Dick Turpin is alive and living in Ireland — 6 Comments

  1. I’m thinking this climate change thing will soon be replaced by some deep space object which will impact the earth in 32 years, 7 months, 18 days and 23 hours. (For what it may be worth, at my age (much like Rett Butler) “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”.)

    • After the last war there was the “Reds Under the Bed”, then the Cold War. Global Cooling followed and then a bit of calm until Global Warming came along. I may have left one or two things out bo you notice that there is a common thread here? An invisible enemy and threat of total destruction?

      • They worked out that having human ‘enemies’ like Hitler, Stalin, Saddam, Bin Laden etc. has an inherent sell-by-date, they eventually die and the fear-fuelled budget dies with them.
        Having perpetual imaginary enemies is so much better, no-one can prove if they are real or unreal, turn it into a pseudo-religion so that doubters can be silenced, they can last interminably, along with those generous budgets by raising unnecessary taxes to spend on unnecessary fanciful nonsense, but with lots of lovely kick-backs from ‘friends’. What’s not to like?

      • plus Acid Rain, refrigerator and hair spray caused Vanishing Ozone Layer, Year2000 global computing failure causing everything to stop as the midnight hour swept round the time zones, banning DDT causing unimportant children in poor countries to die, Mad Cow(no, not Adhern) Disease which was going to kill nearly everybody, politicians starving because of ridiculously low expenses and pay.
        (I made that last one up)
        Butter, dripping and animal fat will kill you. Err. No. Sugar, salt and any grain will kill you, but still keep of the fat.
        Drinking more than 13.75 units , whatever they are, of ethanol a week will kill you. Despite historical evidence to the contrary. Producing less CO2 in a year than any self respecting volcano can produce in a few hours will cause floods, droughts, unprecedented calm, hurricanes, and hair to fall out.
        What next? Dosn’t matter. The solution is always the same. Give us yer feckin money and investigatory jollies to exotic places to get your, er, jollies.
        But I must admit Glasgow puzzles me.
        Maybe the local ladies have talents that a poor man cannot imagine. Or a tight Scot like me would never risk a few bawbees on finding out.
        Apologies for attrocious grammar.

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