On September 10, 1945, an American farmer named Lloyd Olsen chopped off the head of a Wyandotte chicken. The bird did not die. Indeed, it remained so much alive that Lloyd gave it a name, Mike, and began to feed food and water into its open gullet, using an eyedropper. Headless Mike lived for another 18 months, and only perished after choking on a corn-kernel in a motel in Arizona.
Ireland is now like Mike. We have no head, nor brain, nor eyes, nor ears, nor voice nor volition of any kind. We are being drip-fed government into our gullet by the Green Party, whom we did not elect, and biding until the day when the Greens finally overdo it, and kill us with the corn-kernel of ruinously high-taxation.
Either that, or we wrestle the Greens to the ground and force-feed them bicycle-parts and biodegradable wind-farms and their endless bloody sanctimoniousness, until they choke to death.
But even the timely assassination of those pious reptiles' foreskins is not going to rescue us. We remain Mike, the headless chicken. What's happening is truly terrifying. It is one thing for the media to criticise; it is quite another for our political parties suddenly to tear up the constitution in response to what they perceive the media want. That is what happened last week with the departure of John O'Donoghue from the position of Ceann Comhairle. The rule of law was abandoned; the rule of the mob became the law. And who now is safe, in this land of Mike?
The issue here is not John O'Donoghue. The issue here is how we do things. The left was responsible for the unconstitutional end to his career. Yet this 'left' is composed largely of the remaining body-parts from failed fringe-movements. Within the Labour Party are former Stalinists who supported the USSR, others who were members of the Official IRA, which killed people, and blew things up. Provisional Sinn Fein is Provisional Sinn Fein-IRA, whose moral voice is authentic as Mike's cock-a-doodle-doo: or, as it is known at Canary Wharf, rock-a-dock or two.
Throw in some mob-oratory from the national broadcaster's disgraceful 'Liveline', and almost no state institution and no politician is safe from the vengeful, idiot wrath of Madame La Guillotine, or Les Heureuses Tricoteuses.
Like Mike, we are apparently too brainless to learn any lessons, and whoever has access to the eyedropper runs the show. Because even if we were to get rid of the Greens, who is next to drop some semi-ideological, self-serving toxins into our gullet?
Why, the 'social partners', of course, the public-service unions, whose leaders are threatening industrial action against a state which is already having to borrow €500m a week in order to pay the wages and salaries of their union members. Demanding more from an empty barrel is not rational behaviour: it can only be explained in terms of the gullet-babblings of Mike, the headless Wyandotte.
So, instead of facing adversity full-on and rescuing the Irish State by seeking cross-party unity, the Government has chosen merely to rescue the Government. This apparently means giving the reptiles' foreskins everything they want, from sail-powered airliners, to moss-driven state cars to hand-knitted trains, and meanwhile sacrificing anyone the mob dislikes. (Though to be sure, 'sacrifice', in the perverted and grotesque parlance of the Irish public service, actually means early retirement on a millionaire pension-pot).
None of this -- from the politicians' expenses, to the retirement schemes of public servants, to the convulsions of lynch-mob political emotionalism, to a 'public service broadcaster' which regularly decides whom to ruin -- is rational. Indeed, rational analysis does not explain Irish life.
It cannot explain how RTE's main current affairs investigative programme into the woes and scandals of Irish life is actually presented by a man who tried to grab a neighbour's land through -- by his own legal submissions -- adverse possession, and who for a decade was given a top-of-the-range car by BMW. No rational analysis explains such a bizarre inconsistency in standards, or the overwhelming silence on this issue from the other media.
So what is the most decisive single piece of law-making that government has managed in recent years? Well, it changed the supermarket off-licence opening time on Sundays from 11am to 12.30pm.
And that's about it: the triumph of the entire democratic process, following upon the election of some 200 members of the Oireachtas over two years ago. As the economy collapsed, and hundreds of thousands lost their jobs, we banned the sale of booze on Sundays before noon. And for this, an entire gravy train slid into the sidings at Leinster House, and disgorged literally incalculable quantities of taxpayer-funded largesse.
It is pathetic. Truly, desperately, unspeakably, shamefully pathetic. Yet what goes round, comes round. Endlessly unprincipled governance inevitably ends up in no government at all: only the Mikes of this world do not realise that.
And so, what this state is actually doing is awaiting an appointment -- with a corn-kernel, in a motel, somewhere in Arizona.