A Blenvale Tragedy in Three Flushes
Some buildings get visionaries.
Some get leaders.
Some even get halfway-competent adults.
We?
We got the King Sh*t of Turd Island – reigning proudly over a kingdom nobody else wants, like a man who mistakes a sewage pit for Versailles.
š THE ROYAL DELUSION: AN IRISH TRAGEDY
In true Blenvale fashion, the board struts around with the confidence of people who have absolutely no reason to be confident.
They talk like theyāre running a Fortune 500.
They act like theyāre managing a NASA launch.
They decide like theyāre picking paint colours while drunk.
And through it all, they maintain the sacred belief that their sh*t does not stink – despite the fact that anyone with a functioning nose could track their trail from the lobby to the AGM.
š© THE TURD ISLAND CROWN JEWELS
Every monarchy has its jewels.
Ours justā¦ glisten for different reasons.
- A financial hole big enough to be seen from space
- An overdraft they denied louder than a toddler with chocolate on their face
- A reserve fund thatās basically a myth at this point
- A by-law crafted with the legal precision of a pub napkin at 2 AM
- Legal bills that could fund a small republic
- Audits so horrifying they should come with a trigger warning
Yet they stand there – hands on hips, chests puffed out – like heroes returning from battle instead of arsonists admiring the fire.
š“āā ļø THE KINGāS COURT OF CLOWNS
This court is a whole production: a troupe of self-anointed experts who couldnāt run a lemonade stand without hiring three consultants and launching a lawsuit.
They appoint themselves guardians of āthe corporationā but canāt guard a checking account from dropping into the red.
They call themselves āleadersā but canāt lead a duck to water.
They praise themselves as āprotectorsā while the building burns like a bad prophecy.
But go ahead – crown yourselves again.
Turd Island is always hiring royalty.
š„ A NOTE FROM THE REAL WORLD
If they want to rule this soggy little kingdom forever, fine.
Let them have the throne, the sceptre, and the ceremonial plunger.
But Iām not bowing.
Not curtseying.
Not pretending the emperor has clothes when the whole island reeks of denial and incompetence.
They can be King Sh*t of Turd Island if it comforts them.
Just donāt confuse that with being right, capable, or remotely beneficial to the rest of us living on the mainland of reality.
Disclaimer: This post is satire and opinion.Ā Read full disclaimer.
