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Britt Combs: Frat boys, drug dealers and co-eds

Government is the frat boy, bankers are the drug dealers, what does that make us?

By Britt Combs | The McDowell News

Published: July 7, 2009

While Democrats concentrate their energy on nationalizing the entire mass of industry in America and Republicans await the pendulum swing, when we'll beg them to lead us back to the golden age of killing foreigners in remote villages, you might be asking yourselves how they hope to sustain their lavish trip.

After all, the Democrats' management of manufacturing, health and energy is doomed to failure, and if the Republicans regain control (and they will) the rest of the world will eventually be forced to nuke us all, just to restore peace. What possible future can these Democrats and Republicans be hoping for?

The answer is that politicians do not worry about the future. They are addicts, looking for an immediate fix.

A politician's job – if he's a Democrat or a Republican – is to keep the party going for two more, four more or six more years. How? Here's a simple analogy:

Government is the frat boy hosting the party; the people (taxpayers and voters) are the nubile young sweeties the frat boys have invited to the party, on the hope that, if we get drunk enough, they will get to "have a good time" (nudge, nudge).

The creditors, buyers of bonds and securities, are the all-night liquor stores and dope dealers. They make it possible for the frat boys to get us drunk.

The government frat boys are flat broke. They produce nothing and pay for nothing, and in fact have no jobs. They are what we used to call "bull throwers." They are popular pretty boys who talk others into providing the money and paying for the party on the promise of good times to come.

(A frat boy promises, "You party with me tonight and when I become a rich lawyer I'll make sure you never have to work at all and buy you nice presents and houses and servants." Just as the politician promises, "Vote for me and pay me lots of taxes and I'll give you free health care, free protection, free happiness, whatever you want, sweet britches.")

We constituents (pretty little empty-headed co-ed bimbos) accept the frat boys' invitation to the party because, secretly, deep down inside, we feel inadequate and think our noses are too big and our butts are disproportionate and no one could ever truly love us. So when pretty boys destined to become lawyers pay attention to us, we giggle like the ditzy, unimaginative nymphs we are. (Ouch. I know, I know, but let's be honest with ourselves, just this once.)

The frat boys have no intention whatsoever of marrying us. They only want to "party" with us. They know that the only way they can get us to party is to keep our self- esteem low (You can't make it without our welfare/police surveillance/affirmative action/healthcare/homeland security/war on terror/etc.), our hopes up (Vote for me and I'll make you rich, fat and happy.) and our senses dulled (Don't worry your pretty little heads trying to understand economics; we're geniuses and even we don't quite understand it all. Don't read the Constitution, you have to be a lawyer to figure out all that boring mumbo jumbo. Here, look at the pretty colors on this pinwheel. See how pretty? Your eyes are getting heavy, heavy, heavy…).

So when the frat boys ask us to reach into our pink rhinestone purses and bust out with our credit cards and checkbooks, we gladly comply. It's better than being rejected. The frat boys call their dealers: More Zima! More Xanax! (more bridges to nowhere, more "clean renewable energy" projects, more foreign wars against far away brown people, more free welfare).

Problems arise, however, when the ATM will no longer spit out more cash, the credit cards are maxed out and we can't keep working because now we're pregnant. What to do? Surely the frat boys aren't ready to stop partying.

That's when the frat boys, in exchange for more dope and liquor, let their dealers "have their way" with us. (The politicians leave us holding the bag of high unemployment, massive debt, hyperinflation and an angry international community. Remember, it was the "good faith and credit" of the American people the politicians pledged, not their own.)

They'll just trade us washed-up bimbos – now pregnant and less desirable, having been rode hard and put away wet – for next year's freshmen. There's always another low-self-esteem set of lower class bimbos blushing and fainting, flattered by the attention of those dashing frat boys -- another ethnic, religious or regional group who can be combined into an effective electoral majority.
Party on, dudes!

What's really heartbreaking about all this, of course, is that, just as there's always another freshman class of bimbos waiting to be ruined, raped and impregnated by frat boys, so the American people are always ready to vote, yet again, for Democrats and Republicans. How pathetic can a nation get?

Culturalist, reporter and columnist Britt Combs can address your church group, civic club or graduating class about politics, economics, spirituality or any topic you wish.