Saturday, January 19, 2013

The Republic Of Dunnistan

I want to be a country. I would like to become my own nation. I could name myself The Republic of Dunnistan, or Dougalia. There would be some great benefits to such a move, not the least of which would be immediate access to waterfront property( an office at the United Nations ). But the real reason I want to become my own country is financial. I want to be able to loan money to myself.

As just plain me, I always have to worry about money. Let’s say I’m bringing home $10,000 a month, but I’m consistently spending $15,000 a month. For Doug Dunnevant, this is a problem. I’m eventually faced with tough choices. I either have to find a way to come up with more income, or I have to cut my expenses back, or some combination of the two. But, for The Republic of Dunnistan, I would just go down to the basement, crank up my Federal Reserve printing press and within a few minutes, I will have loaned myself enough money to cover my shortfall and then some.

Being my own country would be awesome. I’ve even designed a flag. It would have a bright yellow field with a giant smiley face in the center. Why shouldn’t I be deliriously, single-mindedly happy? With that printing press in my basement, there wouldn’t be anything I couldn’t do, nothing I couldn’t buy, no limits to my capabilities. I could dream big because there would never be any limits, just crank up the machine.

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The award for Liar Of The Week goes to Lance Armstrong. It was a close vote with Manti Te’o giving him a run for his money. Lance went on Oprah and admitted that he had doped his way to seven Tour de France titles. The fierce and angry denials of the past ten years were theatre. The personal and legal destruction of everyone in his path over the past ten years was “regrettable”. I thought maybe there would be tears and uncomfortably painful contrition. There were no tears and nothing that even resembled contrition. It was as if he decided to throw us all a bone, “Ok, yeah, I cheated. Can I go now?” The biggest mystery is what on earth was he trying to accomplish. If he was trying to present himself sympathetically, he failed. Confessions only bring sympathy if they seem heartfelt and if the confessor seems personally devastated by his own behavior. He was neither. LIVEWRONG, Lance.

 

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President Obama signed 23 executive orders this week in a ceremony at the White House surrounded by cute 8 year olds. These particular cutie-pies had written him letters after the Sandy Hook tragedy asking him to “do something” about guns. The President even let them read their letters. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against 8 year olds. I was one once and I hear I was pretty cute myself. My own two kids were positively enchanting at 8. But, it always creeps me out whenever I see any politician surround himself with the kiddies when he is signing legislation. Not only does it look manipulative, it makes me think that I’m being head-faked. “No, no… pay no attention to what I’m signing, look over here. Aren’t these kids adorable??” Besides, I’m thinking that one shouldn’t write laws based on the desires of children precocious enough to write letters to the President. On the other hand, maybe the Republicans should take some notes. The next time they vote against deficit spending, perhaps they should call a press conference and march little Johnnie out to read this statement…

“Mr. President, my name’s Johnnie, and I’m here to ask you not to borrow anymore money. I’m 8 years old and my share of the national debt is already over $50,000. If we keep borrowing money at this pace, by the time I’m old enough to be President myself, there won’t be a country left to be President of. And while you’re at it, could you please do something about the vending machine at my school? Some idiot took out the Snickers, and M&M’s and replaced them with carrot sticks and Wheat Thins. That’s like, so stupid!”