For the Want of a Nail..

If I correctly interpreted a recent communiqué from my accountant, I overpaid my estimated taxes. I'm going to -- ready? -- get something back from my weird Uncle in Washington. I'm giddy. I need to take a few deep breaths, sit down, try to take it all in.

I'm conflicted. How is China going to take it if I just run around unfettered, a feverish wild thing, getting my own money back from the US Treasury? How's it going to look to AIG, our fifty-first state, if my selfishness limits their ability to take billions of taxpayer dollars in through the front door, and then gaily strew those billions right STRAIGHT THE HECK OUT the back door?

And Congress? What will become of them? My honorable advocates, working tirelessly for my benefit? My heroes, who once caused Dante to pause, lean over to Lucifer, and advise, "Dude, check this crowd. We're gonna need a whole new level down here." What will become of their fine ideas, assuming they ever stumble over any, if I'm so selfish?

According to one brilliant analysis cited by Congress, 90% of businesses create 97% of new jobs. Somehow, that fails to stun me. So I did my own somewhat related research, and can announce the following discovery: 50% of people make up half the population.

I admit that my research is tentative, as I was only able to secure $218 trillion in Federal grants from the "All We Have To Fear Is Fearmongering Itself, And Rush Limbaugh" Economic Stimulus plan, Phase II, Part VI, Addendum MLVIV, Chapter and Verse. By reversing all the vowels in my grant application, I managed to qualify as part of the funding for "The Effects Of Underarm Wetness On The Trans-Sexual Salt Marsh Dormouse."

True - before getting the Fed grant, I was subjected to a brutal grilling, but funding was finally granted after convincing the Oversight Committee that I could name all seven of the dwarves. As I recall, my funding would be, and I quote, "...somewhere in the last 100 pages or so, unless there aren't 100 pages. Like we would know."

I had hoped to tap into the "Reducing The Carbon Footprint Of Carbon-Based Lifeforms In Really Long Star Trek Sequels" funding, but I couldn't find any Congressmen who were actually from Earth. But I did get some kindly advice from Dan Quayle, who leaned in and advised, "That's TRUCK, son. Star TRUCK. With an 'e'..."

I hope my greed doesn't affect the High Desert foot odor research so vital to our national security, or nix the new Buffalo Chip Museum, or remand the repairs needed for the Mid-Central Florida Golf Tournament For Retired Car Dealers With Really Loud Plaid Pants, or foul up funding for the Sasquatch Sensitivity & Interpretive Dance Center, or blunt bi-partisan support for the critical "End Sticky Movie Theatre Floors In Our Lifetime" project, or nudge the budget for the Joe Biden Self-Actualized Wind Farm, or hinder the "Only Eight Christians Left So Let's Not Stop Now" Commune & Trans Fat-Free Tattoo Parlor, or reduce Nancy "Being An American Is Un-American" Pelosi's quotidian fleet of personal, on-call airplanes.

Man. A conscience is such a burden, sometimes.

Another group whining for some stimulus money are beekeepers, who claim to have recently lost lots of their little honey providers.

Amazing, isn't it? The pure, classical cause and effect? A bunch of banks made bad loans. And decades of proven pecuniary theory clearly pointed to the solution: another water park in Florida. A Wharton grad noted that, after partying with Michael Phelps and then playing "Wealth of Nations" backwards, he clearly heard Adam Smith calling for more off-road vehicles pleasure trails, mostly in Democratic districts.

And millions of distraught honeybees, possibly heavily invested in General Electric, committed suicide.

So. Fair enough. I'll give back my refund. Remember, America: as Joe Biden chided, it's time to be patriotic. It's time to pitch in. It's time to do your part.

And if I don't pitch in and do my part, and you don't pitch in and do your part - well, pretty soon, we won't have a part to pitch in...