In London, a new licence has been granted.
Also in London, a bunch of arseholes the Government are too weak to deal with have declared new laws and punishments.
You can’t get much more diverse within a single city.
The Government, meanwhile, are turning on the next group of idiot drones they have encouraged to embrace their own demise.
I’m all for a cap on child benefit but let’s be fair here. Some of these women deliberately play the system, a few are just the type to have ‘we never close’ tattooed on their knees but most are just too dim to realise what’s going on.
So phase it in over a few years. Give them time to adjust. If they cannot – or more likely, will not – adjust, they lose. Give the next round of pauper-poppers time to realise their gravy train has ended before they embark on a career of replication for money.
It does infuriate me to find some atom heart mother* with no job and a brood of multiple-fathered thugs complaining that her weekly free money is cut to a sum that is still far more than my monthly earned income before tax. I’d dearly love to introduce a cull but in fairness, they are only playing the sytem that exists. They are not really the ones in the wrong, the dingbats and gibbering idiots who devised the system are the ones who should be culled. The cretinous government employees who encouraged the ‘it’s me rights, innit?’ attitude among the drones are the ones who should be shot. Slowly.
So yes, shut the baby train down but realise that most of the idiots on it don’t even know where they boarded. They will have to face the terminus called Reality, and reality, as those of us already living there know, is nasty. As a certain songster once intoned, ‘Please trip them gently, they don’t like to fall’.*
Those baby-pumpers produce the most diverse offspring though. They don’t care who gets them pregnant as long as the little squalling money machine pops out. They were warned years ago that this was coming. They did not listen, they’re not listening still. Perhaps they never will.*
That’s enough for a post-Smoky-Drinky. Everything is fuzzy now, time for sleep.No need for concern over the state of the world tonight. Nothing matters anyway, that’s the hell of it.*
*Christmas competition – song, album/film singer/band for those four. First correct comment gets a signed ‘Samuel’s Girl’. And yes, there is a tricky bit in there.