August 7, 2009

The Barrel of GoogleRands. Status 2009

barrelbricksheader.jpgDear President Obama,

I am writing in response to your demand for additional money via the "WTF!? Re-Financing America's Health Care Through Gentle Extortion Act." I wish I could help you. God knows I need medical care now. Repeated exposures to you, your "speeches," and your policies have left me with an extreme case of "Spontaneous Projectile Vomiting" which I desperately would like to shake. Still, as much as I need it, I find I cannot pay for your "Free" Health Care.

In previous years I might have been able to pay doctor's a reasonable sum for curing me, but now my tax advisors tell me I can't even afford to pay you to get the "Free" kind of health care. I find I have neither the resources nor the complexion to benefit from your visionary. In short, in the middle of your term I find myself, along with 150 million other Americans, caught in an "Out of the Money Experience."

In my last letter to you I put "Poor Planning" as the cause of my overnight insolvency. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient.

I am a taxpayer by trade. During the last year of our recent national mortgage "accident," I was working alone on the roof of a broken-down six-story building in West LA, laying down slate shingles and edging it with solid copper gutters, hoping to flip it to "Flip This House" at the Steal It Yourself cable franchise, or to palm it off on the wise Latina down the block until she got a job with the government and moved to Washington. (Thanks for that one, Barry.)

When I completed the paperwork to purchase this concrete chicken shack, I found I had some cash on hand thanks to the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" section of the Democrat patented "No-Money-Needed Mortgage."

This money, after I converted it to seemingly solid gold GoogleRands, weighed 240 pounds.

This sum was delivered to me on demand by a bank-insured black helicopter drop onto the roof of the concrete catacomb I was hoping to flip. Talk about your "windfall profits!" I felt that I had to secure it.

Rather than carry the gold GoogleRands down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley attached to the side of the building at the sixth floor of my otherwise soon-to-be-condemned ghetto crack house. To do so I had the black helicopter lift me off the roof and deposit me on the ground. It was all part of their "customer servicing."

Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded my 240 pounds of gold GoogleRands into it.

Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to insure a slow descent of the 240 pounds of GoogleRands.

You will note on my vital statistics appended to the full-frontal naked picture you now require from all people unfortunate enough to work in the taxpaying industry - comforted only by the knowledge that Taxpaying is the one career that will never be off-shored -- that, after two years of your gently increasing taxation, my weight has dropped from 210 pounds to the very trim 135 pounds.

When you put a pulley into the equation of 240 pounds versus 135 pounds, the results can be, I discovered, quite dramatic not to say sudden.

Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope.

Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of my palace of perpetual penury.

In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel of my "free" gold GoogleRands that was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed -- stripping siding and perceived market value from my property as it plummeted.

This explains the fractured skull, minor abrasions, the broken collarbone, and eviscerated wallet as listed in Section 3 of "The Taxpayer's Plea for Mercy" form.

Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent thinking "A couple more marble countertops and I can still lipstick this pig enough to dump it in a down-market," not stopping in this fevered fantasy until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley of eternal insolvency, which I mentioned in Paragraph 2 of "The Taxpayer Pleads for Assisted Suicide" form.

Fortunately by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the spare change I had discovered after taking the cushions off my sofa, in spite of the excruciating pain I was beginning to experience.

At approximately the same time you informed the nation for the 39th time that the fundamentals of our economy were sound and that "Happy days are here again," the barrel of gold GoogleRands hit the ground -- and the bottom fell out of online blog advertising, the dollar, and the barrel.

Now devoid of the weight of the GoogleRands, the barrel weighed approximately 50 pounds.

I refer you again to my weight.

As you might imagine, I began a rapid descent down the side of my building now occupied by 895 of your party's new Los Angeles voters who were all registered in our new 51st state, Tiajuana, and who volunteered to pay rent only in Pesos at 1 dollar per peso.

In the vicinity of the fourth quarter of 2009, I met the barrel coming up.

This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth, severe lacerations of my legs and lower body, and the last three weeks spent suspended in an "Out of the Money Coma."

During my time in dreamland my multiple media-induced concussions have given rise to the false hope that my luck has begun to change slightly. I am sure that it is only the effect of the medical marijuana given to me by my new tenants and your old and favorite constituents, Juan, Jesus, Maria, Jacinta, Compadre, Latisha, Thor, Son of Thunder, Skippy Gates, and Spot.

The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of gold GoogleRands and fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked, along with my consumer confidence.

I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of fools' gold GoogleRands, in pain, flat-broke, unable to buy so much as a Happy Meal, and watching the empty barrel six stories above me fill with the lethal gas of Congress, I again lost my composure and presence of mind.

I let go of the rope.

Reviewing the above, I have no doubt that as the post-racial, no-reparations-here, President of all Americans, in a full spirit of bipartisanship and concern for the little guy in the Taxpaying Industries of America, you will agree in this one instance to allow me to pay all my taxes next year with a check post-dated to 2013.

Thank you for letting me share, and I promise to vote for you next time, honest, should that election actually come to pass.

Gerard Van der Leun

Posted by Vanderleun at August 7, 2009 1:03 AM
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"It is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood." -- Karl Popper N.B.: Comments are moderated and may not appear immediately. Comments that exceed the obscenity or stupidity limits will be either edited or expunged.

Well, you share the same forename as the dear departed and much mourned satirist, so you're entitled, I suppose. I wonder what he would have made of today's world? Great parody my friend, it will travel well.

Posted by: Frank P at August 7, 2009 2:22 AM

I have to admit that's pretty funny.

Posted by: John at August 7, 2009 11:01 AM

My sides hurt.

Posted by: John R at August 7, 2009 12:39 PM

You owe your salvation to congress.

Had they not filled that looming barrel with putrid rising hot air you'd be a dead duck or some variety of feathered fowl - perhaps a Leun.

Posted by: Cathy at August 7, 2009 2:58 PM

Medicare ended up costing at least 6 times as much per year as its proponents claimed it would. And Medicare was crafted with much more honesty and accountability and thought than "Obamacare" was.

Most government programs typically cost much more than their proponents claim they will

Now can you imagine Obamacare ending up costing $8 trillion per year? It would not be surprising.

Posted by: dmarks at August 8, 2009 5:00 AM