle on, allow me to congratulate you personally on the excellent work undertaken by your hitherto unprofessional lazy department, who allowed all this fraud to take place in the first instant.
Now Joan, am I correct in understanding that ‘Unemployed,‘ means, ‘Not working, and not actively looking for work.’ Am I also correct in understanding that the politically incorrect phrase ‘Unskilled Workforce,’ means ‘A segment of our work force associated with a low level of skill or of limited economic value for the work that they currently perform.’
Trusting that you and I now agree on the above definitions, I wish to report 3 individuals worthy of immediate investigation by your department, who currently, secretly carry on the trade of “Politician, ” and whose names are as follows:-
Continue reading Private Letter To Joan Burton
 Watching television commercials recently (I lead a sad life) I realise that even the quality of Irish made advertising has gone to the dogs.
Take the case of one of our Irish Telephone Companies, which tells us that over 60,000 customers have come back to them over the past year. Why did they leave in the first place, I ask, was their service over priced and offering very poor customer service I wonder?
Then there is the Public Health Information Advert which invites us all to dial 999 if we are suffering from a heart attack. I would have assumed that this kind of information was already common knowledge, however this TV advert now begs the question, were people phoning their local undertaker, in an effort to cut out the middle man. Perhaps it is aimed at Thurles residents, who because of the long distance over potholed surfaces, are now deciding their journey to Limerick hospital would be a waste of time.
Another advert selling a brand of liquid Disinfectant Hand Wash, which claims to kill 99% of all known germs, has introduced a new automatic liquid disperser. It’s to stop you from picking up germs from handling the outer surface of their container. Hello! does the liquid we access within, not claim to kill 99% of germs or are they suggesting that their product is not possibly as deadly to nasty bacteria, as previously believed?
Well, let’s face it, commercial advertising has got to really catch the eye of the consumer. So my friend Michael and myself have come up with a possible scenario, that we believe might offer help to Greengrocers, who feel the need to promote their dwindling sales of garden fresh vegetables. Our Advert would run something like this, so bear with us as we extol our “Story Board,” for the benefit of any viewing, interested marketing executives.
Imagine the following scenario, in your mind’s eye, flashing on your TV screens.
“Tired of constantly being lectured over his womanising, his drinking and being faced with an unhappy relationship, husband Tom decides to solve, once and for all , his marital problems. He first takes out a large insurance policy, €500,000 to be exact, on his wife, naming himself as the sole beneficiary. Then having made discreet enquiries, Tom, courtesy of a very loyal friend, gets the name of a professional experienced “Hit Man.”
Tom arranges a meeting with this underworld figure, named “Artie,” and explains he wants his wife ‘snuffed.’ Artie quietly explains to Tom that the going price for a hit on a spouse on today’s market is €5,000.
Tom agreed to the prices and even adds a bonus, but explains that he wouldn’t have any cash on hand until he could collect on his wife’s insurance money. Artie insists on being paid at least something up front, so Tom opens his wallet, displaying only one single €1.00 coin. As you can imagine Artie is not too happy, but with unemployment in this country as it stands and no other job on that weekend, he reluctantly agrees to accept the €1.00 as a down payment.
A few days later, Artie begins following Tom’s wife, learning her everyday habits. He discovers that everyday, without fail, she goes browsing for vegetables to a local greengrocers. Artie decides this is the best place to strike, as the shelving used offers good cover from the rest of the shop. The following day he is waiting and surprises her as she tests the firmness of bright red tomatoes on offer. Using gloved hands, Archie proceeds to strangle her and as the poor unsuspecting wife draws her last breath, the manager of the store stumbles unexpectedly on his murder scene.
Artie is leaving no living witnesses behind. He has no choice but to strangle the fresh produce Manager. Unknown to Artie, the entire proceedings are being captured by a hidden security camera and are also being observed by the store’s security guard, who immediately calls the police. Artie is arrested as he attempts to exit the Greengrocers. Now under intense questioning in the police station, he reveals the full details of the whole sordid plan, including his unusual financial arrangements with Tom.
Now comes our sales pitch; The following day a man is observed reading the bold headlines of a newspaper:- ARTIE CHOKES TWO FOR JUST €1.00 AT LOCAL GREENGROCERS.”
Now if that wouldn’t boost the sales of fresh Thurles Artichokes, kindly tell me what would?
