The Art of Redefinition

 

If only it were a lost art and we had left it there long ago. Its device and scheme is a plague upon our Nation’s soul. So it has followed us from distant shores, infectious and diseased, to raise its ugly bulbous head in a legislative eruption of taxation.

All that you know has been turned on its head if what you define is not inclined to match the needs of the leftist Democrat Party. Like the idea that life is only life if it can by chance escape the womb to be seen in hand by those who have redefined its existence, unless if, of course, you’ re a grublet ooze encased in Martian ice deep in space. Here in Maine, the party of Janet Mills, Chellie Pingree, and Jared Golden have redefined what “no new taxes” means.

It means a blunderbuss barrage of tax increases, new tax legislation, and a quadrupling of the bond burden, not to mention a myriad of new regulatory burdens to stymie business growth. The future is bright, if you think walking down a tunnel straight into a locomotive is bright. It’s all a matter of perspective.

Here are some low-lights to the Democrat’s bulldozer approach to Maine’s economy. A local sales tax to give small business a “no new taxes” punch in the gut. As usual, rural Maine gets hit the worst.

A tax on heating oil, gasoline, propane, diesel, and every other fuel, with jet fuel exempted. That is a relief. Mainers can breath easier knowing our personal jets are tax exempted and our Democrat politicians can jet tax free to global warming summits.

Then we have an income tax increase. Why not? With all these “no new taxes”, Maine’s economy is bracing for a nuclear blast?

-Andy Torbett TMCV

Whimpers in the Whelpering

Whimpers in the Whelpering

Hope springs eternal or so the poets say

But nothing seems poetic in Washington today

Battle on the wind, stalemate all a’grind

The blame, The game as who can best opine

There’s whimpers in the whelpering

Oh, the little pups so fine

There is no hope, no helpering

For those who love to whine

A battle for security we asked for vows to win

Promises they make to keep until the tests begin

But one is standing firm it seems until the battle ends

They’re Trumped, They’re stumped, And soil their vast Depends

There’s whimpers in the whelpering

Oh, the little pups so fine

There is no hope, no helpering

For those who love to whine

Mitt came in a full on wail to prove he does not quail

We’ve never won, Its how its done, Republicans just bail

Not that they are weak, just only in the knees

They got a plan to make a stand if the press agrees

So now the people wait with dread anticipation

Ignored again, stuck again, a sad capitulation

The pattern can be broken if the truth be spoken

Find the spine, Hold the line, Courage can be woken

But, there’s whimpers in the whelpering

Oh, the little pups so fine

There is no hope, no helpering

For those who love to whine

by Andy Torbett