đȘ The Lads Who Feared No Audit
Ah, Blenvale.
God help you; youâre a community that would walk straight into a burning building if someone told you the fire was âmostly under control.â And youâd probably thank them for the warmth.
Last week’s election proved it beyond doubt. The audit landed like a wet sack of coal – overdrafts, breaches, things accountants whisper about only after their third whiskey – and still, you re-elected the very people who delivered the mess.
In Limerick, weâd call that optimism.
In Blenvale, itâs just Tuesday.
đ The Audit That Should Have Shamed a Saint
Youâd think an audit like that would shake a community to its bones.
Youâd expect outrage, at the very least a raised eyebrow.
But no. Not here.
You looked at the financial wreckage – like discovering the family cow missing, the shed burned, and your brother drunk in the ditch – and said:
âAh sure, theyâre grand lads, leave them be.â
I swear, if the board announced they were storing the reserve fund under a mattress, youâd nod politely and offer to fluff the pillows.
đŒ And Here I Am, Fool That I Am, Caring About My Money
I care about the dollars I work for.
I care about how my home is managed, because no one handed anything to me wrapped in silk.
And I care about governance – real governance – not whatever this is, where decisions are made with the confidence of a man who canât read but insists on giving directions.
I care.
And I suppose that makes me the odd one out.
đ On the Matter of Abuse and Acquiescence
Now this part, I must say slowly, because it seems it has escaped some of you:
You will not tell me I must tolerate abuse.
You will not tell me to take insults like communion wafers.
You will not tell me to âacquiesceâ as though silence were some holy balm for injustice.
In my country, silence was survival.
Here, in this blessed cold country, silence is a choice.
And it is not mine.
đïž Dear Blenvale, Iâm Not Your Quiet Girl in the Corner
You want to drift into insolvency?
Go ahead. I wonât stop you.
If you enjoy watching your money slide into the abyss like rainwater down a broken gutter, thatâs your pastime.
But donât expect me to join in.
Iâm not walking off that cliff with you, no matter how often you insist the fall is gentle and the landing soft.
đ„ Final Word: Arithmetic Has No Mercy
Believe me, I tried to understand you, Blenvale.
I tried to make sense of choosing the same hands that muddied the water to wash it clean again.
But the numbers donât lie.
And the court wonât either.
So here I stand – the woman who cares,
the woman who counts, the woman who refuses to be quiet.
Dear Blenvale, that will never change.
Signed,
Glinda
đ° Protector of Pennies
đ Witness to Audits That Would Make a Bishop Blaspheme
đ Unwilling Student of Other Peopleâs Bad Decisions
Disclaimer: This post is satire and opinion. Read full disclaimer.
