Well, it’s that wonderful time of year again when our federal government threatens to go to hell in a handbasket. If the debt ceiling is not raised we’ll all be out on the streets, huddled around smouldering trash cans and panhandling all the overseas tourists come to see our pitiful decline.
That, at least, is the way the headlines read. Try this one on for size, from Fortune.com: Government will run out of money in November, Treasury Secretary warns.
Yikes! But, hey, what the blazes happened to all the taxes I’ve paid to Uncle Sam last coupla years? Those ninnyhammer wastrels in Washington must have gone through it like a drunken sailor. All 43 dollar of it!
I oughta write to my Congressman — that’ll fix their wagon.
The Wall Street Journal puts the disturbing news into perspective for us wretched peons who struggle to balance our checkbooks:
Many Republicans have balked in the past over voting to raise the debt ceiling, forcing Republican Speaker Boehner to turn to Democrats to pass legislation enabling the U.S. government to pay its bills on time. Those votes helped stoke conservative ire against Mr. Boehner for years, leading up to his decision to resign.
Ahead of Nov. 5, many Republicans said they would want to secure reductions in federal spending in exchange for voting to raise the debt limit, now at $18.1 trillion. Treasury has used emergency measures to avoid breaching the debt cap since mid-March.
Kinda gives you a lump in your throat, don’t it? Thinking about these great American noodnicks boondoggling on our behalf . . .
Dear Mr. Boehner: When you leave the office of the Speaker,
I hope you’ve wrangled all your boys to avoid the squeaker
of governmental coma when the money all runs out;
and ev’rything comes to a halt from federal-led drought.
Push that ceiling way up high, into the stratosphere;
then we can continue to be wasteful without fear.
Once you have retired from the Speaker’s podium,
you will never have to deal with any odium
that comes from so much debt that soon the Chinese will take over.
And herd us into sweatshops like a pistol-whipping drover.