#brogue

Algy tried and tried to inflate his plastic boat, but it was just no use: try as he might, he simply couldn't do it. Fluffy birds are not easily discouraged, of course, so bearing in mind the poet's incitement "Say not the struggle nought availeth" Algy blew into the wee plastic tube time and time and time again, until he was completely out of breath… but it was indeed to no avail, and eventually he became so exhausted by the constant effort that he simply fell asleep on top of both the boat and his wee book of verse, completely tired out.

Imagine Algy's astonishment, therefore, when he woke from a fretful dream about trying to blow endlessly into the impossible inflation tubes of completely impossible boats, and discovered himself afloat in a most beautifully inflated wee boat, complete with suitable decorations for a voyage across the sea… and in the company of a leprechaun ☘️

For a few moments Algy assumed that he must still be dreaming, albeit in a very much more pleasant dreamland than the one in which he had found himself before. But he could feel the plastic around him, and smell the salt of the sea air, and he soon began to realise that he was indeed awake.

Gazing at the leprechaun seated opposite him, Algy suddenly remembered the wee fellow he had met in the depths of the forest on St. Patrick's Day: the sad, lost, lonely little leprechaun who had explained that he was unable to return to his home in the Emerald Isle.

"So you followed me through the forest!" exclaimed Algy.

Forget the noble ideals of equality, freedom, and representation. Those are quaint relics for history books. In the real world, the one ruled by bank accounts, wealth is the sharpest tool in the political shed. It whispers in ears, drafts laws, and fuels campaigns. The votes may come from the people, but the power? That’s strictly reserved for the highest bidder.

Let’s not pretend. When billionaires bankroll candidates, they aren’t doing it out of the goodness of their hearts or a burning love for democracy. They’re buying influence—plain and simple. It’s like a democracy-themed auction: Sold! To the guy in the corner with a yacht named Tax Evasion.

And this is where it gets spicy. Once money elbows its way into government, it doesn’t just sit quietly. It rewrites the rules. Policies that help the majority take a backseat to laws that pad the profits of the elite. Regulations are gutted. Social programs are slashed. The people who actually need help are told to pull themselves up by their bootstraps—preferably boots made in sweatshops, because profit margins.

This isn’t just unfair; it’s corrosive. When the public sees that votes don’t matter as much as dollar signs, trust erodes. Why bother voting when corporations already wrote the script? Apathy grows. Cynicism spreads. And just like that, democracy becomes an empty shell, a performance where the actors are paid in offshore accounts.

gonna play some brogue w funny sound effects!