I Am Joe

I am Joe, too.

I crawl under the sinks and scoop foul, semi-solid junk and hair (most of it is/was mine) out of the drains. I sweat pipe, install faucets, scrub the carbons out of my oil furnace until my hands and face and clothes are black with soot. I scrub the creosote out of my chimney while standing on an eight foot ladder on the roof which is twenty feet off the ground. I cut down eighty-foot tall trees and pick up my wedge and split the wood into pieces. I crawl on hands and knees through the attic, laying down itchy fiberglass insulation. That’s just a partial list. There’s never been a job in thirty some years around my former business or home that I’ve ever felt I was too good to try and accomplish. My calluses have calluses.

But where Joe and I differ is important. His dream is to open his own business, hire his own employees, and be his own boss. I was there. It was no dream. You see, I had an enemy.

That enemy should have been my biggest friend. I was providing employment to a couple of dozen people. I was providing health care insurance to my employees and their dependents, collecting their various federal and local payroll taxes for them, collecting medicare and social security taxes, providing a very good living wage and making sure that the various government agencies got those tax dollars. On time. Or else.

But my enemy took the word of a knife-wielding, gas-station robbing drug addict over mine. My enemy did not look at the history of phony worker compensation claims that an employee who claimed to be injured on the job made over my word. When my enemy lost the records of tax deposits I had faithfully made on time for decades, he chose to believe I was the one at fault and cleaned out my business checking account. My enemy was stronger and more determined than I was. I gave up fighting, sent the last payroll report and tax return off to my enemy with an extra couple grand as insurance, and closed the doors.

Now the economic realities of at least three prior administrations have struck. New people, eyes filled with crocodile tears and condescending attitudes, wish to preside over that enemy and now bemoan the closing of factories and the loss of jobs.

When Joe is standing in his own front yard and asks questions out of concern for his own future he becomes vilified. His personal name and address is posted on the internet. His tax records are investigated and published for all the world to see. I feel for Joe. But at least he is seeing the enemy before he pledges his house and future to the bank in return for being his own boss, running his own business.

Don’t do it, Joe. The dream is a nightmare. The enemy is stronger, could care a whole lot less, and has all the time in the world to make you regret your decision. You’ll risk everything, spend years paying off equipment that becomes worthless way too soon, and find yourself employing people that align with the enemy against you.

It’s your decision, Joe. But you have now had a tiny taste of what is to come in the future United Socialist States of America.

The last great President this country had put it clearly:

“The most terrifying words in the English language are: I’m from the government and I’m here to help.” Ronald Reagan

Thanks to Iowahawk for graphic:

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3 Responses to “I Am Joe”

  1. franglo Says:

    Why don’t you move to Mexico if you hate America so much?

  2. paleo Says:

    I guess you’d like for me to shut the hell up and abandon the country to the socialists, eh Comrade? What position have you been promised in the new world odor under 0bama?

  3. Plumbob Says:

    nice blog, always fun o read! keep up the good work and ill keep reading!

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