THE TECHNOCRATS

Do you remember those mad cartoon characters The Technocrats? They were on every Saturday after the ThunderCats. They wore well-cut suits and expensive watches. They always had mildly bored expressions on their faces and pushed their glasses up their noses. They overcame sovereignty with their powers of austerity. At every commercial break, you'd be reminded to stay tuned when The Technocrats pointed at you from the screen and told you to 'stick with the programme!' Ah yeah, The Technocrats were mad. Do you remember them at all?

They had a robot that was the comic relief. The robot was called KEN-E. KEN-E was a clueless sack of mechanical crap that barely worked. The Technocrats were always playing tricks on him. In fairness, KEN-E was a very loyal robot. Even though The Technocrats didn't take him at all seriously, KEN-E would always obey their commands. 'The Technocrats demand my loyalty,' KEN-E would say, 'I must stick with the programme.'

The Technocrats had all these enemies too. Alexis Feckless was the worst. He was always coming up with stuff so he could escape paying his way. He wore a leather jacket with the collar turned up and he had a shiny bald head. He looked really evil in a lazy kind of way. He was terrible. We'd boo and hiss him when we were kids. We all joined The Technocrats Club too. You'd send away your name and address and then you'd be billed for all sorts and sent budgetary advice. They'd tell you how to spend your pocket money and recommend that you sell all your toys to wealthier kids and then rent them back. After a while of renting the toys back you'd run out of the money you made from selling them. Then you'd write to the club requesting further advice and you'd get a letter back telling you to 'stick with the programme!' That's all the letter said. 'Stick with the programme!' This was just advice of course. You didn't have to do what the letter said, but if you didn't you'd be thrown out of The Technocrats Club and no one wanted that. All the other kids would laugh at you. You'd have a bit more pocket money for sweets though.

I'll never forget the shocking final episode when Alexis Feckless revealed that The Technocrats were completely broke. He was a real dick about it. 'You're all broke,' he said laughing. 'I've got the proof and you're all completely penniless and always were. You're all a sham! A complete and utter sham! YOU'RE ALL JUST A LYING, CRIMINAL, TYRANNICAL, SCUM SUCKING SHAM!' Then the show got cancelled so we never discovered how The Technocrats got out of that spot of bother. I'm sure they figured something out though. The Technocrats always came up with crazy plans. Some would say outright deranged plans, completely fucking demented plans. But, whatever happened, The Technocrats always looked like they knew what they were doing. Even if they didn't have the slightest notion what they were at, they always looked like they did. That was their main power. I'm sure they were OK in the end. We never found out though. The whole series was scrapped and I've since heard that every episode was taken and incinerated and the ashes were flushed down a toilet because the people that commissioned the show found the whole thing really embarrassing and shameful. Actually, the animation was a bit shit now I come to think of it. The plot continuity was all over the place too. But when you're a kid you don't mind that stuff too much. You're naive and pretty stupid and you'll accept any hopeless old God forsaken shit that's peddled to you. That's why the kids were so fond of KEN-E. They identified with him. KEN-E liked the reassuring demeanor of The Technocrats. I suppose the robot was comforted by their certainty. No matter what half-arsed bollocksology was afoot, us kids and KEN-E always stuck with the programme. We remained loyal. That is, until The Technocrats show got scrapped, burned and flushed down the fucking crapper where it rightfully belonged.

HOME FOR SOCIETY'S FAILURES

A private home for the relics of the establishment. They wander the corridors shouting out half-remembered things and attempting to adhere to protocols from days gone. Doddery TDs roar for imaginary Ceann Comhairles. Their minds suspended in battles yesteryear, they emit non sequiturs. 'Don't interrupt me, I didn't interrupt you,' they protest to no one in particular about nothing in particular. Senility clutches to the remnants of instinct. It's an attempt to make sense of what never made sense.

A spoon is raised to Sir Anthony's gaping mouth. The most ancient of them all. Vacant. The train has left the station and the stop long since terminated. The comparatively sprightly Denis giggles and hides Sir Anthony's slippers. Then Denis can't remember where he hid the slippers or even that he hid them at all, so he looks for the slippers so he can hide them again and wails when he can't find them. His memories redacted, he can only be calmed by a little treat. Lobster bisque or something like that. Then he scurries to the corner and whispers legal threats into the ear of a husk that was once a leading journalist. The husk weeps and pleads for mercy.

