So, God and I had this conversation.

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My septuagenarian friend and I were sitting under a massive live oak during the hottest Floridian August on record.  We were into our second six pack from the olde Coca Cola ice chest when he finishes his fourth or fifth beer, leans forward on his over tanned knees and whispers, “Do you believe in God?”

I sat back in my camp chair and took a nice slow draw on my long neck Bud while I decided whether to answer his rather rude question or tell him to “fuck off!”  I don’t know whether it was the heat or the beer, but I decided to answer him and tell him the truth.

I began. 

It was quite a few years ago; about the time I went from knowing everything to realizing I knew nothing.  I decided that it was time God and I had a sit down, a meeting of the minds, a discussion.

My friend looked at me hard, grabbed another Corona from the cooler and sat back in his lawn chair.  I grabbed myself another beer and continued:

“God,” I said, “I am well aware of all you have to deal with.  You’re dealing with wars, famine, genocide and all.  In addition, I cannot even imagine what is like having all those people whining, and begging and praying to you for favors.  I’d have blown somebody’s head off by now. 

I don’t know if you exist or not.  I don’t think what I believes matters.  It seems to me that what matters is whether you believe in me.  Here’s what i suggest.  I’m not going to bother you with prayers or adoration.  Your psyche is certainly not so fragile that you need my or anyone’s adoration or sniveling prayers.  You, for your part do your thing; and I won’t complain and will try to do what is right.  

Do I believe in God?  I never decided.  He did what he thought was best; I did my best.  He never asked if I believed in Him, and I never asked if He believed in me.”

My septuagenarian friend looked at the untouched sweating beer in his hand, looked me hard in the eye, chugged his beer and said, “Bullshit!”

I chugged my beer, looked him straight in the eye and said, “Well, maybe it was more of a soliloquy.” 

Social Security’s Best Kept Secret

img_1558If you, your children, your parents or your grandparents receive the benefits of Social Security, you are a Socialist.

On August 14,1945, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt signed the Social Security Act passed by Congress.  It was a social insurance program designed to pay retired workers age 65 or older a continuing income after retirement.  It also covers disability and survivors insurance.

It is an earned benefit. It was an insurance program where workers, through and with their employers, paid a premium to cover their expenses after retirement.  It was intended to be like modern day car, home, or health insurance.

Unfortunately Congress treats the fund as its own personal “petty cash”.

What is more unfortunate, bordering on criminal is that the cap on employer and the individuals contribution is $128,400.  That’s correct; if your income is $1,000,000 you will not be required to contribute to Social Security on $871,600 of your income.

And lastly is the fact that the security systems for our elderly, disabled and survivors exist no longer.  Children cannot or will not take care of their parents.  The state and churches are no longer taking full responsibility.  It is highly unlikely that they can or will be able to step up.

You’re a Socialist…

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IF YOU, YOUR PARENTS, OR YOUR GRANDPARENTS…

  • receive Social Security,
  • are on Mediicare,
  • are on Medicaid,
  • went to public school or college,
  • drive on public highways,
  • have your house protected by a fire department,
  • are protected by the police,
  • drink safe water,
  • use a sewer system,
  • use safe medication,
  • eat safe food,
  • use a safe banking system,
  • believe in Christ,
  • etc.

YES, YOU ARE A SOCIALIST.  And, when the President or any other politician accuses anyone of being a Socialist, know that they are attacking you, your parents, your grandparents and your children.