Gracefully embraced by the shadows, and with her alluring flesh peeking through a thin negligee, she seductively slid across the satin sheets towards me. I could feel the warmth of her nearly naked body nestling against mine as she pressed her moist lips, full and hard, against my neck before passionately panting, “You’ve got a mess in the kitchen!” Okay, so it was a dream. The trophy wife was actually in a tee shirt and sweat pants, the sheets were mismatched cotton, and a cold elbow to my ribs is what drove home the point I had a “mess in the kitchen.” Here is what happened.
I was so fascinated by the specimens we studied in vet school, I set out to boil, bleach and reassemble a complete skeleton of every species I would see in practice. (Yes, such items can be purchased commercially, but that is too easy, plus I was a poor college student.) My dog skeleton project came together without a hitch, but the cat was another story. Worrying the tiny domestic cat bones could make reassembly challenging, I found a mountain lion carcass. Unfortunately, the hunter who bagged the lion grew tired from tediously skinning the front paws, so he chopped off the rear feet with a hatchet and sent them along with the hide to the taxidermist. Thus, my beautiful, full-sized mountain lion skeleton had no rear paws.
Three months after assembling my two-pawed lion, I was visiting the anatomy lab cooler when I discovered a fresh soon-to-be discarded pair of feet from a large Newfoundland. I wrapped and stuffed the paws in my book pack before peddling home to married student housing. Apparently, the sparkle of newness was wearing off our two-year marriage, because my trophy wife did not share my enthusiasm for my good fortune. Standing in the kitchen and using my happy voice, I excitedly explained how I was going to match up the bones. Druann rolled her eyes and sighed. I plopped the feet in a crockpot we had received as a wedding gift and clicked it to “High.” (Crockpots were the hip wedding gifts in the ‘70s…another twist of fate) We ate dinner, studied and went to bed. Sometime during the night, the pot boiled over prompting the trophy wife to seductively elbow me in the ribs and announce the mess in the kitchen. Had I known “Low” was a more appropriate temperature, I would have selected it, but there were no cooking instructions for dog feet anywhere in the owner’s manual. Knowing such information would have prevented this catastrophe, so this brings me to my point.
Just like every election cycle for the last 100 years, progressives claim all their new free stuff will be funded by taxing the rich. This too is a dream. With a 16 trillion dollar national debt, this spending spree has boiled over and is dripping off the kitchen counter, yet progressives refuse to shut off the crockpot. Like an elbow to the ribs did to me, a mathematical look at their dream should shock you wide awake. Using 2010 IRS figures, progressives could impose a 100 percent tax rate on American’s making over one million dollars per year (the evil rich) and still only raise enough money to fund government for 88 days, so who will pick up the tab for the remaining 277 days? You will. Obviously, “taxing the rich” is worse than a pipe dream, it is an outright lie.
Progressivism dangerously enslaves both the rich and the poor; the rich by debt and the poor by dependency. When will the downtrodden realize they are being used? Government programs never help people out of poverty; instead handouts keep them there, exactly as designed. So once progressivism is fully implemented, only the ruling class will be golfing 25 times per year or taking repeated European vacations. You may be comfortable using the full power of the government to steal money from the producers so as to give freebies to the non-producers. I am not and neither were our founders which is why they established an American republic and not a democracy. Attention voters: Do not go back to sleep until you have cleaned up this mess.