It’s pretty much the only question one can ask of that sell-out of a G.W. Bush appointed Fed chairman, given that Bernanke had the audacity to tell a Senate panel that improving the nation’s health care delivery was one of the most serious challenges facing the nation. Hasn’t Bernanke figured out that if the 47 million Americans without health insurance want it, they should just pay for it themselves? That Republican ideology dictates that the most sensible health plan of all comes down to just three words: don’t get sick, and that affirmation of American rugged individualism is, by definition and party fiat, a good thing?
I mean, what’s Bernanke going to say next… that the country can no longer afford to simultaneously fight two fruitless wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, or deploy our military forces in over 100 countries, or continue to cut taxes for those most able to pay them at a time of the most obscene income and wealth disparities since the Gilded Age when our government is running record deficits as it is? Or is he going to lapse into crazy talk like our deliberate policies to maximize the inefficient and environmentally destructive use of energy should be altered to reduce our dependence on petroleum from unstable regions and to help stabilize climate change, or that “gasoline tax holidays” are stupid?
No, no… please, PLEASE stop Bernanke now before he lapses into any more of this lunacy. I can’t hear you… na na na na na … my fingers are in my ears… na na na na na na… I can’t hear you… na na na na na na…
tdog
You know, every day I get out of bed and drag myself to the next cup of coffee. I take a sip and the caffeine kicks in. I can focus my eyes again. My brain starts to order the day. I’m up, I’m alive. I’m ready to rock. But the time is coming when I wake up and decide that I’m not getting out of bed. Not for coffee, or food or sex. If it comes to me, fine. If it won’t, fine. No more expectations. The longer I live, the less I know. I should know more. I should know the coffee’s killing me. You’re suspicious of your suspicions? I’m jealous, ‘kay; I’m so jealous. You still have the heart to have doubts. Me? I’m going to burden a 14-year-old kid in taxes for what could be the rest of his natural life. I got to do this. This is my job. This is the deal. This is the law. This is my day. I have no doubts or suspicions about it. Heart has nothing to do with it any more. It’s all in the caffeine.