Mitt Romney, Go Right To Your Room! (Reposted)

A NOTE FROM THE WEBMASTER:

Marc is on vacation, so here's a previous post (originally published on August 17th.)

À propos of Tuesday's US presidential election, I think it apt!
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It was a day when unwittingly I channeled Franny.

It was a story she told me once, after she had said she was being especially nice to Molly, her dog.

Why?

Well, she had scolded Molly unknowingly the day before.

Explanation?

“Well, I got up as I always do and set about the morning chores. Fed the cats, put wood in the stove, made the bed. Put Molly out to eat and do her business. Turned on the radio, and started to make breakfast. Well, the news was just dreadful that day. And that damn Bush was trying to justify his invasion of Iraq! When I think of the sympathy and good will of the entire world after September 11 and then he has to go and squander it all and invade a foreign country under the flimsiest of excuses! And the more he spoke, the madder I got. And then he got stuck in one his sentences and couldn’t get out of it! Damn it! Well, I was pretty steamed up, and went stomping around the house….”

“So what’s that got to do with the dog?”

“Well, I went to let the dog in, and she wasn’t in sight. Then I saw her, crouching under the porch. So I stormed over there and demanded ‘WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!’ And she just whimpered. So I looked around. No trash anywhere, so she hadn’t gotten into that. No smell, so she hadn’t rolled in anything. Just stood there with her tail between her legs, looking at me with those brown eyes….”

“Right…and?”

“Well, I realized then.  I…um…had been talking to George Bush….”

Those who knew her will understand. She could get up a head of steam.

And so can I. Rather, so did I.

Why?

Mitt Romney said yesterday that he had never paid less than 13% in taxes.

WHAT!

Here’s what I said:

YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE AND YOU HAVE JUST LOST THE ELECTION AND I AM DAMNED MAD AND DAMNED GLAD. I MADE 35, 000$ DOLLARS LAST YEAR AND I PAID 14 PERCENT ON IT! AND YOU HAVE THE FUCKING GALL TO TELL THE AMERICAN PEOPLE THAT YOU PAY THAT MISERLY 13 PERCENT ON YOUR FUCKING QUARTER OF A BILLION DOLLARS! 

And then…

YOU KNOW, MY FATHER WAS A REPUBLICAN, BUT HE WASN’T ANYTHING LIKE THE KIND OF SLEAZEBAG YOU ARE! HE BELIEVED IN SMALL GOVERNMENT AND FISCAL PRUDENCE AND THE PRIVATE SECTOR AND PAY-AS-YOU-GO AND DON’T SPEND MONEY YOU DON’T HAVE. RIGHT! SO DO I! 

Cat looks up, interested…

AND THAT’S THE WAY I RAN MY LIFE WHEN I HAD A LIFE AND HAD A JOB AND GOT UP EVERY FUCKING MORNING AT 5 AM AND WENT TO WORK. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT, MITT! MY FATHER WOULD BE ASHAMED OF A PARTY OF RICH JERKS WHO ARE FILLED WITH HATE FOR ANYBODY LIKE THE HUNDREDS OF IMMIGRANT KIDS WHO ARE FILLING CHURCHES IN LOWER MANHATTAN TO APPLY FOR LEGAL STATUS AND MAKE A BETTER LIFE FOR THEMSELVES. WHO DEREGULATED THE BANKING INDUSTRY SO THEY COULD MAKE MONEY FOR THEMSELVES AND THEN THREW US INTO A DEPRESSION, WHICH PARTLY COST ME MY JOB! WHO CAN’T STAND A BLACK GUY IN THE WHITE HOUSE! SHAME ON YOU!

Storm into the kitchen, cat follows!

I could go on but…look, you get my drift.

I’m better today. I took my rain walk, and sure enough, sought refuge under one of the balconies when the predicted downpour arrived. I listened to Haydn. And then I channeled Jack.

Where’s the press? 

