Nine, seven, four. What matter, anyway. Such a boring line of questioning. Did I mention, perhaps that I was a resident in the Hanoi Hilton? Five years. Oh, I did? What were you asking again? Houses. Well, they’re not mine anyway. Belong to wifey. The airplanes, too. By the way, Obama. What an elitist.
Million dollar house. Bet he eats arugula and drinks lattes. Quiche, too. Did you know that he made four million last year on that book of his? Now that’s rich. My houses? The value? Look, I said they weren’t mine, they’re Cindy’s. That much? $13million? Really. Huh. Did I mention I was a POW, no million dollar houses there, I’ll tell ya. What? Oh, but you already asked that question. I told you... Oh, I didn’t. I thought I told you that they weren’t...aren’t...my houses. They’re... Look, I’ll have to let my staff get back to you on that. I’m really not sure how many houses... No, I would not consider myself out of touch with the middle class. Sure. I think it’s possible that the average Joe would lose track of how many houses he has...especially if they’re owned by his wife. Everyone has investment properties. Don’t they?
I would say that if you’re have under $5 million you’re not especially wealthy. No. Not rich. But, see, that’s what I’m talking about. We need to give lower taxes to the average guy, you know. The guy with only a million or so in the bank. Two. Make it easier for them to send their kids to school; to college. That’s their retirement nest egg.
What about the poor slobs who live paycheck to paycheck? Make choices about whether to buy food or pay the mortgage; fill up the tank or pay the doctor? Whiners. Just give the lower taxes a chance to work; it’ll all trickle down, then everything will be rosy. Just peachy keen. Do you know how hard it was to just make day to day in the Hanoi Hilton? Lemme tell ya. These guys, sheesh. Whiners. All of ‘em. Wouldn’t last five minutes as a POW. And Obama? Let me tell ya, son. Ain’t no lattes in a Vietcong POW prison camp. No sirree. What was the question again?