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For my cash, a home.

Homeless people. The ones we pretend don't exist. The filthy, unkempt, odourous degenerates who hold out grubby hands in expectation, as though their plight in itself were justification for income. The ones we see lying on the floor in our path, and lead us to hold deep breaths before getting close enough to have to offend our senses with their putrid stench.

I could go on graphically detailing what it is about these beggars that offends the very core of my being, but that isn't really the thrust of this entry.

The point is that the UK government is about to unveil a �164m package to 'provide training and emotional support' to young homeless people. I'm sure you can see what's coming, but that's not going to stop me from writing it. Because put simply, the government is openly pissing bucket loads of money down the drain when it should instead be utilising the failures of others to add value to the economy.

Does everybody deserve a second chance? If someone is capable of fucking up their life so fundamentally that they fall off the socio-economical framework altogether, should they be awarded some of my money to help pick them back up again? Let's be clear here. If your life is going rapidly downhill, the system has safeguards built in to avoid things becoming excessively desperate. Council accommodation, dole, tax credits, freebies, you name it. In fact, some people make a very fine living out of the resources available in the welfare safety net, at the cost of those looking for a more honest living.

Yet still there are some who cannot cope. Should more time, effort and money be poured into assisting such stupidity? The best you can ever hope to achieve is to reduce the availabilty of affordable accommodation, and increase further the tax burden on the honest worker. At worst, you'll get these ignorant half-wits breeding like flies; a situation already prevalent in our failing social system. Me, I'll happily settle for the status quo, where I can ignore the lazy SOBs, and their curiously well fed dogs, as they lay under reams of deliberately mud-wiped duvets which hide their heroin needles and whisky bottles.

I do, however, provide an alternative solution. Round them up. All of them. Keep the lawyers away, and they'll never know you're abusing their human right to lie in squallor, demanding their right to coin from the pockets of innocent passers-by. Then, once you've gathered the 250,000 or so under-25 homeless wasters, set them to work. Get them building something inane that requires neither skill nor aptitude, but preferably regularly entails the endangerment of body parts in heavy machinery. It won't be especially productive, but that's not the point. Once they're all sporting a missing finger, or leg, and have been indoctrinated into the production line, stick them in sponsored rags, place a few products about, bring in the cameras, and let the reality TV roll.

You think I'm sick, but I tell you now that it would firmly toss Big Brother into the yesterday's news category. It would also prevent me from having to hear about the government wishing away the tax money I work so hard to deliver to them on superfluous and meaningless gestures such as this.



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Copyright Insane Bartender 2006-11-14 12:11 p.m.

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