Sunday, Jul 6, 2008
Feeling unemployed, bankrupt and badly represented in the nation's capital? Four out of five spin doctors recommend Taxium!
Aug 25, 2003 | Take this simple health test:
Do you suffer from persistent recession?
Do you experience a burning sensation in the portfolio?
Have you ever had the feeling that someone wanted to keep records of your library books, tap your phone, or seize your property without cause?
Do you have hallucinations in which an Austrian bodybuilder is running for governor of the world's fifth largest economy?
If you answered "Yes" to any of these questions, you may have contracted EDD, Economic Deficit Disorder.
Hi, my name's Joyce McGreevy. I'm not an actor or I'd be running for office too. Three years ago, I was struck down by a debilitating catastrophe. It was November 2000, I'd left my options open, and someone brutally assaulted my national election. Overnight, my once happy life became a living nightmare. It cost me my livelihood, eroded my ability to experience civil rights, and even threatened the fiscal health of my children and unborn grandchildren.
I thought I was alone. Then I found out about a national network called Citizens Anonymous and met millions of people just like me. Just knowing that many of us suffered the same injuries boosted my uptake of serotonin. But it didn't last. I just couldn't hand my life over to a Higher Power. Besides, no one could decide if that meant John Ashcroft or Karl Rove.
So I left Citizens Anonymous and checked myself into the Elaine Chao Clinic for Infectious Unemployment. Like countless others on the donor list, I was hoping to qualify for a job transplant. What I witnessed there was not for the squeamish.
A 47-year-old college instructor was given the part-time hours of an 18-year-old Slurpee clerk. Thousands of factory jobs perished during a re-sect that left one CEO with a grossly enlarged bonus. A mom and pop of a former mom-and-pop bookshop were dragged out of bed every day and ordered to spend to keep their children from going into irreversible anti-consumerism. A 61-year-old woman was rushed in for a radical pensionectomy following loss of blood flow to her insurance agency. Countless others on the donor list succumbed to terminal bleakness when their jobs were airlifted to other countries.
Meanwhile, my condition worsened. Diagnosed with an occluded cash flow, foreclosure of the domicile, and a cyst on my résumé, I was treated with a mild application of disdain and released. With little hope of a cure, all I wanted was relief.
That's when my spin-doctor recommended Taxium.
So easy to swallow it only takes 231 members of Congress to shove it down your throat, Taxium has a bitter aftertaste that lasts for generations.
How does Taxium work?
This miracle compound, now 99 percent compassion-free, coats the brain in a thick, protective layer that inhibits painful critical thinking and replaces it with irrational optimism. Just look at this abstract from the Journal of the American Maniacal Association: "With regular use of Taxium, patients who previously showed difficulty just trying to pronounce the word 'nuclear' developed ease in articulating such bromides as 'We believe that the tax relief plan we have in place is robust enough to encourage job growth.'"
Before Taxium, I couldn't even look at our nation's disastrous economy without retching in fear. But now that I'm on Taxium, I'm able to see that offering no viable initiatives for improving the economy is actually the best federal policy since, well, since the hemorrhaging of one million jobs after the nation was pronounced "in recovery."
That's right, it turns out I was in recovery and didn't even know it! Admittedly, I still can't feel any sensation in the job sector, but thanks to Taxium, I occasionally get a phantom itch where the jobs used to be. And while some people dismiss that as cancer of the prospect, I say it's a sure sign of impending growth.
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