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The government's broke. It knows it. We know it. But when we go out to dinner with the government, we still let it go through the motions of stumbling around and reaching for its wallet as if it intended all along to pick up the check, because we don't want to seem condescending. Then we say: "Oh, I've got this. You paid for the last one," when we both know that isn't so. But the look of gratified relief on the government's face is worth the charade.
The government is -- how do you say it in your language? Cash poor. Oh sure, the government could sell something, like an antique fob chain and watch. You know, the kind that the government's great, great granddaddy used to wear back when he worked for the railroad. But the market for these things is somewhat limited. Even a set in mint condition probably wouldn't fetch more than a few thousand dollars, and the government is shy to the tune of about $13 Trillion, so a sale of an ole' fob chain and watch combo wouldn't make much of a dent in the national debt.
Why not give tours of the moon? At one trillion bucks a pop, hosting lunar excursions could be a profitable little side gig for the government, and away go the government's money troubles down the drain lickety-split.
Problem is, the Moon has gotten consistently bad reviews. When Mark Twain visited in 1878, he quipped that it was the coldest place he'd ever been "except for San Francisco in August." Mark Twain was always saying witty things like that. This was great for bringing in the provincials to his sold-out lectures, but it gave the Moon a bad rap from which it has still yet to recover. As a result, today, to lure in the rubes, the government would have to spend as much on marketing as it would charge for Moon tours, so the whole thing would just be a wash.
That's the problem with having really great ideas. If you think about them for more than a few minutes, you start to consider all the things that could go wrong. It's better to get an idea and just go with it immediately without thinking of the consequences before all the negative imagery starts clouding the brain and ruining everything. As Mark Twain was fond of saying, "I never did anything worthwhile by thinking about it first. That was the mistake I made in going to the Moon instead of San Francisco when I had the chance. " Mark Twain was a national treasure and it's easy to see why.
No, the government needs to do something that sucks up a little less overhead and is a scad more practical than selling space shots to the cantankerous over-privileged. Chain letters come to mind. Here's some sample copy:
"Send us $3 and then send this letter on to every person in the world and ask them to do the same. If you do this, we swear you will have good luck; if you don't do it, you won't. P.S. This really works!!!"
Simple and to the point. (The "us" in the above sample is the government). If we assume a global population of 6 billion, we find that:
6T x 3= $18 large -- carry the 1 (where 6 = 6 and T = a Trillion and x = times and $ = moolah and 18 is the value of chai and = equals equals.
Although the formula produces a sum that exceeds the figure of the total outstanding national debt by some 5 trillion dollars, allowances have been made for the slackers who will think about forwarding the letter but who will end up not doing so. An assumption has also been built into the analysis: the assumption being that some of the letters will be mis-delivered owing to inadvertent omissions of zip codes and some people refusing to sign for the little packages because they have been addressed to "Ms _______" without the period, which is as aggravating to us at it is to them.
When the plan is set into motion, the interplay between mathematics, psychology, and bulk mailing privileges comes into view. At first blush, it would seem the perfect solution to the problem of the government's money woes. The whole thing would work just fine were it not for a pesky little volume penned by Mark Twain in 1911 (posthumously!) as an amusement for a suspected presidential mistress. It is entitled: "How I Propose to Excoriate the Government for its Use of Chain Letters -- a Hare-Brained Scheme Dreamt up by Some Confounded Fool in the Treasury Department as a Pathetic Means of Raising Revenue, and Other Stories."
No doubt, in our present situation, some disgruntled miscreant is bound to dredge up this little tome and spread it around like a wet blanket just to stick it to the government. Poor government; it just can't catch a break these days.
The government's cash-flow predicament is likely to be around for the foreseeable future. We can't do much about that, nor about Mark Twain's penchant for putting a damper on all our good-faith efforts to set things aright. Accordingly, the next time we go out to dinner with the government, we'll have to impose a few ground rules. For starters, there's going to be a 2-drink minimum.
We do not revel at the prospect of suffering indignities on anyone who has experienced a reversal of fortune. But we have faith that, no matter how icy will be the maiden blast of the new reality, the government will, as it always has, summon the requisite strength to persevere, dig deep within itself, and do what it must. As Ring Lardner once said: "I've known what it is to be hungry. But I always went straight to a restaurant."
