The Field is my field
Grandad November 11th, 2010
I see they are banging on about property tax again.
Eighty yoyos a month? A fucking month? That’s a thousand a year! They can go and kiss my sweet hairy arse.
Will someone give me one – just one – good reason why I should pay it? Everything that shower of wankers in the Gubmint have done to date has made things worse. They are patently being played for fools by that shower over in Brussels. So long as the Euro is stable, and the Germans can get their money back from the Irish banks, then the plain people in Ireland can go to hell. We are being played for fools, and ignorant bollix that he is, Biffo is lapping up every drop of shite they feed him.
I own my property. I have slaved for the best part of forty years to earn it. I don’t owe a red cent on a single blade of grass, and I intend to remain that way. I am certainly not going to fork out a thousand a year to finance some German gambler. I swear to God that any fucking gubmint inspector who tries to cross my threshold is going to receive the business end of a bill-hook. After all, the law states that I can use any force I feel reasonable if I feel threatened on my own land, and gubmint inspectors are a threat in my book.
Talking of books, I would suggest to our illustrious gubmint that they go read John B Keane’s book “The Field”.
And if they still don’t get the hint, they had better be prepared for all out war.
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