 The old terraced house, situated at Number 1922, Liberty Square, Thurles, had been up for sale for years. The delay in its sale attributed to the lull brought about by the bursting of the Irish housing bubble. This latter caused by greedy people, urged on by greedy bankers, builders and politicians who spent far too much time at the Galway races. This has since been confirmed to me on the phone just last night by my friend Enda, currently holidaying in Davos.
To be honest, the original valuation of €2.5 million placed on the property, had been suggested by the auctioneer and not the vendor. The auctioneer had this gut feeling that one of our now rarely seen elected representatives might know someone who would view this property as a suitable site for a waste recycling centre or even a Casino. After all it stood in a fine central residential location, with easy access to supermarkets, chip shops and betting offices.
However, regrettably for all concerned, genuine interest was slow to materialise and the vendors eventually let the property go on the market for its true but disappointingly low value of €90,000. But then as my friend Wayne knowingly said to me later, “Sure you couldn’t bury the wife at night in the back garden of that property, without half the town gawking at you.”
The first inkling that the property was sold actually came via Wayne’s wife, Imelda May, latter who suffers from a slight speech impediment, easily recognised by the fact that every now and then she stops talking long enough to catch her breath. Imelda, I should add, never misses a trick, squinting as she does, from behind that off-white net curtain, covering her front window. It was she who first spotted the large removal van parked outside, with men busy carrying inwards, the usual ordinary everyday household goods required to set up a loving, caring, close knit family unit, in a modern Irish State like ours. You know the things I mean; Versailles Silver Side Cabinets, Corona Computer Desk, Nevada Pine Bedroom Furniture, St Austell chairs, a Lille Oak table, and enough hydroponic equipment to grow your own personal supply of marijuana.
Wishing to know more about her new neighbours, Imelda suggested to Wayne, that perhaps it would be seen as a neighbourly gesture, for them to introduce themselves and welcome the new residents. This suggestion was repeated by her for several days, until Wayne, now resigned to the fact that if his marriage was made in heaven, then it was quite obvious that someone up there didn’t like him, agreed. So true to form our Imelda, followed reluctantly by Wayne, marched across the road a few days later, rapping loudly on a paint cracked front door. Eventually the door opened slightly, offering a limited close-up view of the new residents.
Continue reading Two Burst Bubbles
 The Irish Courts Service have brokered a deal with local Ballina, Co Tipperary publican, Mr Michael O’Donovan, to use his licenced hostelry as a Courthouse, with Judge Aeneas McCarthy presiding, looking down upon gardaí, solicitors, court users and criminals from his raised platform stage, normally the preserve of performers John Spillane, Mary Coughlan etc and the other bands who regularly perform at O’Donovans Bar.
Beneath disco lights, (switched off I hasten to add when the court is in session) in full view of favoured tipple labels Heineken, Guinness and Carlsberg, not to mention bottles of gin, vodka etc, now dispensers of this country’s justice sit in true American Wild West historical Saloon fashion, and will continue to do so for a trial period over the next three months. I should point out that the bar is not open during these court sessions.
This new venue brings an ends to the 64 mile round trip to Ennis, that court officials and criminals have been forced to take since September, when court sittings were suspended with the Kincora Hotel going into receivership.
Main reasons given for choosing this new venue was the difficulty experienced by criminals not being able to get to Ennis Court because of a lack of direct public transport. No doubt the Health Service Executive will now be organising a similar setup for Diabetes sufferers and those who need weekly Kidney Dialysis in Limerick hospital and who must drive a 96 mile round trip just to stay alive.
Alan Shatter TD, Minister for Justice, Equality and Defence, was not on hand to officially open this new venue.
Me, well I blame this rather unusual court setting now forced on us here in Tipperary, on Angela Dorothea Merkel, Chancellor of Germany and the current state of the Euro.
In fact a middle aged male German tourist recently, on his first visit here to Tipperary, recently confided in me, the following story.
According to him he had visited one of our houses of “ill repute.” (No, before you ask, I didn’t get an address or a mobile telephone number.) The lady in charge asked him to be seated and sends over a young lady to entertain him. They sat and talked, frolicked a little and drunk a bit. He whispered a request in her ear and she gasped and runs away, screaming “No I will not.”
Seeing this, the lady in charge quickly sent over a more experienced lady to further entertain the gentleman. They also again sat together and talked, frolicked a little, laughed a lot, drunk a bit. He again whispered into her ear, and she also screamed, “No never in a month of Sundays.” and quickly left the scene.
