Hola, amigos. I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but the man’s enjoying an all-you-can-eat buffet and the Baron’s butt has been on the menu. First off, I’m in the middle of putting some distance between me and the recession by selling my house and moving. When everything’s said and done the mortgage should be about a third of what it is today. Good thing, too, since Congress is like a doctor who prescribes leeches for every affliction from the common cold to cancer when it comes to our economy.
Then there’s the new puppy, Ika. My little cousin who lived in Japan told me that Ika means “squid” in Japanese. Land squid is a pretty apt description of the little monster. We’re past the housebreaking stage and onto the “Dear God, I swear that dog has only slept a grand total of twenty minutes since I brought her home” stage. Of course, I knew a bird dog pup was going to be active. But this one makes the last one seem like a sloth. I’ve got to watch her like a hawk because she’s on anything that hits the floor like Obama on a straw man. Plus she’s got a genetic defect in her eyelids the vet has never seen in a German Shorthair that’s gonna take eight hundred dollars worth of surgery to fix. Just my luck.
On top of all that there’s work. I know I shouldn’t complain when unemployment is soaring and millions of people would give their right arm for a steady job, but for the past two months I’ve been busier than Joe Biden’s gaffe writer. Every time I get a leg up somebody comes over to give me a Tom Dempsey kick in the crotch. I’ll sure be glad once the stimulus dollars start flowing so we can all kick back and start living off the fat cats in this country. I’ve been busting my hump long enough, now it’s time for all those people who fell ass-backwards into a pile of money to pony up their fair share.
On the plus side, early summer is prime time for prime rib and the bbq has been flowing like blood in the streets of Tehran. We’ve been throwing down some spare ribs, prime ribs, legs of lamb, sirloin roast, and the Baron’s homemade sausage just about every weekend. I brought in about ten pounds of smoked Polish sausage to the Independence Day pot-luck I organized at the office, now a lot of the Chinese ladies I work with are begging me to let them place a big order for sausage to take home. I told them I’d work up a price for it if they’re really interested. I’ve always wondered if bbq could be my ticket out of the rat race, it’d be funny if it was the Chinese that kept me afloat. But why should I be any different than Uncle Sam?
Anyway, after getting through the Michael Jackson funeral I got to waxing quixotic about politics a bit. A few short months of living under Obama and our Democrat overlords and I’m starting to come around to their way of thinking. My new motto is “Embrace the suck”. Leaving the country in better shape than you inherited it is sooo Greatest Generation.
Like this whole health care debate. Who cares if there’s rationing as long as I’m not paying the bills? A mountain of crippling debt? Not my concern. The ol’ Baron will be long dead in the cold, cold ground when the bills come due. Why I was just laughing in my cousins’ faces last weekend at the 80% tax rates they’ll be paying by the time they’re my age. They come from the side of the family that sports “I am not a Republican” bumper stickers on their cars. They believed in Hope; they’ll be living on spare change. Sure, they’re kin and all and I like them. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t carpe the diem. Just make sure we kick the can far enough down the road I don’t end up having to pay for it.
Same with the idealistic notion of standing up for freedom and democracy around the world. What has a century of sacrifice bought the US? We’re the world’s all purpose whipping boy. It’s time to embrace realism. Maybe the world will leave us alone if we leave the world alone. The UN is a den of thieves and tyrants, so let’s buy them off with some fat, no-strings-attached checks. Once again, I won’t be around to pick up the tab. A small and painless price to pay if it buys short-term peace.
In the best case a rudderless foreign policy will give us a lot of cover. Because if there’s one thing the Baron’s not going to sit still for it’s a massive US energy tax for the sake of placating that other 96% of humanity. Nobody’s going to kick and scream too much over America’s carbon footprint if we aren’t rubbing their noses in it with our unparalleled military strength and swanky standard of living. Once we quit pushing tin pot dictators around and throw the brakes on our economy they’ll have no reason to saddle us with a Kyoto-like anchor.
Let me put it another way – my ’65 mustang isn’t going to run on an oversized vacuum cleaner motor or crappy alternative fuel. If rolling over for some Middle Eastern theocrats and buying off some swarthy Latin American demagogue means plenty of 94 octane for my weekend cruises I say bring it. Anyone who tries to take that away is going to wake up in the middle of the night to the roar of 6,000 rpm donuts in their lawn. Thank God we’ve got the Senate to stall cap and trade until Obama and Hillary can work their magic. After four years of “boys will be boys” diplomacy and an Iranian nuclear strike on Israel the Saudis will probably just give us all the petroleum we need.
Trust me on this, when you’re breaking the tires loose in third gear things like the national debt, health care rationing, and climate change are the last things on your mind. Now that I’ve succumbed to the sweet embrace of mediocrity and the government teat it’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Giving in to giving in is so liberating I can’t understand why liberals are bitter and angry all the time.
I guess the thought that somewhere there’s a wise Latina woman out there who doesn’t have access to a government funded abortion would put anybody in a foul mood.