Dear Book,
You are my one and only true confidante. I tell this to you so that future generations will known the pain and suffering caused by the guarantee of health care to all citizens. Imagine that, book, ALL citizens.
We have been herded into merely a three star restaurant. I have sat here staring into the abyss of my decaf coffee, fearful for what the future will bring. Sheldon sits in a daze, reading, sadly, The New York Times over a Vodka Tonic with house vodka for nearly thirty minutes. Both of us are unsure if this is truly the end, but we are determined to fight the good fight, and to guarantee that future generations of rich will not suffer as we have.
That is why I write this. It is about the preserving the dignity and the humanity of the rich. I may not be willing to die for this cause, but I am at least willing to make a few speech engagements at 75% my normal fee, as long as I get gate revenue shares, as well.
I will talk to you later.
Mitt
Dear Book,
The wind sweeps out over the empty, battered plain. I sit, waiting for Maria to bring me to pork loin we were supposed to be having for lunch. I am now sitting under the old gazebo. The paint has not been refreshed in days. I will be sure to see if Manuel still has the man power to cover this. We have been forced to let go of two of our daytime staff. The horrors of Obamacare continue, unabated.
John B. came to me to seek shelter some time back. He has already been forced to pay nearly 100 dollars additional in taxes at the tanning salon. I fear for John. He is beginning to succumb to some strange illness which seems to be causing him to become pale and lifeless. All we have is a Cabernet from 2010, no Merlot. I hesitate to offer, but I must be a gentleman. Even in these days of such great scarcity, it is still tax deductible if you call this a business expense. There is no darkness that can stop the penetrating light of hope!!! We fight ON! Wolverines!
Mitt
Dear Book,
The days sweep by. I barely know if today is the day for Polo,or Fox hunting.
Imagine this desolate future, this barren wasteland, and remember it was all due to a market based health insurance plan that requires people to purchase from private insurance companies. Every day, as I look over the ocean from my patio, I can hear the cries of my brethren.
First, they came for the multi-billionaires, then they came for the Billionaires, then they came for me.
What is this Evil Vision they have? This unjust punishment?! What on Earth would possess someone to suggest that all earnings be taxed equally, or that I... I should have to pay the same percentage into Medicare and Social Security!? Why? Why?!
Do these people understand the pain they are causing? I have been made to establish additional tax shelters to keep my money protected from these depraved madmen. Imagine that! That cost extra hours to my accountant, and destroyed the hearts and minds of my children. They are fearful that they will not get enough millions when I am eventually taken off to the work camps.
As soon as there are no more billionaires, they will then use their dastardly cunning to find the multi-millionaires. I don't know if I will have the power to fight back against their schemes of more effective and fair tax policies.
Also, those of us who are willing to stand and fight have taken on the name of our spiritual guide.
Mitt Trump
Dear Book,
I have received dispatch from the front at Home Depot. In the first days of AO, we also were faced with the abrupt resignation of Pope. The new pope appears to be some sort of animatronic puppet, or a specially designed human created and grown in the lab for just this occasion.
Either way, he is an agent. He must be silenced. If the pope is not stopped, some people may not believe that I am entitled to everything I am entitled to. It is a fearsome menace.
The brave, rich, soldier at Home Depot has made a stand. He has slapped the tyrannical robot pope in the face with a glove. He has said, "No, I will not give the church money, until you release my rich friends and I from the moral obligation of our Christian Faith!"
I will write more later. Until then, I now raise my white gloved fist into the air and say, Power to the Pocketbook!
Mitt T