A MODEST TAX SOLUTION

By definition we have in Washington a dysfunctional family. How do we know this? Well, one of the first indications is the lack of communication and, as we know,  the Democrats won’t talk to the Republicans and the Republicans won’t talk to anybody, except each other. Sometimes.

Our poor country is on the brink of bankruptcy. Bills and expenses up the lagoon. I’m pretty certain  all of us-except the one per centers-have been in a similar situation at one time or another.How do we pay the rent and buy food, or shoes for the kids, or gas for the car or? The list goes on and on. It is not an uncommon dilemma in the average household. It was usually worse when we were younger but often, hopefully, we learn from our mistakes and make it to middle age and older all in one piece.

Many, unfortunately, never learn and at the end of their lives end up back counting pennies on the counter. Then we have this damn fool economy, over which we have no control, going nuts on frequent occasions. I don’t think much of the capitalist system. I call it the manic-depressive economy. It’s bipolar. Boom. Bust. Boom. Bust. But that’s not a subject I will wander aimlessly about in. Seems on this issue one not only ends up counting pennies, wringing hands and tearing hair, but often ends up with  a black eye and a bloody nose or  sitting in the cat/bird seat in a divorce court. That’s the ultimate dysfunction, isn’t it?

Kind’a like what’s going on in Washington. Only in Washington they can’t get a divorce. At least divorce is a closure.

Well, I think I have the perfect answer. It will take some setting up and some atypical political treachery. I think the helpless man in the middle of this mess, the most powerful man in the world-sigh-Potus, should invite Congress assembled to a big happy do at Camp David, where,  unbeknownst to these illustrious beings, a secure and well-guarded detention camp will have been erected  to which the entire crowd will be driven, like cattle, and penned. Well guarded with the Pres’ own men, of course, and several watch towers armed to the teeth.

Here there will be tents, sleeping bags, porta potties and a long  rickety table sagged down with stale loaves of  bread and water tanks the President has personally spit in. Maybe they should be stripped and handed long pink sheets, like togas, to drape themselves in. I hope it snows.

Once settled in, a booming voice from a tower will proclaim, “Work it out. Write it down. Hand it to a guard. I’m off for some rounds of golf  in Hawaii. Make it sane, intelligent, fair to all and include this clause: all churches, great or small, all religions, loony or otherwise, will fill out an income tax form. Declare all their income and forever and ever after be taxed at an annual rate of 10%. The government will do the accounting. Free. Aloha.”

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