The Debt Ceiling Debate Explained for the Non-Child Molesting Politician Segment of the Population

It may seem complicated, but it isn’t.  For anyone who has been unsuccessfully trying to avoid seeing these Washington fucktards playing dick-slap with each other over this recent hot-button issue, and not really grasping what is going on, this post is for you.  And don’t feel bad that you don’t get it.  It isn’t you–it’s them.  If you take away anything from this article, it should be that you’ve voted tits, on a bull, into government.  Here is the main problem, in a nutshell:

The United States was drunk as shit at an outdoor music festival.  It was hot as all fuck, and all the U.S. brought to wear was a tank top and shorts.  There was a big tent at the festival where shifty fucks on cocaine and failure were giving away “free” fisherman’s caps and little water bottles with miniature fan attachments that blew a mist onto your face.  So the U.S. did what any responsible drunk person would do, and signed up for a Visa, a Master Card, an Amex, a Diner’s Club, and yes, even a Discover Card.  Then when the U.S. woke up hungover the next day, they went to the mall to make themselves feel better.  They bought some jeans and a fall jacket and some perfume and a Coach purse and some Manolo Blahniks and got a mani-pedi.  That night they treated their friends to dinner and drinks, then hit the strip clubs and went wild in the champagne room.  Later on they ended up at Suzy Kim’s Massage Parlor and since it was on the plastic, everyone answered “Happy Ending” when one of Suzy’s minions asked “So whah airse ya wan baby?”.  Some time went by and all seemed well.  They continued to shop online and eat dinners they couldn’t afford, all the while making the minimum payments on the credit cards.  Then the housing market rationalized and suddenly they weren’t selling 97 mortgages each month, and income began to dry up.  Suddenly the minimum credit card payments became their entire disposable income.  And guess what, next month money in is going to be < money out, and they can't meet the minimum payment on the revolving credit card debt anymore.  What to do??????

And here is what they do:

They call a huge circle-jerk party with all their most degenerate, lying, cheating, stealing, molesting, DUI’ing, racketeering, dick pic texting, intern-raping, sexual harassing, cross-dressing friends and do the most responsible, fiscally sound thing they can think of… up a new credit card to pay the minimum monthly balances on all the other credit cards, at the very handsome APR of 39.99%.

And that folks, is all she wrote.  We all have a line-blowing friend with a blow-out haircut that is doing the same, and it is no different with the U.S. Government.  I’m not passing any judgment on the decision to open the new credit card.  It is either file bankruptcy now with Peter Francis Geraci, or file bankruptcy later with one of PFG’s esteemed colleagues after Peter Francis Geraci tragically dies in a Red Roof Inn under a highway overpass when a game of erotic asphyxiation with a prostitute goes awry.  It is only a matter of delaying the inevitable.  Just like when Bush & Bros brought us the bailout that has (as I predicted before he even won the election) now been blamed entirely on the Black Guy who had nothing to do with it.  I guess there is a chance our 4th and 88 with 0:02 on the clock Hail Mary hook and lateral play somehow goes Stanford vs. Cal and we avoid having to call the debt consolidation 1-800 number at 2 a.m. with an empty bottle of scotch next to our sofa and an aborted straight-razor cut on our wrist.  I mean why not?  Anything is possible, with God.  And once the Tea Party comes to power, we’re going to have a straight flush to the God.  

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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