Debt crisis not a game

At the end of summer I found a little kitten. Actually, he was outside crying, and I thought the noise was kids playing. I finally looked outside to check, and found him stuck on top of a low wooden frame around a pipe that comes out from my neighbor's house. Like the kitten was trying to climb over it, but got stuck on top. His eyes weren't even open yet. Though it was a warm day, he was in the shade and was shivering uncontrollably. I picked him up and laid him in a sunny spot to warm up. Kept petting him a little to assure him he wasn't alone.

His mom came back a couple days later. She might have been out hunting for food, or maybe at the local bar trying to hook up. Who knows? Anyway, the kitten would have been dead by then, and he's my kitty now.

We'll gloss over the fun we had trying to feed him. Couldn't find a baby bottle small enough, so for a couple weeks, the kitty looked like he'd been dipped in formula and left to dry, which was pretty much the case. But he didn't starve. He's developed a real passion for cheese popcorn. Go figure.

Now he's about three months old and thriving. He loves to play, One of his favorite things is leaping up, hooking his claws into my knees, and climbing up. You tickle him, and he grabs your hand with his claws and starts gnawing on your fingers. He's playing, of course. But reflex action in response to a couple dozen kitty teeth sinking in your arm, you shove him away. And he charges back, even more determined to draw blood. He's a kitty. He's playing. He thinks it's a game.

The Comrade has precisely the same attitude toward the USA's $16 TRILLION debt and $1.2 TRILLION (or more) yearly deficit spending.

He sinks his tax-biting teeth into your income. You shove him away. He comes back, even more determined to draw blood.

No, really, Comrade. I'm serious. I'm not playing. You're killing me. You're destroying the country.

Really. This isn't a game.

But, of course, the blockhead in the White House is essentially too steeped in marxist cliches and platitudes to see reality.

He charges back, determined to draw even more blood. Lay waste to private enterprise. If some people have more money than others, "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!" Taxing the rich doesn't help the economy at all; in fact, it damages the economy. But the Comrade doesn't care. He's playing a game.

Just like a relatively brainless infant animal. I can forgive the animal. Human beings have the capacity to know better. 

So what next? When my kitty gets too rambunctious -- and believe me, I've got bites and scratches up to the elbows to illustrate my tolerance -- finally I have to lock him in the spare bathroom. If he doesn't mellow out soon, I'll probably have to take him to animal control, and they'll probably put him to sleep if no one adopts him.

I have no idea what might happen to the shit-for-brains in the White House. But more and more every day, I'm convinced -- give the idiot what he wants. Watch it all collapse. And then see if even the unions still love him.