With about three keystrokes, I figured out the federal tax rate in 2011 for a guy making 35,000 bucks a year.

15%.

What part of this don’t people get? Don’t people know how much they pay in taxes?

“I’m not paying anything this year,” my students would say in relief on April 15.

Wrong—you’ve been paying through the nose all year. You just aren’t gonna get slugged extra.

So what am I gonna do? 

Or what are we gonna do?

Here’s my plan. Dig out your tax forms for the year 2011. Redact them—you don’t want those jerks playing around with you social security number. And when Mitt comes to town? Go to the rally wearing a big placard, with your annual salary and your tax rate written on it. 

And wave your tax returns at him. Let him take a look at what real people are paying.

Oh, and Mitt?

Go to your room. Don’t come out until you’re ready to say you’re sorry!

The wrong grass

In about twenty-four hours, I will be standing—and likely sweating—in a cardboard box, marking my ballot. I’ll fold the ballot, and drop it in a cardboard box. My finger will have been checked to assure that it hasn’t been dipped in ink. The polls will close, and members of all political parties will count by hand the ballots. They will all sign off on the vote.

Here’s the good news—we have elections as clean as mountain spring water.

Here’s the bad news. My cousin in Norway voted for president by absentee ballot.

I cannot.

Nor can some one million American citizens who reside in Puerto Rico.

Nothing to do with being Puerto Rican—Raf could vote in Florida and Wisconsin when he lived there. But—so goes the rationale—since Puerto Rico doesn’t pay federal taxes, we don’t get to vote in federal elections.

Goes a little beyond that. It seems that we are not protected by the entire constitution.

Seems a bit Orwellian, doesn’t it? Some of us are more equal than others….

What we can do, however, is shed blood for our country. And we have consistently, since the First World War. It was startling to me, when I first realized the nature of the scheme.

Our political and ruling classes trade the blood of poor Puerto Ricans for American greenbacks, many of which go into their pockets.

This is a level of cynicism I didn’t expect.

Nor is it a trivial question.

Remember W.?

You wouldn’t, if we had voted in 2000.

And now we got a guy running for president who doesn’t believe in global warming, despite the fact that it’s not just been studied but is now being lived. Try getting to the bottom of Manhattan by subway.

Oh, and it’s been a week since the storm.

We got a guy and a party that would turn back time about half a century on women’s rights and gay rights. We got a guy whose grandfather was a polygamist and who pretty much thinks the same way gramps did.

Nancy votes, Marc doesn’t.

Well, well—no one reads a blog to hear a rant. So here’s the good news.

Bamboo!

It turns out that bamboo creates the same degree of fanaticism as the UFO guys and the JFK conspiracy freaks. 

Friends, we’ve been growing the wrong kind of grass!

Our lawns are ecological disasters. We turn the lakes green due to the fertilizers we have to put on the lawns. They require enormous amounts of water. You can’t eat it.

Bamboo, on the other hand, consumes pollution. It can grow anywhere except in deserts. You can eat it. It can grow, in optimal conditions, three feet a day! And it can be used in construction, as a food for chickens (the leaves) and most importantly, for fuel.

Africa is losing a lot of forest—people are cutting trees for fuel. Bamboo, on the other hand, makes a decent charcoal, and grows back quickly. Trees, once cut, are gone.

I think it’s a tremendous idea.

Now—why can’t I vote?

Mitt Romney, Go Right To Your Room!

It was a day when unwittingly I channeled Franny.

It was a story she told me once, after she had said she was being especially nice to Molly, her dog.

Why?

Well, she had scolded Molly unknowingly the day before.

Explanation?

“Well, I got up as I always do and set about the morning chores. Fed the cats, put wood in the stove, made the bed. Put Molly out to eat and do her business. Turned on the radio, and started to make breakfast. Well, the news was just dreadful that day. And that damn Bush was trying to justify his invasion of Iraq! When I think of the sympathy and good will of the entire world after September 11 and then he has to go and squander it all and invade a foreign country under the flimsiest of excuses! And the more he spoke, the madder I got. And then he got stuck in one his sentences and couldn’t get out of it! Damn it! Well, I was pretty steamed up, and went stomping around the house….”

