Sauce for the Hoi Polloi

“Do as I say, not as I do.” – The Hypocrite’s Motto

The lethal mixture of snake oil, sheep dip, and just plain horsesh*t emanating from the nation’s capital brings to mind Frank Zappa’s rap about the boob tube (“the tool of the Government”):

“I make you think I’m delicious with the stuff that I say,
I’m the best you can get, have you guessed me yet?
I’m the slime oozin’ out from your TV set.”

The alleged debate over health insurance would be enough to send the Hog into high dudgeon (again), were it not for his veterinarian’s advice that a constant state of agitation makes for a very tough ham. Drumpf forbid.

These Washington phonies argue about how to prevent the government from providing their constituents with health care, while they live like royalty, enjoying all sorts of government perks, including solid gold health care, heavily subsidized by the taxpayers, with the rest paid for by their lavish government salaries. (For some details, see: https://fas.org/sgp/crs/misc/R43194.pdf). Members of Congress are entitled to care at local military facilities, and have access to the (taxpayer-funded) Office of the Attending Physician. And although their subsidized (at 72%) coverage is a part of the Affordable Care Act, commonly called Obamacare, if the ACA is repealed, members can return to subsidized coverage under the Federal Employees Health Benefits Program, or FEHBP. Millions of their constituents will have no such fallback plan. The irony threatens to raise the dudgeon alert level once again. A safety net for the oligarchs; a gill net for the hoi polloi.

And let’s not even get started about the Drumpfinator, with his own personal physician in a White House office.

So here’s a simple solution: if they repeal the ACA, Congress, the Senate, and the President Trump (that last phrase still reeks of unreality) all get the same options we have, with no government subsidy. Or, we get exactly the same options they have. (An in-pen vet: that has a nice ring to it). There, we’ve solved that problem. Except that we haven’t. The King and his courtiers would have none of it. We must do as they say, and not as they do.

One way or the other, we are going to wind up with single-payer health care. This will not be as big of a change as you might think if you listen to the gasbags in DC. Between Medicare, Medicaid, TRICARE, medical benefits for government workers at all levels, and that part of Social Security used to cover what Medicare doesn’t, the government already pays for the lion’s share of all health care. The best estimate is approximately 2/3. And since the hog pollog pay for the government, and their own health care, and the unpaid bills of the uninsured: well, we’ve got single payer, and it’s us. But in between, we’ve got the insurance companies, feeding off of fee-for-service. All with different plans, coverages, costs, co-pays, deductibles, addresses, protocols and rules and regulations. It’s a perfect recipe for chaos, which is by design, as it maximizes profit (often at the expense of care) by hiding it in each little corner of the byzantine dance that is health care today.

By contrast, the program that works most efficiently, and best, is Medicare, with roughly 3% administrative cost. You doubt it? Ask anyone who has recently changed to Medicare from their private health plan which they prefer.

Obamacare went off the rails when it became health insurance reform instead of health care reform. There was hope that it was a needed step towards single payer, but then there was Drumpf. More irony; the Repubs who screeched about repealing the ACA never thought they’d actually have to do it, but with the new prez… well, as someone said, nobody knew that health care could be that complicated. Actually, everybody knew it, except the short-fingered orange dust mop currently occupying the Oval Office. (Allegorical reference to previous blog: short fingers, short you-know-what. There’s a problem down there. Still waiting for trou-drop, Big D [or should we say Little D]…).

Most likely, we’ll get to single payer when the whole house of cards comes down in a catastrophic crash, like the financial system in 2008 (only worse). Again, there’ll be nobody to pick up the pieces except the government, and we’ll be coping with the fallout for years, trying to stay healthy whilst picking our way through the wreckage. Again, there’s an easy solution: just don’t get sick for the 10 years or so it takes to figure it out. It’s the American way, everything resulting from a crisis mentality.

Whatever the new legislation turns out to be, it’ll be the product of so much logrolling and smoke-filled-room horse-trading that the result will make sausage look like filet. It will be great, all right; for them, and the rest of us can eat cake. All this talk about food is making the Hog hungry, so back to Zappa:

“You will obey me while I lead you
And eat the garbage that I feed you
Until the day that we don’t need you
Don’t go for help . . . no one will heed you
Your mind is totally controlled
It has been stuffed into my mold
And you will do as you are told
Until the rights to you are sold

That’s right, folks . . .
Don’t touch that dial”

If Zappa were alive today, he’d be turning over in his grave. Okay, that’s it. The old dudgeon meter is at 11 on a scale of 10. Albeit that they are difficult to wield with cloven hooves, time for the pitchfork and the torch.

And, about touching that dial? A .357 would work nicely. Elvis had the right idea.

Bewitched

“Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.”—Lorenz Hart, lyricist.
“I read that a bunch of witches have gotten together to put a curse on Trump, and I think the Christians need to be praying for him to defend him.”—Pat Robertson, televangelist.
“We just can’t go on a witch hunt.” –House Intelligence Chair Devin Nunes, R-Ca.
“It’s a witch hunt.” Roger Stone, Trump confidant (referring to investigation of the Russian connection).

Who knew that Trump’s election would usher in a Wiccan resurgence? Sure, some may have had a premonition, perhaps there were omens, but it fell to cognoscenti of the occult, like Robertson and Stone, to point out the obvious: it’s gotten so you can’t swing a dead black cat by the tail without hitting at least two witches. They are ubiquitous, casting spells here, forming ritual circles there. The Hog has heard that there is a pentagramhouse atop Trump Tower. And even a casual observer would have no trouble believing the Trump administration (an oxymoron if ever there was one; the guy seems not to be able to administer his way out of a paper bag) was operating under the influence of some sort of hex.

Leave it to those godless Russkis to invoke the assistance of Neopaganists. First they put a lying curse on Michael Flynn, and then a similar enchantment on Cracker-General Jeff Sessions. Speaking under oath, our new Attorney General was asked by Sen. Al Franken, “… if there is any evidence that anyone affiliated with the Trump campaign communicated with the Russian government in the course of this campaign, what will you do?” The AG responded, “Senator Franken, I’m not aware of any of those activities. I have been called a surrogate at a time or two in that campaign and I did not have communications with the Russians, and I’m unable to comment on it.”

Turns out, during the campaign, the Jeffster had two meetings with the same jolly fellow who met with Flynn, Russian ambassador Sergey Kislyak. Oops. Ah well, just a coincidence these guys were meeting with a heavyweight from the same country that was hacking the Democratic opposition. Mere happenstance that they both lied about it until they were busted. Of course, Kislyak is a simple diplomat, unschooled in the ways of cloak and dagger. And the Hog will be judging the Miss America Pageant next year. Wait, no, competing in the pageant. Wait, no, winning it. Might as well dream pig, er, big.

Coincidence-schmoincidence! It was the witches! They put the prevaricatin’ whammy on these two upstanding Trumpistas, befuddling them until, for the first time in the era of Trump, fact became fiction, and fiction fact. (Oops, maybe not the first time. A pox on these enchantresses! They’ve even jinxed the Hog!).

At any rate, now we know the source of the magical thinking that’s led us to this sad pass. So, instead of being bothered and bewildered, the Hog says, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. See you at the séance tonight; I’ll bring the Ouija board.