The Republicians Health plan finally revealed by the NRA ….GIVE me liberty and give me death

America is the world leader in most important categories: #1 in nuclear warheads, #1 in citizens incarcerated, and breaking into the top 50 in healthcare. We don’t look to Europe for solutions to our problems because those countries are a bunch of whiny, over-indulged socialist brie-eaters with funny accents. If there is one thing every patriotic American knows, it’s that socialism is pernicious and has no place in the American way of life.

That’s why our cherished Constitution forbids socialism to flourish anywhere within our borders – with the very narrow exceptions of our public schools, postal system, fire and police departments, interstate highway system, Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, federal prisons, all state universities, most community colleges, Social Security Administration, National Guard, Coast Guard, public libraries, most local garbage collection services, the National Weather Service, and a few thousand other minor social service programs.

My point is, with a few isolated exceptions, the USA simply does not tolerate the tyranny of socializing our civil services (if you don’t count the folks at the Civil Service Administration). The mere mention of the word socialism stirs a visceral fear in the hair-trigger psyche of our proud democracy.

Socialism enslaves people through intrusive government over-regulation. Case in point: Canada’s socialized healthcare system. Ask any Canadian how they feel about their healthcare compared to ours. An astonishing 98%* of Canadians surveyed said they would gladly swap their healthcare system for ours (* if it was necessary to do so in order to get their child back from kidnappers).

Until Obamacare (known by liberal America-haters as the Affordable Care Act) was enacted, America was the proud supplier of one of the world’s elite healthcare systems – and by elite I mean #37, right behind Costa Rica, and several places ahead of Pakistan.

Sure, 32 of the world’s 33 most highly developed nations all have universal healthcare. But Americans have never followed the herd. We forge our own path, dig our own grave. Who invented the Snuggie? The Clapper? The TV show Ice Road Truckers? One word: Pioneering Americans. (Okay, so we don’t rank very high in global word count rankings.)

So what if prior to Obamacare, the average American had been paying on average 40 to 50% more per year than countries with universal healthcare? Those other 32 countries include backwards, oppressive socialist-leaning regimes like Denmark, Norway, Germany, Switzerland, Canada and (gasp) France. And do we really want to look to France as a model for anything? (Okay, France, I’ll give you points for inventing crêpes. They’re yummy.) If you don’t agree that Obamacare means an end to our freedom, just look at some of its core provisions. It denies freedom-loving Americans….

the right not to carry health insurance because we know we will never get sick and need it
the right to be denied health insurance coverage for pre-existing conditions, and
the right to have our coverage unilaterally dropped when our policy is no longer profitable to our health insurance provider

Oh sure, I might decide to buy health insurance eventually – maybe when I’m 85 and eying a hip replacement or a heart transplant. But until then, no meddling government bureaucrat has the right to make me buy health insurance, not when I can make far better use of that money buying Power Ball lottery tickets.

Just a few days ago the Court listened to arguments about the constitutionality of Obamacare. Obama wants to force every American to purchase health insurance, much the way we’re required by law to buy car insurance. Does Obama think the American people are cars? What an insult. If so, my body would be a broken-down 1982 Chevy Citation with the radio missing, but I digress.

I believe it was Patrick Henry who once tweeted Give me liberty and give me death! – or something like that. Our fore fathers – five if you include Alexander Hamilton – founded a Christian nation on the fundamental principle that all white, male, Christian, educated, landowning Americans with slaves were endowed with certain inalienable freedoms:

Freedom of speech
Freedom of assembly
Freedom to carry a concealed weapon to a house of worship of their choice (so long as it was Christian)
Freedom to have insurance providers raise everybody else’s rates and let others pick up the tab for your emergency room surgery because you didn’t bother to buy health insurance

When it comes to our cherished freedom to decide how to manage our own health – listen to Patrick Henry. Give us liberty and give us death. Say Hell-No to Obamacare and Hel-lo to undetected stage-four lymphoma.

Who among the top 1% would benefit from Obamacare? No one. Oh, sure a small number of people might be better off – and by small number I mean barely 45 million previously uninsured Americans – none of whom are Facebook friends of mine. And who is President Obama to tell me I must spend a portion of my hard-earned paycheck on health insurance premiums instead of investing it wisely as I see fit, by placing it all on Daddy’s Overdraft in the third race at Pimlico? (He’s excellent on a muddy track.)

If all goes well, come 2020 the Court will hand down its decision to overturn this nefarious threat to our liberty. We’ll all happily return to the wonderful way things were, safe from the threat of a hostile government takeover of healthcare, comforted knowing that our civic ally-minded health insurance companies will do their darnedest to resist shareholder demands to raise our premiums for years to come.

But if the Supreme Court upholds Obamacare, you can kiss all your cherished personal liberties goodbye forever. Before you know it, the government will start regulating local libraries, public schools and national parks – someday maybe even Medicare. Oh what a hellish nightmare!

