PLAYING THE G0VERNMENT GAME
I got my start in infancy, perfection on inspection by my mother who birthed me, the obstetrician who checked my condition and declared me A-OK. When did I go astray, fill my gut with god knows what, shoot up my veins, scramble my brains, develop aches and pains and break bones and take out loans to pay Dr. Jones, who double dips and gyps Medicaid and Medicare, makes me sit around in my underwear, then files claims for every therapy and medication where he gets kickback compensation.
D. Jones, specialist in skin and bones and eveything in-between, knows how to rake in the green treating any part of the anatomy that serves his knack for quackery. He gets big bucks for all the action, sometimes gives me a fraction to keep my mouth shut because I know what he's doing, screwing the system for phony care, stuff he didn't do to patients no longer here, already dead.
Sounds impossible but this is the Gospel, according to Jones:
Medicare, Medicaid, the IRS, the whole damn mess in Washington, couldn't care less as long as bills are cheap and those creeps steal more than a whore at the rubber store. Just play the game of rob and steal, make a deal, kick back ten percent to a guy who cooks the books, more to elected crooks who look the other way as long as payday's every day. The budget, the national debt, the waste? You ain't seen nothin' yet. When the system gets full control, the whole place will collapse. Voting saps won't realize what's going on until all the money's gone."
Doc Jones said, "So what? I get caught. We make a deal, we settle out of court, the Treasury comes up short and old Doc Jones, the sinner, wins the dinner. I got more dough stashed away than the mint prints on a busy day." He laughs. "I exaggerate. But what I mean, I got enough on my plate to last me until my date with hell and then a spell."
And me? I'm pushing eighty-three. What can they do to me? Toss this old man in the can? Like the doc says, So what I get caught. I go to jail, get out on bail. They say pay. My lawyer says, Delay! Judgment day is far away.
D. Jones, specialist in skin and bones and eveything in-between, knows how to rake in the green treating any part of the anatomy that serves his knack for quackery. He gets big bucks for all the action, sometimes gives me a fraction to keep my mouth shut because I know what he's doing, screwing the system for phony care, stuff he didn't do to patients no longer here, already dead.
Sounds impossible but this is the Gospel, according to Jones:
Medicare, Medicaid, the IRS, the whole damn mess in Washington, couldn't care less as long as bills are cheap and those creeps steal more than a whore at the rubber store. Just play the game of rob and steal, make a deal, kick back ten percent to a guy who cooks the books, more to elected crooks who look the other way as long as payday's every day. The budget, the national debt, the waste? You ain't seen nothin' yet. When the system gets full control, the whole place will collapse. Voting saps won't realize what's going on until all the money's gone."
Doc Jones said, "So what? I get caught. We make a deal, we settle out of court, the Treasury comes up short and old Doc Jones, the sinner, wins the dinner. I got more dough stashed away than the mint prints on a busy day." He laughs. "I exaggerate. But what I mean, I got enough on my plate to last me until my date with hell and then a spell."
And me? I'm pushing eighty-three. What can they do to me? Toss this old man in the can? Like the doc says, So what I get caught. I go to jail, get out on bail. They say pay. My lawyer says, Delay! Judgment day is far away.
posted by Ed Weiland at 9:46 AM
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