For a brief period, blogger Hugh Green had some fun with his suggestion of mandatory clown suits for social welfare recipients. Resentment towards welfare recipients would diminish since everyone loved looking at clowns, he suggested. Benefit recipients would feel happier knowing that they were cheering up others, and tourism would receive a major boost with happy clowns on every corner. “Great idea, I love it,” commented someone with the suspicious user name of “Brian Cowen”. However, not everyone enjoyed the joke and the entry could not be found on the site earlier this week.
I was watching the Late Late the other night. Struggling to wrest free of the Montrose-forged manacles of polite backslapping, national lion of Eurovision victory Johnny Logan raised his silver mane briefly in resistance against the faceless elites who run this place. Whereas the Scandinavian people had gone gaga in platinum for his open-shirted, open-hearted croon, back in Ireland the people were getting handed the likes of Dustin the Turkey, cooked up in the corridors of broadcasting power.
Johnny, I hardly knew ye. But I know ye now. I know now how these people operate, the way they murder inspiring ideas as they smile, slinging them up on the cold marble slab of death.
Well, up yours with your country, Martin McAleese, and up yours with your call, Daithi Ó Sé. I’m going to pull together a coalition of real movers and shakers to get this clown show on the road. The likes of me, Johnny Logan, and maybe even Tony Quinn. We are as mad as hell, and we’re not going to take it any more.