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.
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