When the Department of Health, spurred on by the then-new coalition government, announced that all regional offender health teams would be canned I was disappointed, frustrated and generally pissed off at the looming spectre of redundancy. However, on a certain level, I understood. Countless millions were squandered under labour through regional development agencies that accomplished little more than swelling the egos of a whole host of self-congratulatory ingrates and arse-lickers, something which the Department of Health has more than its fair share of. Of course one always takes an elevated view of ones own worth in these things but deep down I knew that the gravy train had to be stopped and that the natural order of things is for the baby to be thrown out with the bathwater and for everything to have a fucking good re-booting.
I've said it before and I'll say it again here and now, I am an idiot.
When I look at the people who presided over the culture of cock-sucking, bottom-feeding waste, they were the ones left standing.
And they were the ones who kowtowed to the new regime, threw out millions of pounds worth of reporting and recommendations and, at the cost of several more millions, rebadged it all and rolled it out as something newer and shinier.
And they of course are the ones who last year underspent the DH budget by £900,000,000.
Nine-hundred million Earth pounds.
That is 3600 dinners with the PM.
And I, and hundreds like me, was made redundant because the Department of Health had to save some money.
It's a tough thing to swallow but then of course we have tories in Number 10. Every line that has been spun about the NHS, the criminal justice system and beyond is a pack of lies and the bullshit continues to make us gag and splutter. Today the petrol stations are running out of fuel due to panic buying and a government commissioned report condemned schools, parents and advertisers for the riots of last summer.
Schools. The same schools that have been fundamentally undermined and devalued by 30 years of Polyfilla policies.
Parents. Whose parents? Most of the rioters were in their twenties and thirties! The fifteen year olds involved may have been there with their parents and who knows, are probably shitting babies out on the floor of Schu as they ransack it but seriously... parents to blame? Before anything else? Before any broader analysis?
And finally advertisers. The fact that adverts suggest we live in a capitalist utopia is a dream that nobody (normal or grounded) truly believes, only the fat fucking pigs in the City of London buy it and they encourage it and love it and worship it like an even bigger, fatter fucking pig whose udders they repeatedly deep throat in their orgasmic throes of delirium at having fucked the proles, raped their ragged arses and left them to take root in the ditches in which they were born, like the filthy mandrake roots with which they share their squalid IQs.
That is the big three then. No mention whatsoever of thirty and more years of irresponsible social policy on the part of successive tory, labour and tory again governments. Governements that, thanks to Thatcher's example, saw the teet and not only chased it, but in doing so bulldozed over any decent, moralistic bystanders and institutions in the pursuit of self-satisfaction and the life-enhancing cheese from Satan's cock. Meanwhile we devolve further because the adverts tell us we're cunts if we can't afford to buy little Jimmy a Big Trak and we have no self-esteem if we can't blow a Cadbury's Flake like a first class hooker. There is hope though because when I crash my car into a group of school-children after being blinded by rage at the next pack of fucking lies that the BBC fails to challenge, their parents can always ring Billy Murray and his whorebag actor 'real lawyer' mates and sue me further blind, right to the point where I fail to spot Mr Big in the showers and get seventeen pounds of dick hammer up my arse.
Which, strangely, is how I feel right now.