Welcome to communist health care! or Why you just got fucked in the ass

The best way to explain to fools and non-fools alike why obamarx’s new commiecare will fail is to use the example of McDonald’s.

McDonald’s feeds millions of people every day, delivering a quality product for very little money (and before you health twats start in, you can eat healthy food at McDonald’s all day and have been able to do so for years).

Question:  if tomorrow the government (aka federal mafia) abandoned enforcing all federal laws concerning the safe handling and other standards for preparing and serving food, do you think McDonald’s would suddenly risk their massive business by cutting corners to save a few pennies by serving an inferior product?

Now let’s imagine going the opposite way.  What would happen to McDonald’s if the federal mafia decided they were going to run it, with the 50-thousand  government regulations and government job “perks” such as never being fired for incompetence or slowness, all the while getting constant raises whether business is up or down?

I won’t let you ponder this one for as long.

I don’t give a shit if you’re the biggest communist wannabe on the planet, if you’re honest with yourself you know damned well that government-run McDonald’s restaurants around the globe–all of them–would be out of business in less than a year.  If they weren’t, it would only be due to higher taxes in the range of billions just to keep them afloat.

I understand why some people wanted to see wider coverage of health care, blah blah blah.  But as in the McDonald’s example, your vote-buying taxocrats in Congress have just fucked you, me, all of us, right in the ass, SANS LUBE.  You’re either 15-years-old or dumb as shit if you think MORE government will make health care more widely accessible, cheaper and more efficient.  You have, by proxy, voted for Post Office-quality heart surgery, and yes, death panels.

For those of you who think death panels are fiction meant to scare granny, please remember that in communist nations, as food and other necessities run out, government ramps up planned famines and work camps to cull the human herds.  They may not be pulling the plug on granny tomorrow, but since we’ve just gone from a free nation to a nation where tyrants literally have control over life or death of we serfs, there’s no reason why 10 years from now, Big Doctor won’t simply stop giving granny her pills when the Accountants have deemed her past all usefulness.

The Kenyan has gone too far and his vile band of alinsky thugs and tax cheats will pay, first during the November elections, and beyond that……..who knows?   The Tree of Liberty is looking awfully parched.

Rant against the drive-by media

Allow me to repeat myself first: if I had to distill the failure of the Bush presidency to one thing, it would be the bailouts. Though the democrap Congress is as much to blame as Bush, I recall my disgust, watching him practically leap out of his chair to endorse the greatest robbery in the history of the world, without debate or even stopping to think.

Bush had many other faults, there’s no denying it, but it would take a whole other blog running 10 years or more to pick through the mountain of undeserved negative propganda he and his administration suffered, to find and assemble bits of the truth.

Bush hatred was as manufactured and overt by the left-wing mainstream media circus as the Two Minutes Hate was by Big Brother.

And so I hate the drive-by media. With Bush they were ruthless pricks and with Obama, fawning shits. No matter which mode they were in they can’t be regarded as journalists or professionals. I’m glad their “product” is dying, they deserve to die, as McDonald’s or Burger King would if they stopped caring and sold spoiled food.

Here is Rush Limbaugh’s definition of the drive-by media:

Since the media is obviously very, very hurt — the drive-by media now very disturbed — by the title, the term that I have dubbed them, “the drive-by media,” I think, ladies and gentlemen, it would be worthwhile to redefine for you exactly what the drive-by media is. They are exactly like drive-by shooters, they pull up to a congested area, they spray a hail of bullets into the crowd. It causes mass hysteria, confusion, mistakes, and misinterpretation, sometimes people and their careers actually die, and then the drive-by media smirks and they ride away, unnoticed in the excitement. They’re never blamed, they’re never held accountable.

In fact, they’re lauded! They’re held up as heroes (mostly by themselves) and then the rest of us have to engage in mopping up the mess that the drive-by media caused. They’re flying down the highway with the top down, laughing and looking for their next group of victims to hail the bullets and mortar fire into in the form of the way they cover a story, and this is repeated over and over and over. There seems to be no stopping them and their marauding ways, and that’s what I mean by drive-by media.

These drive-by pukes are responsible for Obama getting elected. They shouldn’t get the credit, but as we don’t have an informed populace literate in history, they’ll have to do.

Egg McMuffin sex romp

Early November, why wait? I’ve already written off 2008 as another year of not getting laid.

As a social autistic that hates people and can’t bear listening to women talk about nothing while not undressing, I have no chance. Call girls around here are $200 and no pussy is worth more than 50 dollars except in the mind of the victim. Unlike Mexico, isolated parts of Nevada and indoors in Rhode Island, hooking is illegal here.

I can’t even aspire to Tijuana, it’s been way too expensive for over a year. It’s the world’s fault for the high cost of plane tickets and oil, it’s mine for having no disposable income or friends in Mexifornia with their own place; my one Spanish-speaking friend who would venture across the border would have to drive his beater a hundred miles at outrageous gas prices just meet me in Sandy Eggo.

Ignoring the cost and horror of actually going to TJ, the #1 obstacle is the new passport card required for foot travel between Mexico and Mexifornia or anywhere else in the USA: costing around 100 bucks, it’s another layer of useless government turdocracy that will stop no infiltrators and another reason I endorse hanging every moon-worshipping savage by his filthy turban (Sikhs excluded).

Without sex with a woman as an option, I turned to Egg Mcmuffins. They were 2 for $2; didn’t even have to leave the car to buy them.

I eat food from Big Yellow M maybe 5 times a year, if that. One of the reasons is cost: the days of 10-cent hamburgers are frozen in black-and-white history; a large cup of orange juice was $2.39.

I drove to a secluded parking lot.

Egg McMuffin! Sex in a paper wrapper. Masterpiece of design and engineering. It belongs in space, floating between the earth and moon. Flip it over, there’s no top or bottom, no beginning or end.

Of all Mcfoods, the McMuffin seems to retain the heat of birth the longest. As I unwrapped the noisy paper I glanced a number on the wrapper. 300 calories? Where? How?

I peeled open the warm “bun”. The glowing orange cheese looked like it had been hugged at the last second by a suicide bomber, a gooey mess filling the cratered moonscape of muffin. The steaming warm “egg patty” was a near-perfect circle, glistening, white, pure. Unlike Yellow M’s survivalist scrambled eggs with a congealed half-life of 3 minutes, the McMuffin egg remained, in its impossible shape, a symbol of life.

The Canadian bacon was a perfect circle (perhaps Canadians made their pigs run around a circular pen).

I poured McDonald’s “Hotcakes” syrup on the egg and bun. McSyrup is the way sex should taste, the blood of the god Diabetes. In Heaven there’s a harlot named Hotcakes and her pussy tastes like this.

I reassembled the Egg McMuffin and bit into it slowly, carefully. Try eating one too quickly and the squishy-firm egg will break off and try to lodge in your windpipe.

I ate the Egg McMuffin. Unlike the Big Mac or fries, the McMuffin tastes as good Now as it did Then.

Four or five bites and it was over. The first McMuffin, seductive, nostalgic, awakened the palate for the second, which is just good rhythmic fucking with a happy finish.

I looked down at my shirt. I’d been careful, but one glistening zipper of syrup with a tiny bead for a pull, scarred my shirt. I looked in the rearview mirror; rivulets of syrup glistened on my chin, the vampire drinks from maple trees.

I washed up with hand cleaner, balled the wrappers. My head was clear while my gut lodged a boulder of egg, cheese, bacon. I wouldn’t have to eat anything else for the rest of the day, or year.