Dear America, I own your ass
So shake it real nice and let me see you back it up.
You see, now that we’re nationalizing health insurance, I own you. Well, I don’t actually own you. But I pay taxes and this wonderful new healthcare bill gives me a vested financial interest in your health and well-being. I don’t actually care about you but your choices can cost me money. So, by proxy, I’m going to tell the government that I do not approve of your unhealthy behavior, since it costs me money.
So, don’t be surprised when I start telling the government to tell you to put down the cancer stick because it can kill you. Or when I tell you to run your fat ass around the block a few times because that fat tire expands my tax liability. Or when I tell you that, no, you can’t buy the jumbo pack of Oreo Double Stufs and wash them down with some whole milk. Or when I ask that we implement testing to ensure that you, being the alcoholic you are, have actually stopped drinking.
Want to stick your sausage-like fingers into a bag of Cheetos? Tough. You’re on my dime now.
Not only do I demand equal access to treadmills, I demand chaining males between the ages of 35 and 45 to one for about three hours each week.
I look forward to being a nanny. And you better go floss.
And use a condom, it’s the law.