Undead ex-ministers cut deals with dementia afflicted tycoons. Brown envelops are exchanged but there's only shit in them. Speaking of shit, along come Joan and Enda, collecting water charges with their bedpans. Buttons are dropped in with a clinking sound and they shuffle on, droning about the future of the nation and muttering some vague legislation.

There's a large fence with snipers all around. Whether the guns are there to keep those seeking vengeance out or keep those who killed the future in, no one is quite sure. Perhaps it's a bit of both. The situation is being contained, that's all that matters. That's all that ever mattered. Actually dealing with situations was never the aim. It was all just a perpetual crisis management game, with some money made on the side. The profits of chaos for those presiding over that chaos. They felt it their due. 'You'd do the same,' was their internal excuse and cognitive guilt inhibitor.

Their time long passed, their power in the past, they are now put out to pasture. Rendered harmless and bovine, they await slaughter. Night falls and along comes the Reaper. A soul is collected and another shameful cadaver is left for inclusion in the annals of this home for society's failures.

MUSIC IS TRUTH!

Instructions:

Press play on the top video. Then quickly scroll down to the second video and press play on that. Then quickly scroll back up and watch the top video as both play. Then listen as the cosmos speaks the truth behind the words.

Good laugh isn't it?

ENDA AND THE EXIT

So, I was asked to write the televised address to the nation that you’ll all be watching on Sunday. Enda’s rehearsing it off the teleprompter right now. Here’s what you can expect:

What a week it has been, not just for Ireland but the world. We lost a truly historical figure. As I wrote in the book of condolences - ‘Noble savage Simba, you did not go gently into that good night for you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din’. The ‘good night’ and ‘Gunga Din’ bits are quotes from literature that I thought it statesman like to include, although I’m not sure they have books over there. Either way, Simba is gone now. Yes, Simba is gone but such is the circle of life that we not only say adieu to good things but bad things also. Tonight I can happily tell you all, all of you in your homes and on the streets of Ireland and those laying bereft in the gutter and at the bottom of remote lonely lakes, that the time has come for us to bid adieu to the bailout.

Now I know it wasn’t easy and has been quite the test, not just for you, the people of this nation, but for the Fine Gael party. Difficult and unpopular decisions had to be made but the party has gotten through this, maintaining healthy support from the populace and, you know, perhaps, just maybe, the populace itself will also make it through these times with some semblance of quality of life. Who knows? I wouldn’t count on it but stranger things have certainly happened so we can hope and what are we without hope? I will tell you what we are without hope. Without hope we are Luke Ming Flanagan and Clare Daly. Jaysus, who’d want to be either of them yokes? (chuckle gently to yourself here Enda)

(pause)

(reassume the serious expression and proceed) The important thing is that we made it. Fine Gael made it and is looking at another term in office under my stewardship. I saw us right. They doubted me, Lucinda, Leo, Coveney, all the young bucks, Bruton’s babies, but I saw us through. As would be expected of any great leader, I strode forward, I stood proud, I put my hand up and I asked mammy Merkel - ‘an bhfuil cead agam dul go dtí an markets’ and mammy said yes. Yes we can. To quote another marvellous black fella - ‘is feidir linn’. Do you member the uplifting afternoon he spent with us in Dublin? Him and Jedward and Amy Huberman. Was Amy Huberman there? She probably was. It was lovely wasn’t it? I had a lovely time myself and there’ll be more lovely times ahead too. That I guarantee. Lovely times ahead, for me certainly and perhaps even for some of you. Just sit tight and wait and see. You never know. In the heel of the hunt, whether there are lovely times ahead for you or not is neither here nor there. Small tragedies are not recorded by history but large triumphs are and the Fine Gael party has certainly triumphed. We are exiting the bailout! Do you know what that means? Do you realise the ramifications? I don’t. I admit that. But I do know that it sounds good and so did ‘is feidir linn’ and you all bought into that remember? Jesus, yeah, you did. Unbelievable. To be perfectly honest, I really thought this job would be a lot tougher than it is.

Anyway, to conclude. Personally, and on behalf of the Fine Gael party, I would like to thank you, the Irish people, the citizenry of this nation, for the support, stoicism, patience, timidity and astonishing gullibility you have exhibited over the course of this difficult period. Fine Gael (now incorporating Labour), couldn’t have pulled this off without your dutiful compliance and patriotic lassitude. Go raibh maith agaibh. 

I now return you to the usual programming. Room To Improve should be on. Do you like that? Fionnuala loves it. I rarely get the chance to see much television myself. Those state assets don't sell themselves you know.