Different Floors of the House

Friday, August 21, 2009

Oregon to businesses: We hate you (Still)

Taxing a hospital may not be illegal, but it is certainly immoral. The words tax and hospital shouldn’t be in the same sentence…ever. The effort (included in the GRB) is an effort to diminish the public cost of this vast healthcare fiasco we know as the Oregon Health Plan by taxing the private companies, oft non-profit organizations (Peace Health), companies and organization which successfully provide the care we need firsthand. It’s a government sponsored pyramid scheme at least, a top-notch hen-house robbery along the lines of oh, say, a Cloward-Piven strategy in its grimmest reality.


Whale Huggers of the 21st Century

We used to think they were just tree-huggin’ orcaphiliacs.

You know, in the third grade they were the little girls who colored those panoramic ocean scenes complete with the jumping lumpy humpback whale and the big yellow sun. The sun always shines in those pictures. Frederic Church would be proud, wouldn’t he? Usually there was a little caption somewhere on the seascape masterpiece that read: “Save the whales!”

Yeah, them.

Those girls.

But then those girls grew up and went to high school and after they learned how to put a condom on a cucumber they moved up in the world and became “the future of America”. That’s right. They went to college. In college, when they weren’t busy hitting the bong or downloading illegal copies of some obscure Bob Marley album, they learned about the big bad Corporate Individual and the evils of the petroleum industry. They studied Marx, grew hair in places American girls should not have hair.

And they liked it.

They loved every self-indulging, self-inflating, self-promoting minute of it. In fact, they loved themselves so much, they eventually started hating the fact that they loved themselves. Well, not themselves, but some other selves which, in their newfound drivel-driven philosophy they were forced to consider as part of the “collective”. And being now wards of the collective unconscious or…subconscious…or whatever it was, they had no choice but to join Greenpeace. After all, mom and dad never really gave a shit about the whales. In fact, I don’t think daddy ever really liked that superbly creative, uniquely original, extremely insightful, thought-provoking crayon rendition of Moby fucking Dick and the big, yellow, sun.

So, to better understand the oppressive state of the nuclear family, the logical step was to get some sociology notches on the liberal arts garter belt. Of course, this is where the girls learned that people are really, really bad and there’s this, like, carbon thingy that like is bad for the ozone and the planet is, like, totally overpopulated and because of rich people our level of ecolo—ecologistic—ecologisticality or something, is really not sustainable! They joined the “No War for Oil” protest organization, which, as you’ll recall, was comprised of a bunch of bike-riding nitwits that didn’t need—at least didn’t think they needed—oil at all. Then, after failing to pass the philosophy course entitled “Cultural Relativism”due to a wee little binge with peyote and Hunter S Thompson, these girls lapped up three trimesters of transgender relations and human sexuality courses, before they came to the beaming enlightenment that they had been academically transformed into this lying, shithead of a guy:

And while I technically cannot prove that this man has no penis, I assure you, he has no balls.

Oh, and one more thing, little missy. Those crayons you colored that piece of crap over-bloated whale picture with? Yeah. Paraffin. Comes from petroleum. Dunce.