Please join me in praying that God will direct the Supreme Court to strike down Obamacare and return our great nation to a simpler time when healthcare decisions were private matters, and the government stayed out of it entirely – the 13th century.

My trip to Vegas or how I really got married along time ago

I’m not a drinker. And I don’t really gamble. So naturally, I decided to go to Las Vegas for the weekend. What a bizarre place Vegas is. I must have had one hell of a weekend, because I barely remember a thing. It’s all still a blur. It was just like something out of the movie The Hangover – except without all the strippers, car chases, Bengal tigers in my hotel room, or getting the crap knocked out of me by Mike Tyson. But otherwise, the parallels with the movie were eerie.

I decided to stay at the Hooters Casino Hotel – mainly for the pool. At first everything was fine – until I ventured out onto the strip and did something no sane tourist in Las Vegas would ever do: I made eye contact with the street hawkers. As a result of my reckless mistake, I was offered 27 invitations to strip clubs, a chance to ride a white tiger at the Mirage, and $100,000 of term insurance with an option to convert to whole life at age 65. I finally broke down and grabbed one deal that was just too enticing to resist: 60% off on linens at Bed, Bath & Beyond.

I don’t remember much of what happened after that. But the next morning, I woke up to find a scantily clad woman in my bed – with a wedding ring on her finger. Oh, shit. Who was she? A cocktail waitress? A stripper? What had I done! I frantically put on my glasses. Oh… right. It was a dream.

I vaguely remember something about seeing a David Copperfield magic show. How in the world did I end up there? All my memories seemed to have disappeared. Was I hypnotized? No… wait – didn’t I buy tickets for some show last autumn? Yeah, I remember – the price was cut in half – a great deal! That would explain it.

Las Vegas – ElvisNow that I was in Vegas, it was as if I’d lost all sense of self-control. My inhibitions evaporated. I acted on impulse. Like for breakfast – I always eat responsibly – a banana, a slice of whole wheat toast. But this was Vegas, baby. You don’t do whole wheat toast here. So I dove head first into self-indulgence. “Waiter! Bring me a double order of chocolate crepes, extra whipped cream and cinnamon powder to boot.” Don’t judge me. Vegas has a power over a person that I can’t explain.

I thought my drinking problem was long behind me. But in Vegas, the old demons came back with a vengeance. I really have no idea how many drinks I downed that night. Six? Eight? Thirteen? Frankly, I lost count after my fourth Mountain Dew. But this was Vegas, and I didn’t care. After all, as they say: What happens in Vegas stays…. on Facebook.

I’m thinking I also might have gone to see a Donny Osmond matinee tribute show at the Golden Corral. (That place makes the best pancakes.) I’m not sure who Donny was paying tribute to – or why his skin was so dark or why he sang with a New Delhi accent, but his rendition of Ahnd Dey Culled it Poopy Love brought me close to tears.

While I’m not a gambler, I was after all in Vegas. So once again, I succumbed to my base impulses. People later told me that I apparently strode with more than my usual swagger into the casino at Caesars. I walked past the roulette wheel. Roulette wheels are for chumps. I didn’t waste my time at blackjack. Blackjack is for losers.

High Roller gambler i was I proceeded directly to where the high rollers hung out. I laid down ten crisp big ones. I must have been where the serious action was because I vaguely recall being startled by the striking image of Beyoncé, beckoning me in a dazzling sequined evening gown, painted tastefully in fluorescent colors on the slot machine in front of me. I honestly can’t recall how long it took me to blow through all ten of my dollar bills. But the adrenalin rush must have been worth it.

Then I probably ran out into the cool night air to soak in the shimmering lights of Las Vegas. My heart must have been pounding underneath my brand new T-shirt (which I think I bought for 75% off out of the back of a van) which read “FBI: Female Body Inspector”. I probably thought the T-shirt would be a chick magnet. I later remembered Bill Nye the Science Guy explaining that magnets can also repel – which might be why my girl would not come anywhere near me while I wore that shirt.

I found out later that in the excitement of the moment, I apparently decided to change out of my new T-shirt and into a luxurious zip-on tuxedo. Bystanders say I grabbed the hand of the first woman I saw and whispered in her ear “Let’s get married tonight.” Fortunately for me the first woman I saw was my fiance or I would have had some serious s’plainin’ to do when I got back to the hotel.

We must have raced to the first respectable Elvis Wedding Chapel we could find – preferring, of course, the young Elvis as our chaplain over the older fatter version. We said our wedding vows. My wife says I vowed to start leaving the toilet seat down and she vowed to put up with me so long as I burned my Female Body Inspector T-shirt.

That’s all I remember. The next thing I knew, the whirlwind weekend was over, and I was back at home catching up on old episodes of The Jerry Springer Show. Life had returned to normal.

I only have one regret about my crazy weekend in Vegas. In all the excitement, I completely forgot to use that 60% off coupon for Bed Bath & Beyond. Maybe on my next wild trip there.