In politics, you're supposed to want to elect the richest candidate because if he figured out how to make himself rich, he can easily make you rich, too.
And he wants you to be rich because it's no fun being rich alone. What's the point of driving a Mercedes if everybody can't have a Mercedes? If you were a rich guy, you'd probably feel very sad every time you pulled up at a red light next to an 11-year-old pickup truck with a tortured squeal coming from the back brakes.
So, what you want to do, they keep telling me, is make sure and elect the most dollar-stuffed guy you can find. You want to elect a guy who gets up every morning and pours milk on a big bowl of krugerrands.
This guy, the smart people say, has been quietly standing on the sidelines of our political system for decades, watching us beer-belching, rent-to-own clowns get the stinky end of every deal.
"Heck," this guy thinks to himself. "If I could just get elected, I'd use the drive and intelligence that made me $200 million to make sure EVERYONE had $200 million."
So, at some point in his career of unsullied altruism, this guy decides to run for senator/governor/president, and he gets elected, and by God, if enough of him get elected, everyone ends up with $200 million and the really good cable package.
I'm writing this, and I'm looking out the window at the house just in back of mine, which is a 100-year-old, vinyl-sided three-decker just like the one I own. I'm looking at the house, and I see the iron fire escape bolted to the side of the building. I'm pretty sure it's iron because I can see streaks of rust around the bolts. The rust shows up very well against the pale blue vinyl siding my neighbor chose. My vinyl siding is tan.
And I'm thinking that, if we can just elect a really rich guy, I'm not going to have to look at that anymore. Rich guys never have to look at rust, do they?
And it's not like I won't work. I've got a job. In fact, I've got at least two — this column and a full-time, salaried position as a reporter. I do some other freelance writing, as well.
But if you get the right rich guy in there, my lifetime of hard work, which began when I was 14, will finally come to something. It'll be easier to get rich if you're willing to work, and I'm willing to work.
First of all, there's this gay marriage thing. If the rich guy bans that, it'll probably make me an extra $50 a week immediately. How? I don't know. You gotta trust the rich guy.
And that welfare mom down the street from me? The one drawing down maybe $380 a month in cash benefits plus maybe $350 in rent subsidy? Well, that's $730 right there, isn't it? If you cut her off welfare, you know that $760 is going right in my paycheck — and, in case you didn't know it, you can drive a Mercedes for $760 a month, if your trade-in is worth anything at all.
Abortion? If you're out of work and they ban abortion, you're going to end up with best job you ever had. How? Trust the rich guy, that's how.
Political correctness? I'll tell you, the day I can start butt-pinching the women in my office is the day the capitalist tiger is set free and I start making huge amounts of money.
Prayer in the schools? Hell, if they bring back prayer in the schools, it will lead directly to full employment, probably in a couple of months.
Unions? Crush 'em. Nobody ever became middle class by making $25 an hour. You become middle class by making $9 an hour. Ask the rich guy. He has 15,000 people working for him, and they all make $9 an hour, which is why he's rich.
You gotta go broke to get rich. You gotta lose to win. You gotta bow down to stand up.
Ask the rich guy.
To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.