They’re destroying the middle class via their primary weapons: tax cuts for the rich, control of the federal government, control over the Democratic and Republican parties, the media and Wall Street. They’re sucking the middle class financially dry, just like any out-of-control parasite sucks its host of all life. That’s because the rich are parasites unto this nation and the world. This is the story of one parasite and how he does it; Rich Romney. It goes something like this.
The Story of a Romney.
Rich Romney purses his lips. A giddy feeling courses through his body as he thinks about the Trans-Pacific Free Trade Treaty and all of the riches his already vast vault of stolen wealth will suck in from distant nations, and from his less fortunate US neighbors. Happiness causes his body to tremble. He guffaws. As his joyful thoughts snap back and forth from one section of his frontal lobe of his brain to another, like jolts of electricity, the ends of its lips rise upward into a sadistic smile. A trickle of froth dribbles from the ends of his lips, rippling over his chin like tiny streams of pure organic honey.
Romney walks past his massive diamond studded desk to the window of his executive suite, twenty floors above the teeming masses of tiny people ambling back and forth below. He has one thought. The Trans-Pacific Free Trade Treaty (TPP) is going to put a lot of those lesser creature out of work, and redistribute their income to my vault. Those things deserve what they get and so do I. I’m going to earn their money.
Romney hears a knock at the door. He ignores it. His eyes race to the window cleaners across the street, dangling thirty floors above the artificially concrete jungle below. Their arms sweep back and forth, turning dirty glass into shining beacons. Romney’s eyes stay focused on the window cleaners as he hears another knock on the door.
Romney thinks about the person at the door, Let the idiot sweat, he’s just my little bitch.
Rich thinks about window cleaning; I’d never do that job. That’s dangerous, just hanging there. They go splat if they fall. That’s a death sentence. But I’m going to put those boys out of work, replace them with somebody cheaper, put the difference between their higher wages and the lower wages of their replacements into my own pockets, where it belongs. I deserve it. They don’t.
A knock at the door is louder than before.
He folds his arms over his chest. As his eyes stick to the window cleaners, Rich says, “Come senator, join me.”
Senator Ron Wyden of Wall Street pushes the door open. He stands in the door frame, a pasty look on his face, a bead of sweat dangling on his forehead.
Rich looks at the reflection of the senator through the window. “You didn’t have to knock at the door. I heard you the first time.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“I said come senator.”
Part two tommorrow
John Hively's Blog: News and Analysis of the War Against the Middle Class 