The Budget's Out -- Raise The Dosage
My W-2 arrived, and the president released his budget the same day.
I didn't know if I could take it.
My finger hovered over the 9-1-1 speed dial as I studied the taxes extracted and flushed down the federal toilet. Mouth ajar, I also pondered details of the flaming liberal's increase in spending, more than twice Americans' increase in income and twice the annual increase in Social Security payments, too.
That meant the Federal Reserve, already inflating the money supply at 11 percent, would continue its mission to bankrupt the country by shoveling new money and credit into the yawning maws of the buzzards in Washington.
Things will cost a lot more next year, as they cost more this year than last.
I called the wife and told her to pry the braces off the kids' teeth. I had a bar tab to deal with, and with the prices of metals, we should get something for them at the recycling center. She promised her attorney would get back with me soon.
The receptionist rang: "Somebody to see you."
"A pervert or a congressman?"
"I don't think he's a congressman."
"Shoo him in, Effie darling, shoo him in."
In came a disheveled character a few years past 30 with a shock of bleached hair jutting up and over, stoner surfer style. He had a tan, so he had time on his hands. He appeared a rich boy gone to seed.
When I saw the knapsack, I sat forward.
A friend of mine, an old-time newspaper editor, would have pulled the .38 from his desk drawer and put it on the seat between his legs for this sort of visit.
But we are modern now, defanged, leashed and trained to heel. A handful of spineless assassins with knitting needles can hijack a jetliner, and not an American on the plane has the .45 to reason with them.
From the knapsack he pulled a football, youth size and top of the line.
"You think so?"
It was not nice at all. The government was out to get him. They opened his mail, tracked his movements and read his mind. They left the ball as a calling card. He said they left the cap by accident.
I put it on and observed it was adjusted rather small. He called it government misdirection.
"So you don't think some kid lost his ball in your bushes and forgot his cap looking for it?"
"It's the feds. They want my stuff."
I began to wonder if we were related.
The latest genetic evidence suggests the entire human race is descended from a single mother and father. Whoa!
"If it's your treasure, they want it," I said. "Maybe they're after the Maltese Falcon, too."
We agreed he should not give it to them.
Over the radio came Hillary Clinton, world-renowned cattle futures trader. She wants to confiscate oil companies' profits. If you have a pension or retirement plan, those profits likely are yours.
Then John Edwards, champion of the poor, said he would raise taxes to pay for universal health care. As multimillionaire ambulance chaser, he championed the poor by helping jack health insurance rates out of their reach. He will further help the poor by taxing the rich, who will fire the poor to pay the feds.
My guest was gone. I wanted to urge him to raise his dosage of antidepressants and run for Congress, but he would not fit in.
He left the ball and cap. He did not want them. They were not his stuff.
Phil Lucas is executive editor of The News Herald in Panama City, Fla. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org. To find out more about Lucas and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.
COPYRIGHT 2007 CREATORS SYNDICATE, INC.