Letter: Feeling ill

Here he comes, Mr. America as the throngs of Obamiac’s line the runway to the podium hoping to touch, hug or shake the hand of Jesus Christ, Superstar. It took but three minutes before there was a standing ovation, and that was only after saying, “I’m proud to be here before you tonight.” I reached for my Dramamine to combat my nausea attack.

After droning on about how great the economy was, the horror of guns and how we have to build the economy, he hit on the minimum wage debate. I then took another Dramamine tab. Minimum wage would then be $10.19 per hour times 40 equals $404 per week, a far cry from my paltry $205 a week Social Security check. And don’t say we get cost-of-living increases like the rest of the world because seniors will pummel you.

He claimed we need more and better education. Education is the biggest money pit known to man, outside of Solyndra and the Stimulus Bill; the best they have come up within the last 100 years is, Midnight Basketball. Again a standing ovation led by Jumpin’ Joe Biden, again I reach for a Dramamine tab.

I was in the middle of taking my pill when he babbled on about there being 14 suicides by handguns. I said to myself, more people than that have jumped off the French King Bridge and would it be better if they jumped in front of a Boston bus? After 27 more standing ovations and running out of Dramamine, I decided to watch something more inspirational like “Miley Cyrus twerking,” and “At home with Honey Boo Boo” for a while. That made me more depressed whereas I turned back to “The State of the Union” charade as it was ending. It looked more like the ending of a wake.


Wendell Depot

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