The Prayer of Joseph of Burmarrad

It’s only a matter of time before that corrupt bastard begins quoting Francis of Assisi’s famous prayer at us again as he did in the last general election. To save him the bother, I’ve rewritten it for him in a contemporary version.

Henley, make me an instrument of your passport sales,
Where there is hatred, let me sow even more of it;
where there is injury, let me go in and give them an even bigger kicking;
where there is doubt, let me capitalise on it for votes;
where there is despair, let me profit from it;
where there is darkness, let me give it a banking licence;
where there is sadness, let me blame Simon Busuttil;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to grab whatever I can, when I can;
to be illegally rich and to make the most of it;
because to be loved is nothing next to hard cash.
For it is in giving land and permits that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we get ourselves a Sherpa in Brussels;
and it is in dying that we find out that we can’t take it with us when we go.