Saturday, Sep 6, 2008
"Well, now that I'm over 55 and, according to media stereotypes, spending my days sitting on a porch swing with a crocheted blanket over my legs and not a care in the world, I've decided to write a children's book. Of course, I'm no vacuous celebrity, but I still think it turned out OK."
"Let me see," Ruthie said. "How the Gingrich Stole Christmas and How the AARP Helped: A Pharmaceutical-Soaked Tale of Betrayal. Sounds fun."
"Whuth AARP?" said little Rita.
"Avaricious Admirers of Regressive Policies," Ruthie hissed. "Now hush up or I'll perforate your other ear. Grandma, will there be any mass merchandising tie-ins?"
"Are you kidding? At this rate there won't even be drug benefits, the very thing the new Medicare bill would supposedly add. You see, kids," she explained, playfully crumpling the grocery list she would not be needing anymore, "the AARP feels that the best cure for the high cost of prescription medicines is to allow the pharmaceutical industry to charge any price they like. I guess I can see their point. After all, it's one thing to gouge, starve, abuse and neglect millions of human beings, but 'stifle innovation'? That's just sick."
"Gosh, Grandma," Ruthie said, "you and the other 35 million members of AARP should form an organization that actually advocates for seniors instead of selling them out like cheap cordwood."
"We thought we had," Grandma said, "right up until we found out that AARP receives more than $100 million in revenue from health insurers."
"Are any of them hiring?" asked Mrs. Parker timidly.
Grandma sighed, "I guess there's nothing left but to tear up this useless AARP card..."
"Noooo!" cried little Rita. "You sthill have one benefit left, Gwandma -- the hotel dithcount."
"She's right," Ruthie said. "Now that Grandpa's pension isn't worth crap, you'll soon be trading your condo for a motel room with a view of the underpass."
"Actually," Grandma said, "I was counting on moving in with you lot."
"Before or after the foreclosure," said Mrs. Parker.
Suddenly, the sound of their roof falling in caught their attention. As they gazed upward, they saw a jolly man stuffed into a big suit zooming past in a sleigh.
"Santa!" the children exclaimed.
"Sorry, kids," the jolly man shouted, patting the sacks at his feet. "I need every dollar of this $102 million and counting just to get reelected, and then I'm gonna have a whole lotta presents to hand out, and I don't see your names on the list. On, Rangers! On, Mavericks! On, bundlers and funders!"
"But we need health insurance!" hollered Ruthie. And jobs, and education, and environmental protections, she said to herself, not wanting to push her luck. But the jolly man was already far, far away.
"Thith Cwithmuth weelly blowth," said little Rita.
"Yeah, you can stitch that one on a needlepoint," Grandma agreed.
"Aw, c'mon, you guys," Mr. Parker said. "It's nearly Christmas, for chrissakes. Sure, times have been tough on Lower Middle Brackett. But hey, I work for a major corporation that has survived the recession thanks to the extraordinarily high productivity of American workers who've put up with pay cut after pay cut. Why, they wouldn't dream of selling us out just to boost their profits by millions of dollars!"
The phone rang.
"OK, I'll tell him," Ruthie said moments later. "Dad, it was the office. The bad news is, they were calling from India."
"And the good news?"
"You've been promoted to 'permanent unpaid overtime.'"
"Hot dog!" said Mr. Parker. "What's it pay?"
"They said your reality check is in the mail."
"Any benefits?"
"For them? Plenty. For you, not so much."
"See, kids?" cried Mr. Parker. "Everything's swell! Now, Ruthie, what does your ol' pop always say?"
"Uh, Every time the bells of freedom ring, a CEO goes ka-ching?" said Ruthie.
"Close. Grandma?"
"Every human being who can afford it has the right to purchase life, liberty and happiness?"
"No," said Mr. Parker, "I say: God help us. God help us, every one."
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