The Middle Aged Male and Health Care Reform
Health care reform is a hot topic right now and for those of us who are approaching our more experienced years, have a vested interest in this debate. We’re far more well fed than we ought to be, we’re follically challenged, as well as suffering from an assortment of performance anxiety issues and other maladies that haven’t been identified or priced yet. We’ve earned our health care issues and expect them to be treated in the manner we have come to expect from our current health care providers. The insensitive overpriced, sadistic bastards that have been treating us for all these years deserve to continue to mistreat us for the exorbitant prices they’ve been charging us so far, without any government interference. One thing the health care industry does not need is any more bureaucracy or government regulations to “improve” the system.
The sadistic bastard masquerading as my primary care physician knows me and my condition as well as anyone and doesn’t need any help from elected and appointed “professionals” to make it better for me. The Slicky Boys, AKA my insurance provider, and the sadistic bastard have an arrangement that provides them a steady income fueled by the extortion removed from my paycheck on a regular basis to keep me as fit as I am. I can’t afford any help from the government to streamline this process any more than it’s streamlined already.
The sadistic bastard has me show up once a year for a physical to insure that I am as healthy as my coverage will allow. He pokes, probes, listens to and draws some bodily fluids, which if that happened in my misspent youth would have resulted in the award or a pretty purple medal to reward me for my sacrifice to my country. They analyze the fluids and the sounds and the poking and determine which chemicals I should consume on a daily basis to insure that I have regular quarterly visits to guaranty a profit for the pharmaceutical industry, which I have invested the very few sheckles left in my paycheck after the Slicky Boys have collected their extortion to secure my alleged good health. The Slicky Boys cover some of the cost of my chemicals, the sadistic bastard gets paid to prescribe them and the pharmaceutical company posts a modest profit that cover the token dividend that gives me what little pleasure my condition allows. This system as bizarre as it sounds seems to work for all of us. The lying, thieving, empty suits in elected and appointed positions want to stick their sticky fingers into this system to “improve” it? I just read what I wrote and I shit myself, here comes another visit to the sadistic bastard to treat my suddenly uncontrollable sphincter.
However, if the lying, thieving, empty suits in elected and appointed positions want to find a way to prevent the sadistic bastard from sticking that baseball bat he swears is his little finger up my ass once a year I’ll consider letting them take a crack (sorry I couldn’t resist that juvenile ass reference) at it. I know the sadistic bastard is looking for a ring he lost during that procedure many years ago and is still trying to find it. Why he thinks he is going to find it up my ass I’ll never know, but he seems to like looking there. I’ll swear he wears new cologne every time he schedules my physical. Good thing I know they can’t fix this or I would consider letting them take a crack (you would have thought I got that out of my system by now, but ….) at it.
Since we are all living longer and healthier lives, mostly through dumb blind luck and beer, they had to find more creative ways to get us into their offices for treatment. The entire male performance anxiety issue has blossomed over the past few years to get us to visit our own personal sadistic bastard to get prescriptions for an assortment of “Male enhancement” chemicals to make our lives more complete. Our grandfathers didn’t have this advantage to help them in their senior years and they did OK. Tongue depressors and ribbed duct tape was all they had and they lived to a ripe old age feeling fulfilled and satisfied. Grandma accepted the situation and happily slept all night knowing Grandpa was retired, limp, and content all night long. But now Grandmas all over the country are running around the country avoiding Grandpa and his chemically enhanced personal pole of pleasure for up to four hours at a crack (No I have no idea when enough is enough). Thanks Pfizer, Grandma’s every where owe you a debt and somehow they’ll get even.
The bottom line is that if it’s not broke don’t fix it. The lying, thieving, empty suits in elected and appointed positions can’t fix anything other than the election that got them into the position that they are in now. If they could make a positive impact on anything as complex as a paper route they would be doing that instead of attempting to misappropriate our tax dollars and interfere with the mistreatment to me from my preferred assortment of sadistic bastards and Slicky Boys. I pay for that privilege and don’t want anyone to mess it up for me. I can make bad choices and terrible decisions on my own; I don’t need government help for that!!!
Vote The Bums Out,