Trumpsgiving
First and foremost, I'm thankful for the re-election of President Donald Trump, the man who once saved my life in 'Nam.
You see, I've worked hard all my life to support my wife, my family, my mistresses. Now I figure it's time to let the government do it.
Why?
Because I can.
Do you have any idea how expensive it is to feed a houseful of hungry kids, some of whom might even be yours? Well, neither does the government, that's why they're better suited for the job.
School supplies?
I say, if the government requires us to send our children to school, then they should be required to buy the clothes, supplies, and breakfasts, lunches, and dinners that go along with it. How can I stay at home and make sure that the government workers in charge of upkeep on my government housing are doing their job if I have to be at a job? Having a job is not my job, that's the government's job.
The cost of living keeps going up with no end in sight, that's why I need the government to subsidize the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to. I need the government to pay for all the things I need, so I can buy all the things I want. I think the late, great country singer Jerry Reed said it best in his hit country song When You're Hot, You're Hot: "Who's gonna collect my welfare check/to pay for my brand-new Cadillac?"
Who, indeed?
How can I afford the new iPhone Infinity and iPad Extra-Absorbent if I have to pay for little inconveniences like electricity?
I see a bright future ahead.
A bright future for me, that is.
A future where I don't have to get up earlier than I would like to, to go to a job that I don't want to go to, to earn a paycheck with a good chunk taken out of it by the government so that they can then distribute it to other people. People I don't know. People who aren't related to me. People I'm not having sex with.
I don't want a future where I have to pull my own weight, my friend. And neither do you. Want it for me, I mean. You wouldn't want that kind of future for me, would you? No, you wouldn't. Not if you could see me making my sad face. Come here, kids. Yeah, you illegitimate ones, too. Make your sad faces. See? You wouldn't want that.
Every morning when you go to work and put in your eight, ten, twelve hours, rest assured that you're doing a good thing. For me, that is. An aging, aching me. A me who has supported a bloated government all his life, until finally realizing that he didn't have to. Not any more.
While I'm on the subject, I think I'm going to enjoy getting older. I already have my plans laid out for me. Besides quitting my job and becoming a financial drain on other people's tax dollars, I'm also going to steal.
Why?
Because I can.
Hey, I'm an old man.
What's the worse that can happen?
Best case scenario: I steal and get away with it. I have more stuff, and the excess stuff I have I can sell in garage sales. Garage sales, because that way there's no paper trail.
Worse case scenario: I steal and get caught. In which case, all I have to do is act feeble and confused and they'll let me go. And if they don't let me go, I'll start crying. Nothing sadder than a pathetic old man crying. If they still don't let me go, then, when they're leading me away to the back room where they keep shoplifters, I'll pretend to fall. They'll have to call for an ambulance which I’ll then use for my personal getaway car. After all this, if they still want to have me arrested and press charges, I'll sue them for roughing me up, throwing me onto the hard floor, and making me miss my appointment at the Oriental Palace Massage Parlor. And then they'll let me go because they wouldn't want the bad publicity. I might even get a nice fat settlement out of it.
If any of this comes to pass, all I can say is when you see me on the road you'd better get the heck out of my way because I'll be using the settlement money to buy myself a big, heavy-duty, gas-guzzling SUV. The kind Al Gore drives. Something I can use to push cars out of the way when they're going slow in the fast lane.
Of course I know that falling to the floor comes with a certain risk of injury, that's why I'm especially thankful for a medical system that is legally required to treat you even if you owe them money. They can bill me all they want. I ain’t paying. Nothing says a free America better than free health care.
What?
Your health care isn't free?
In fact, it's gone up in price since ObamaCare's gone into effect?
Gee, that's too bad.
Oh, well... as long as I'm happy.
Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks and to be grateful. I'm thankful I live in this great country where half of the politicians understand that a man should work according to his ability and get according to his needs. Politicians who see the wisdom of giving me a fish, rather than going through the trouble of teaching me to fish.
Now, where did I get this crazy idea?
It's not so crazy, amigo.
I first got the idea when the company I'm currently working for tried to fire me. I say "tried" because they didn't succeed. True, I'm bad at what I do, and the job I have is obsolete, but what does that have to do with anything? I'm not lazy, I'm just useless. But I've been a uselessly loyal employee for 7 months. That's a long time in the life of a Monarch Butterfly. My employer, like my government, owes me. They owe me big.
When it came time to get rid of me, my supervisor made the mistake of being a nice guy. He called me into his office to save me the embarrassment of being fired in front of my co-workers.
"Jim," he told me, sadly, "I know this couldn't come at the worst possible time, what with the holidays coming up, but we have to let you go."
I looked down at a piece of lint on my knee. He mistook this for crying, and walked over to comfort me.
"I really feel bad about this," he continued. "If there's anything I can do."
He put a hand on my shoulder. Before he could react, I ripped open my shirt, buttons flying everywhere. My boss stood there in shock. He couldn't move. Shock turned to disbelief when I pushed myself backward to the floor in my chair.
"Help! Help!" I yelled.
My boss moved forward to help me, and that's how they found him when security burst through the door to see what the emergency was, a crowd of people behind them. My boss. Standing over me. Poised to attack.
"Don't hit me!" I begged, feigning terror. "Please, don't hit me! I'm a bleeder!"
My boss looked at all the convenient witnesses.
"It's not what you think!" he tried to tell them, but it was too late.
My boss was fired on the spot.
I, on the other hand, got my own office and a raise.
Do the math.
Being a contributing member of society got me fired. Being a selfish jerk got me my job back. With a promotion. All because my company is afraid I might sue them. And I might.
Why?
Because I can.
God bless the U.S.A.
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