As a class, the old and sick are already luckier than the young and healthy. Again, for individuals within that class--those with desperate congenital conditions, for example--this is not the case. But I'm not sure it's terribly compelling to argue that we should massively disadvantage a large group of people in order to massively advantage another, equally large group of people, all to help out the few who are needy, or deserving, or unlucky.I did run across this at Alicublog & followed up by learning what an arguendo is, in relation to an argument over at Mr. Doghouse Riley's place in Indiana. I've always hated Indiana, partly because my best friend moved there, & of course Notre Dame is there, as was Bobby Knight & Lou Holtz, but I digress. Back to how it's my fault that I have had a heart attack, that I have arthritis, & other various & sundry ailments. I once read Atlas Shrugged, no link since it was the part of a burning party in my 20's, yes, I woke the fuck up, & felt all tall & blonde & Aryan & feeling how cool it would be to be on top of the mountain while all the dumbasses starved, had bad sex & ugly children, enjoyed Ray Coniff while sipping Rhinelander beer, & believed that their condition was the result of inferior genes & bank accounts. I wrote long letters to a girl I loved, they were long because I copied long sections of Shrugged. When I saw her later that summer, she played Rubber Soul for me on the hifi & I realized my error. A few years later, after dancing on McCarthy's grave, I planned & executed a book burning. Since I didn't tear each page out, it took a case of beer & two bottles of Zippo lighter fluid. I'll admit I was satisfied with the result. I suppose drinking that case of beer over many hours as I watched the trash burn may have caused some of my present health issues, I frankly don't know. I do know that I smoked for 40 years & enjoyed it. My heart attack, however, was a cheeseburger heart attack. Nonetheless, I know that the choices I made have impacted my current life. I fly fish & bird hunt. I gather mushroom & plant fiber for making paper. I read. I watch teevee. I drink coffee & gin & beer. I have changed over the years, I don't eat as much fried fish as I used to. I buy most of the books I read. I buy a lot of music online. I visit the doctor at least twice a year, same goes for my dentist, & I have an eye exam every three years. I pet my dogs more often & lately have done more with my horses. None of this matters, however, because I ought to be dragged off the the swamp with a pickaroon, or so I've claimed. & apparently Ms. Galt agrees with me, after all swamps make great filters & they wouldn't allow all of my poor health choices to pollute the earth.
Oh, sorry if blindness occurred if you clicked on the link to McCarthy's grave. I did it in case any of my loyal four readers had the hiccups, you know, trying to scare them out of you. You can thank me later. Oh, & anyone who destroyed their computer after viewing that image, well, I deny any responsibility, because I'm a dirty fucking hippie, don't you know.
& no, Mr. Shutterwi, this occurred well before 1967. Sorry, although I'll bet you inhaled quickly & excitedly when you read this.
horror of horrors! the grave link in mean....
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