Ex-Anglo chief bids to be made bankrupt in the US

A country to be proud of

He’s been living in Cape Cod,
doubtless made his peace with God,
after driving Ireland to the brink of ruin.
With his anti-Midas touch,
his banking record’s such,
that we can’t fathom all the debt accruin.’

Now a court in Massachusetts,
where a judge of Yankee hue sits,
will hear this banker’s bankruptcy petition.
And sadly, it’s no joke
that this still-quite-wealthy bloke
has made a hefty counter-claim submission.

He says the bank’s an onus
to fork out his pension bonus,
and damages accrued from loss of salary.
How very wise, one might declare,
that he is suing over there,
and not doing it before an Irish gallery.

Furthermore, if he’s successful,
in this case both hard and stressful,
he’ll hang on to his multi-million pension
and his house in Malahide,
and the house he has States-side,
and any others that you care to mention.

Meanwhile, a man whose kid
left a cardboard box and lid
beside the bottle bank in Superquinn,
was sentenced to do time
for this arbitrary crime.
What a marvellous country we are living in!

Cementgate

From RTE -
Truck protest
A 41-year-old man was arrested this morning after a concrete mixer truck was driven up to the gates of Leinster House.
The words 'Anglo Toxic Bank' were displayed on the drum of the truck and a billboard on the back of the truck said 'all politicians should be sacked'.
The truck has since been removed and Kildare Street has fully reopened to traffic.
The operation to clear the entrance was made more difficult because the vehicle's brake lines had been cut, immobilising it.
The man is being questioned at Pearse Street Garda Station on suspicion of causing criminal damage.

Enemy of the state

With concrete truck he blocked the Daíl gate,
a heinous, revolutionary crime
that stopped the lawful business of the state.

Lock him up and leave him to his fate.
The judges should ensure he does hard time –
with concrete truck he blocked the Daíl gate!

Ignore the rapists they’ve let out of late –
it takes a rather special sort of slime
to stop the lawful business of the state.

And never mind the bankers that negate
this country’s hopes and won’t pay back a dime.
With concrete truck he blocked the Daíl gate!

Make a harsh example, less this trait
of viewing Government as pantomime
should stop the lawful business of the state.

You can’t expect our leaders to debate
barricaded in by sand, cement and lime!
With concrete truck he blocked the Daíl gate,
and stopped the lawful business of the state.

The office of the Taoiseach

The office of the Taoiseach

It is really mystifyin’
That the populace all think
That our charismatic Brian
Was the worse the wear for drink.
The interview on radio that caused this pint-sized stir
Was given in his traditional, laconic culchie burr.
To say he ran his words together – that is just a slur,
A slander on the office of the Taoiseach.

An eight hour drinking session
Wouldn’t leave him worse for wear.
What gives you that impression?
It’s really so unfair!
It’s a new low for the state, he says, confronted on all flanks
And on mature reflection, yes, we all agree it ranks
Much lower than child sex scandals and the business with the banks,
This attack upon the office of the Taoiseach.

The Taoiseach’s hale and hearty,
He doesn’t mind a sup,
(Say supporters of the party
As they try to keep him up)
No fear of any Garda who might ask him to exhale.
Of course he’s stone cold sober after all those pints of ale,
It’s all a fiendish plot that has been hatched by Fine Gael,
A scourge upon the office of the Taoiseach.

He is cultured and well-tutored
And his diction is controlled.
Sure, of course he wasn’t fluthered,
It was only a bad cold.
The aspirins he guzzled down were merely antidotal,
Rumours of binge-drinking, I am told, are anecdotal,
In fact, if truth be told, the man is practically tee-total,
Befitting the grand office of the Taoiseach.

And if he lets his hair down
And starts lurrying the gargle,
Should moral pressure bear down?
To deny him Waxie’s Dargle?
Why should his drink consumption matter to the queuing classes?
Carlsberg is the drink to lead the country out of chassis,
Didn’t Churchill see the war out through a pair of brandy glasses?
Raise your pints now to the office of the Taoiseach.

Willie O’Dea triolet

The spade sliced through the fertile earth too easily.
Too late, he saw he’d dug himself a tomb.
“Check the brothel out!” he’d swaggered breezily.
The spade sliced through the fertile earth too easily.
“But I’m a victim too!” he trembled queasily,
Forgetting people mock the man for whom
The spade has sliced through fertile earth too easily.
Too late! He saw he’d dug himself a tomb.

Many thanks to Kat Mortensen for introducing me to the triolet, which I'd never heard of!

The Lament of George Lee

I was the Truth, I was the Light,
I was the man who’d make things right,
My election was a natural progression.
I was the One, I was the Prophet,
Those who wore a cap would doff it,
I was the man to lead the country from recession.

I was wise, I was respected,
As I passed, crowds genuflected,
I was Moses come to set his children free.
I was worshipped by the peasants
For my knowledge and my presence –
With hope, the country turned its eyes to me.

But in the corridors of power,
My great vision soon turned sour,
My aspirations spiralled down in flames.
As the new boy in the school,
They would take me for a fool
And never let me join in playground games.

I was the boy left by the wall
Always waiting for the call
Whenever they selected football teams.
In the back row of the class
I’d sit glumly on my ass,
The golden boys eclipsing all my dreams.

All I wanted was a mate
To reassure me I was great,
A friend who’d recognise my true ability.
But Enda and wee Dickie
Seemed to think I was a thickie
And wouldn’t let me near responsibility.

So I’m taking back my ball
And you can shag them, one and all,
No more you’ll see me on the campaign trail.
Under-utilised, my talents
In the field of budget balance
Will not be offered out to Fine Gael.