The Sin Tax

Did you ever hear of a ‘sin tax’ ladies?

It’s a tax on sin.

Seriously.

Sin is a serious thing ladies, is it not? Hell. Eternal damnation. Fire. Constant sunburn. Not a single tube of Factor 25 in sight. And not a single shop in hell stocking it.

And no hope of everlasting happiness hanging out with all the angels and saints and God himself in heaven, enjoying the sumptuous meals.

Hell is truly hell. Surely it surely is.

Just imagine, if you can for a moment ladies, never getting to meet St Patrick in the end. Year after year attending the St Patrick’s Day parades in your village in his honour. Wearing the shamrock. But in the end, you only get to meet that damn Lucifer. With his pitchfork and haggard looks. The only consolation being that you might meet many of your old friends down there. In the hellfires. Where it’s hotter than hell.

Maybe because the Middle East is so climatically hot for most of the year that inhabitants over these parts have more than an inkling of what lies in store for us if we continue our sinful ways.

Choosing the sinful path is to be discouraged. Surely? Sinning day in and day out. Always sinning in some way. And then wham bam. You die. You wake up. The hellfires are all about you. You are sweating like a pig. You would kill for a cold beer.

But isn’t the drinking of that sorely desired cold beer the very thing that landed you in the hellfires in the first place. Poetic justice perhaps, if that’s how things pan out. Or if you happened to be of the Islamic persuasion, and you end up in hell like the previously mentioned sweating pig, then maybe it was eating all that forbidden pork meat when you thought nobody was looking that landed you in the hellsoup.

The whole thing just doesn’t bear thinking about. An appealing everlasting armageddon of radiation burns, fire, and thirst; and hunger levels that are ever-present, a smidgen above the level of death by starvation, just to keep you alive for further punishment. Stretching far out into infinity. Squared.

So thank God for the Middle East and thank God for Qatar.

Thank God indeed.

———-

MB arrived back to the Middle East having enjoyed the usual Christmas festivities back home to the fullest. A broad Irish smile on his broad Irish face. But on entering the taxi at Hamad International Airport to head to chéz MB, Sajith, the south-east Asian taxi driver, disturbed MB’s inner peace somewhat, blurting out the following:

The sin tax is sinful Sir. Is it not Sir? It is indeed Sir. Very very very sinful Sir. It will hurt sinners in ways we can not imagine Sir? What are you thinking about the sinning tax Sir?

Are you incoherent my good man? Are you unwell? Or have you had a drop too much of the John Jameson that flows so freely in tolerant Qatar? replied MB, not having a clue what his new taxi friend from Dakka was blabbering on about.

It’s the Government Sir. They are giving us the very big sin tax Sir. The John Jameson that we truly worshipped Sir. In a sinful sort of way Sir. Is no more Sir. Sin is no more Sir.

MB pretended he was asleep, as sin and sinfulness were alien concepts to whiter than white MB. MB got home, slept and got to the office the following morning.

To MB’s surprise, all the westie expats looked gaunt and miserable as if death and the hellfires were mere moments away. MB thought for a split second he had entered Cormac Mccarthy’s The Road. And the apocalypse was about to happen. Or indeed had already happened. He was not sure.

Have you heard about the sin tax MB??

Not you guys too? replied MB, thinking the entire population of Qatar was winding him up on his return.

It’s the Government MB. They’ve slapped a 100% sin tax on all things sinful. Overnight. A bottle of Corona is now €16. The cheapest bottle of wine in the off-license has gone to €20. The price of pork meat has also doubled. So have cigarettes. There was no forewarning MB. We had no chance to load up the 4x4s with 12 months stock. We are now living in a mental and physical hell MB.

But on the positive side, sin has vanished and is no more MB.

What say you MB???

Silence from MB.

More silence from MB.

Yet more silence from MB.

And so MB remained for the rest of his first working day back in the Middle East. Silent. The day was truly hell.

———-

Yes, dear followers. The above is a true account of MB’s hearing of the new sin tax introduced by the Government of his native Qatar. The tax, referred to as a sin tax by local media, is now a fact of life. Those that can afford to buy a single bottle of Corona on a night out, or a single glass of wine, have learned to sip very very very slowly indeed.

But on the positive side, sin is now a thing of the past. And MB is on a one-way train to heaven. And the everlasting bountiful feasts.

Hurrah for the Middle East!

Hurrah for Qatar!

———-

Mana from heaven. A bottle of 2016 Sauvignon gifted to MB by a Scottish friend today. The Scots are a truly amazing race. “They may take away our lives, but they’ll never take our alcohol” – William Wallace.

---

---

---