The Pursuit of Happyness

Last weekend I made a visit to your little neighbours. I would like to call them "the happy northern pixies".
A very friendly crowd that couldn't stop making jokes and laughing about you, talking about how stupid you are being ripped off and fooled by your own government, shops, pubs, restaurants and program directors, whilst themselves are living in their little paradise. I was so touched I had to wipe a tear from my eyes. Their honesty just makes them so likeable, no one would dare to fool them as they are so much cleverer, more brave and better drinkers than you are.

So after a few lovely days up there I went home from Belfast by bus. Full of non-northern pixies that would like to have a small piece of that paradisiacal, yummy cake by putting their money in the "happy northern pixies" economy while destroying their own one, which in the long term inevitable will result in an even bigger rip off, higher taxes and worse, as their own economy is going downhill. That's exactly the short term thinking I would expect from you, little pixies. The dark passenger and devoted dexter could tell you a thing or two about that.
But anyways, back to the overcrowded pixie waggon. Earlier on that day I did a Belfast bus tour and I still had the line in my head the red-haired girl on the tour told us after she was heaping praises on the city and country. She said it that little bit too much, where you start asking yourself: If it's that great, why does she have to say it so often - shouldn't it be even more obvious then? But suddenly I realised she didn't sound like a "happy northern-pixie", she was one of you'se, emigrated, a foreigner like me.
This happy pixie told us that Bill Clinton once visited Belfast and left a line on the peace wall:

"you can not win if you want your neighbours to lose."

Having that line in my head I started smiling: although I was sitting there on my way back to unloved pixie-land - sandwiched between Mary Harney look-alikes eating smelly egg-sandwiches with their mouths wide opened, having their shoes taken off to spread a sweet, stinging odour in the 50 year old, rotten and creeping with groaning axles bus, farting loudly away, embracing my nose with their hairy, sweaty arm pits - I was thinking back of the emigrated pixie, how happy she was and what she said.
I realised I only have to change my tactics slightly on my pursuit of happyness. I am going to stop my inner fighting, I'll become one of yours and as a result I will get my hand on the pot of gold. AND THEN, I will run away with it and turn my back on you, so I never have to see you idiots again. A warm shower of hope came over me and intoxicated by all the smelly feet around me, I fell asleep having a deep, soothing dream of seing myself walking on an open road, facing the beautiful sundown, finally on my way back home.