The Peasants Stole My Taxes!

Sunny afternoons are great. Or at least they could be, if only Belfast’s very own inbred population of scumbags didn’t also think they were great.

Naturally, I am stuck in an office all day, with the only chance I have of enjoying the sun being a brief 30 minutes interlude at lunchtime. With the exception of the occasional rude interruption from something ”work” related, the remainder of my day is spent looking out of the window, with a strong sense of longing onto the street below.

There is an unexpected bonus that comes with my contract’s particular location. I have the dubious pleasure of a bird’s-eye view into one of Belfast’s less salubrious estates and if nothing else, it ensures that there is always a post midday flurry of activity taking place. Unfortunately, this also means that while I am busy earning money and funding the government’s coffers, there is a counter-culture* in which I am privy to at any time during the day. This inexplicably named “counter-culture” consists entirely of those that seem to have no jobs, and the sole purpose of providing me with a window of opportunity to watch them spend my taxes.

There just seems to be something about the warm and sunny days that raise my concerns about two things. Firstly, if these people are living on £40.00 per week, how can they afford to buy vast quantities of booze everyday? Additionally, I have noticed through my casual observances that the male population of the estate, appear to have no upper garments of clothing. This leads me to believe that they have been reduced to selling their clothing to buy alcohol for the duration of the 10-days of sun; more commonly known in Belfast as summer. However, with this theory now out in the open, the natural question then arises as to just how much does a 2nd hand Kappa t-shirt fetch on the open market?

The other behaviour that is entirely apparent, is the hordes of these young men who have developed a long-term emotional attachment to their genitalia. If you happen to have a spare 20 minutes in your day, you will be able to identify them as the ones who have both hands buried firmly in the crotch region; cradling the only remaining item of value left to them. Of course this could be another explanation as to the source of their income. Perhaps they are regular visitors to the sperm donation centre in the weeks and months preceding summer.

This just raises more question than answers. How much exactly does a sperm bank pay? And most importantly, just how great is the nurture to nature ratio in the development of children?

As per usual, if you have any gripes, whinges, issues, complaints or general grievances, feel free to leave a comment and I will feel free to ignore you. Alternatively, if you know the nurture to nature ratio, or how much a sperm bank pays, you may wish to also take a moment to air your thoughts.

*I feel obligated to acknowledge my reference to “culture” in this entry, owing largely to the fact that the activities of the estate serfs** could scarcely be referred to as culture.

**I am also aware of that the definition of a “serf” is:
“A member of the lowest feudal class, attached to the land owned by a lord and required to perform labor in return for certain legal or customary rights”.
As you can see the use of the word is in part correct, with the minor omission that serfs actually are in gainful employment. If you happen to be a serf and feel aggrieved by my choice of wording, please accept my apologies in advance.