Or was that Mark Twain?
The government is -- how do you say it in your language? Cash poor. Oh sure, the government could sell something, like an antique fob chain and watch. You know, the kind that the government's great, great granddaddy used to wear back when he worked for the railroad. But the market for these things is somewhat limited. Even a set in mint condition probably wouldn't fetch more than a few thousand dollars, and the government is shy to the tune of about $13 Trillion, so a sale of an ole' fob chain and watch combo wouldn't make much of a dent in the national debt.
Why not give tours of the moon? At one trillion bucks a pop, hosting lunar excursions could be a profitable little side gig for the government, and away go the government's money troubles down the drain lickety-split.
Problem is, the Moon has gotten consistently bad reviews. When Mark Twain visited in 1878, he quipped that it was the coldest place he'd ever been "except for San Francisco in August." Mark Twain was always saying witty things like that. This was great for bringing in the provincials to his sold-out lectures, but it gave the Moon a bad rap from which it has still yet to recover. As a result, today, to lure in the rubes, the government would have to spend as much on marketing as it would charge for Moon tours, so the whole thing would just be a wash.
That's the problem with having really great ideas. If you think about them for more than a few minutes, you start to consider all the things that could go wrong. It's better to get an idea and just go with it immediately without thinking of the consequences before all the negative imagery starts clouding the brain and ruining everything. As Mark Twain was fond of saying, "I never did anything worthwhile by thinking about it first. That was the mistake I made in going to the Moon instead of San Francisco when I had the chance. " Mark Twain was a national treasure and it's easy to see why.
No, the government needs to do something that sucks up a little less overhead and is a scad more practical than selling space shots to the cantankerous over-privileged. Chain letters come to mind. Here's some sample copy:
"Send us $3 and then send this letter on to every person in the world and ask them to do the same. If you do this, we swear you will have good luck; if you don't do it, you won't. P.S. This really works!!!"
Simple and to the point. (The "us" in the above sample is the government). If we assume a global population of 6 billion, we find that:
6T x 3= $18 large -- carry the 1 (where 6 = 6 and T = a Trillion and x = times and $ = moolah and 18 is the value of chai and = equals equals.
Although the formula produces a sum that exceeds the figure of the total outstanding national debt by some 5 trillion dollars, allowances have been made for the slackers who will think about forwarding the letter but who will end up not doing so. An assumption has also been built into the analysis: the assumption being that some of the letters will be mis-delivered owing to inadvertent omissions of zip codes and some people refusing to sign for the little packages because they have been addressed to "Ms _______" without the period, which is as aggravating to us at it is to them.
When the plan is set into motion, the interplay between mathematics, psychology, and bulk mailing privileges comes into view. At first blush, it would seem the perfect solution to the problem of the government's money woes. The whole thing would work just fine were it not for a pesky little volume penned by Mark Twain in 1911 (posthumously!) as an amusement for a suspected presidential mistress. It is entitled: "How I Propose to Excoriate the Government for its Use of Chain Letters -- a Hare-Brained Scheme Dreamt up by Some Confounded Fool in the Treasury Department as a Pathetic Means of Raising Revenue, and Other Stories."
No doubt, in our present situation, some disgruntled miscreant is bound to dredge up this little tome and spread it around like a wet blanket just to stick it to the government. Poor government; it just can't catch a break these days.
The government's cash-flow predicament is likely to be around for the foreseeable future. We can't do much about that, nor about Mark Twain's penchant for putting a damper on all our good-faith efforts to set things aright. Accordingly, the next time we go out to dinner with the government, we'll have to impose a few ground rules. For starters, there's going to be a 2-drink minimum.
We do not revel at the prospect of suffering indignities on anyone who has experienced a reversal of fortune. But we have faith that, no matter how icy will be the maiden blast of the new reality, the government will, as it always has, summon the requisite strength to persevere, dig deep within itself, and do what it must. As Ring Lardner once said: "I've known what it is to be hungry. But I always went straight to a restaurant."
Or was that Mark Twain?
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