Parasite Investment Portfolio
by digby
Speaking of sucking on the Aqua bong, Rand Paul once again “clarified” his remarks in which he prescribed helping rich people as the answer to the hard drug epidemic in Kentucky:
One of the things that has made America great is ability of our citizens to invest in themselves. We must fight to preserve the power of not just the rich, but also the middle class and working class to invest through savings and investment to build a nest egg and earn financial security, or to invest in business that creates jobs for their neighbors. Dr. Paul is committed to cutting unsustainable debt and spending so we can fundamentally strengthen our economy and preserve our American way of life.
The abuse of both legal and illegal drugs is serious and complex issue. We must keep a strong focus on prevention, treatment and enforcement, and healthy employment is great prevention. There is no silver bullet, but a gainfully employed, productive person will be far less likely to succumb to the evils drugs. Dr. Paul will fight onerous EPA regulations and Obama’s plans for Cap and Tax scheme so we can preserve and grow Kentucky coal jobs in the eastern part of our state.
As Greg Sargent points out:
While the statement clarifies that we need to “keep a strong focus on prevention, treatment and enforcement,” it doesn’t say how, or whether government should have any role in doing that. The statement says twice that healthy employment is a good cure, and says the best way to ensure high employment is to free up investment — not just by the rich, but other classes as well.
I guess he’s saying that if there is low unemployment, we won’t need prevention, treatment and enforcement, which certainly makes sense. The only reason parasites steal little old ladies’ Oxycontin is because they don’t have one of the low wage, soul destroying shit jobs our wealthy overlords would get busy creating for us so we can “compete” with India and China if only we didn’t make them pay any taxes.
But there was little time in which to marvel.
All Martin’s consciousness was concentrated in the work. Ceaselessly active, head and hand, an intelligent machine, all that constituted him a man was devoted to furnishing that intelligence. There was no room in his brain for the universe and its mighty problems. All the broad and spacious corridors of his mind were closed and hermetically sealed. The echoing chamber of his soul was a narrow room, a conning tower, whence were directed his arm and shoulder muscles, his ten nimble fingers, and the swift-moving iron along its steaming path in broad, sweeping strokes, just so many strokes and no more, just so far with each stroke and not a fraction of an inch farther, rushing along interminable sleeves, sides, backs, and tails, and tossing the finished shirts, without rumpling, upon the receiving frame. And even as his hurrying soul tossed, it was reaching for another shirt. This went on, hour after hour, while outside all the world swooned under the overhead California sun. But there was no swooning in that superheated room. The cool guests on the verandas needed clean linen.
According to Rand Paul, that’s called freedom.
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