“So what’s that got to do with the dog?”

“Well, I went to let the dog in, and she wasn’t in sight. Then I saw her, crouching under the porch. So I stormed over there and demanded ‘WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!’ And she just whimpered. So I looked around. No trash anywhere, so she hadn’t gotten into that. No smell, so she hadn’t rolled in anything. Just stood there with her tail between her legs, looking at me with those brown eyes….”

“Right…and?”

“Well, I realized then.  I…um…had been talking to George Bush….”

Those who knew her will understand. She could get up a head of steam.

And so can I. Rather, so did I.

Why?

Mitt Romney said yesterday that he had never paid less than 13% in taxes.

WHAT!

Here’s what I said:

YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE AND YOU HAVE JUST LOST THE ELECTION AND I AM DAMNED MAD AND DAMNED GLAD. I MADE 35, 000$ DOLLARS LAST YEAR AND I PAID 14 PERCENT ON IT! AND YOU HAVE THE FUCKING GALL TO TELL THE AMERICAN PEOPLE THAT YOU PAY THAT MISERLY 13 PERCENT ON YOUR FUCKING QUARTER OF A BILLION DOLLARS! 

And then…

YOU KNOW, MY FATHER WAS A REPUBLICAN, BUT HE WASN’T ANYTHING LIKE THE KIND OF SLEAZEBAG YOU ARE! HE BELIEVED IN SMALL GOVERNMENT AND FISCAL PRUDENCE AND THE PRIVATE SECTOR AND PAY-AS-YOU-GO AND DON’T SPEND MONEY YOU DON’T HAVE. RIGHT! SO DO I! 

Cat looks up, interested…

AND THAT’S THE WAY I RAN MY LIFE WHEN I HAD A LIFE AND HAD A JOB AND GOT UP EVERY FUCKING MORNING AT 5 AM AND WENT TO WORK. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT, MITT! MY FATHER WOULD BE ASHAMED OF A PARTY OF RICH JERKS WHO ARE FILLED WITH HATE FOR ANYBODY LIKE THE HUNDREDS OF IMMIGRANT KIDS WHO ARE FILLING CHURCHES IN LOWER MANHATTAN TO APPLY FOR LEGAL STATUS AND MAKE A BETTER LIFE FOR THEMSELVES. WHO DEREGULATED THE BANKING INDUSTRY SO THEY COULD MAKE MONEY FOR THEMSELVES AND THEN THREW US INTO A DEPRESSION, WHICH PARTLY COST ME MY JOB! WHO CAN’T STAND A BLACK GUY IN THE WHITE HOUSE! SHAME ON YOU!

Storm into the kitchen, cat follows!

I could go on but…look, you get my drift.

I’m better today. I took my rain walk, and sure enough, sought refuge under one of the balconies when the predicted downpour arrived. I listened to Haydn. And then I channeled Jack.

Where’s the press? 

With about three keystrokes, I figured out the federal tax rate in 2011 for a guy making 35,000 bucks a year.

15%.

What part of this don’t people get? Don’t people know how much they pay in taxes?

“I’m not paying anything this year,” my students would say in relief on April 15.

Wrong—you’ve been paying through the nose all year. You just aren’t gonna get slugged extra.

So what am I gonna do? 

Or what are we gonna do?

Here’s my plan. Dig out your tax forms for the year 2011. Redact them—you don’t want those jerks playing around with you social security number. And when Mitt comes to town? Go to the rally wearing a big placard, with your annual salary and your tax rate written on it. 

And wave your tax returns at him. Let him take a look at what real people are paying.

Oh, and Mitt?

Go to your room. Don’t come out until you’re ready to say you’re sorry!