We were hooked on credit like it was crack cocaine. We binged but never purged and we stayed high to postpone the inevitable hangover. Everybody was in cahoots, from corrupt local governments, driving through emergency rezoning laws, to rogue bankers financing the criminal inflation of developments and shoveling billions to builders, to newspapers cashing in on their property advertising to regulators asleep at the wheel. Our mafia don cum Taoiseach, Bertie 'Gombeen-Man' Ahern, invited critics of the system to commit suicide. Nobody left the orgy. Nobody wanted to leave. Planet Hollywood had finally come to Planet Ireland!
As a nation we're a joke, a laughing stock, and now it's time to become a colony of the IMF under the direction of the same cowboy outfit that brought peace and prosperity to Argentina and Iceland. O Joy, I just can't wait. We the Irish People have our asses greased for yet another bout of sodomy. We're used to it. It feels good. And this time we walked right into it. Heck, we can always get drunk afterwards, have a rare old session and weep and wail over our Fenian dead.