Ready for the Junkyard By Harold

July, 2013

How is it that a state which prides itself as being symbolized by a shiny, sleek escort into a bright and better future remain so mired down in the political muck of the past?

I'd be more apt to equate N.Y.S., along with its ever-changing newly revised Laws, with a wheezing, gasping, ready for the junkyard jalopy. Slowed down by the weight of a zillion coats of correct-o-paint, trying desperately to limp out of yesterday. I cringe at the proud declarations of the poor over-taxed, under-insured, jobless, homeless, helpless, hopeless taxpayer. Who, with their media-induced slogans of State Patriotism (I HEART N.Y.). Albeit true, though incredibly sad.

The Heart being the central support of the body. In this instance the Heart representing the hard work of a lifetime for the taxpayer, a vanishing pension and a seemingly uncertain future. The body meaning a morbidly obese, borderline, destitute State. Of course a person (taxpayer) loves his body, just as a driver needs and depends on his car. However, a good mechanic is hard to find. It seems that all that remains these days are the greasy, slick-talking painters (the whatever-you-need-me-to-be-politician) POSING as repairmen. Look no further than the crumbling inner-cities, down-state upstate. The exorbitant cost of maintaining a decent home. Food taxes, clothing taxes, education taxes and health care or the lack thereof. Let us not forget the biggest drain of them all, THE PRISON SYSTEM. Too much paint over too much rust. Young convicts become old prisoners having served their sentence, they remain confined to serve the politician much the same way as the paint job serves the mechanic . . . The jalopy looks like new as it limps out of the station, but the mechanic knows, you'll be back . . . .

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