Remember that wheeze about how many rivets can you blow and still get your crate in the air? Any one of the Founding Fathers would have understood that one instantly. Theirs was an 18th century sensibility, after all. I prefer the formulation said to be that of Geo. Wash.: “Influence is no govt.”
Donald Trump is the Antichrist: everything the man touches turns upside-down and inside-out. Mad.
The explicit proposition embedded in the just-passed tax bill is stark: the Koch brothers live lives of quiet desperation. They and others like them are terrified that America and indeed the globe might be in for a runaway Great Depression.
And why might such a state of affairs come about? Because of the Koch brothers and others like them. When will they ever learn that everybody does better when everybody does better?
It just occurred to me who I am reminded of after looking at the Trumps, the Weinsteins, and the Moores. It’s a great deal like what Nelson Algren would call a walk on the wild side. One would say it’s like Groundskeeper Willie on the Simpsons, but that’s meant be funny. Egad.
There are the few, who are they; and there are the many, who are us. The very few justify what they do claiming – a bit annoyed that we asked – that their activity will trickle down on us. Better to refer to a “tinkle down” theory and comment that, take an arc as long as you like, there is no historical mention of such a thing having worked; the movement goes the opposite way: whether they know it or not, the Kochs suffer from chronic severe monetary constipation, which is inevitably suicidal. Sad.
Let us say, for the sake of agreement, that you wish to borrow a million dollars, which you agree to repay at a dollar a second. How long would it take you to repay the loan?
At the same rate, how long would it take to pay back a loan for a billion dollars?
By simple arithmetic (one cannot easily get by the multiplication tables), at a pay-rate of a dollar per second, how long would it take to pay back 32-times-1000 (or one trillion) dollars?
A billion here, a billion there — and one sees references to multiples of one trillion, and, even, a young quadrillion…
Surely the shade of Everett Dirksen, asleep in his very own building, would agree: pretty soon you’re talking real money. We’re in for a ride, ladies; you, too, gents.
Are we mad, are we mad enough yet? Come, come, now; let (not quite yet, but) let us pray as we would at a grand wedding, let us sprinkle bullets from on high and so bless Sandy Hook: The Beatles got it, spot-on — happiness? Happiness is in verifact… a warm gun. Are we mad? Are we mad enough? Had enough? And this, this is America? Get by with a little help so bullets will chatter like rain from on high, bullets dancing in a reign of… of slugs. And still it is not enough, we are not mad enough, yet. There must be more dancing in a rain; Sandy Hook was not enough; not nearly enough: I see you are passionate, laddy-buck, but are you mad? Are you mad enough? Had enough? Are we in America Yet? And this, this is America?!