The madam naturally was very surprised that this ordinary, good looking man was asking for something so outrageous, that her two most experienced girls refused to have anything to do with him. So, intrigued, having never seen anything like this in all her years of operating her business, she decided to find out what this man wanted that had made her girls so angry and uncooperative.
She approaches her unsatisfied tourist customer, sits and talks with him. They frolic, they giggle, they drink and then she sits on his lap. My tourist friend leans forwards and whispers in her ear, “Can I pay you in Euro?”
Still, in the words of Eamon de Valera: “When we have done our best, we can, as a united people, take whatever may befall, with calm courage and confidence that this old nation will survive and if death should come to many of us, death is not the end.”
Yea, listen I will leave the above text to each of you, our discerning readers, to decide which is the biggest joke.
Not a lot of children know this and now with all these increased class sizes in our schools, even less will be aware, but trust me when I tell you that a custom now carried on in almost every country in the world, each and every Christmas for generations, actually began here in Thurles.
 As you are all aware and for reasons we will discuss very soon, Thurles, as a town, has never been able to attract any great industry in the past, despite our very high unemployment.
You will all remember the recent closing of our Sugar Factory and Erin Foods etc, etc, etc. However, what most of you forget is that Santa Claus, once upon a time, ran a very successful Toy Manufacturing plant here, up until about 1846, employing mainly local Elves.
Due to the loss of the potato crop during the Great Famine period 1846- 1849, Santa decided, like Dell & Talk Talk, to close up shop and moved his large operation, to where he could get other stupid unemployed elves to work for little or half nothing. The local unemployed elves, I understand, were later given employment in local government posts. Santa’s sudden departure, of course, was then further encouraged by huge grant aiding, not to mention low Corporate Taxes, then available at the North Pole. Still enough about that nonsense.
The story goes that one day, while still operating his Toy Factory situated here in the Cabragh Industrial Estate, four of Santa’s local elves got sick. The trainee elves, who had been employed through JobBridge, the then National Internship Scheme, did not produce toys nearly as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel, as one would, real pre – Christmas pressure.
To add insult to injury, that same week Santa’s wife, Mrs Claus, told Santa that she had invited her mother to stay for Christmas, and as Santa said at the time, it wasn’t that she was ugly, but he did see her use her bottom lip once or twice as a shower cap.
Anyway, if this news wasn’t bad enough, when he went to harness up the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others, including Rudolph, had jumped the perimeter fence and were out carousing on the Wetlands and only God knew where. (Well, lets call a spade a spade, he didn’t get that red nose in a fist fight, if you take my meaning.)
Then when Santa began to load his sleigh, several of the floorboards cracked, the toy bags fell to the ground and all the contents became scattered, with some even broken.
Totally frustrated, Santa went in the house in search of a large Guinness and a shot of Poitin, or was it the other way around. For our non Irish readers, Poitin is a beverage traditionally distilled from malted barley grain or potatoes, and is one of the strongest alcoholic beverages in the world. For centuries it has been illegally distilled here in Thurles, hence no tax on alcohol in our recent budget. (Our Irish Department of Finance are no ordinary idiots. Drink is one thing but the illegal importation of fags is another story altogether, hence the .25 cents.)
When he got to the cupboard, Santa discovered the elves had drunk all the Guinness and hidden the Poitin. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped his favourite drinking jug, breaking it into a thousand pieces all over his new flat pack kitchen floor.
Intent on cleaning up before the mother-in-law arrived he headed for the broom closet, to discover that a plague of mice had eaten all the straw off the end of his broom, which he had only purchased in Roache’s shop, Liberty Square the previous week.
Just then the doorbell rang, and an very annoyed and irritated Santa marched out to answer the door bell. Yanking it open, he found, stood there, a beautiful little winged angel, dressed in white, with a great big magnificently decorated Christmas tree.
The angel smiled sweetly (as angels do you understand) at our Santa Claus and with a cheerful voice said, “Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn’t this a lovely day? I have a beautiful Christmas tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?”
And so began the age old tradition of a little white angel sitting on top of our Christmas trees, and it all began here in Thurles, Co Tipperary, Ireland.
By the way kids, we in Thurles are still patiently waiting for IDA Ireland to give us that replacement factory, promised in the elections of 1847.
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