If I were a cynical and/or vindictive type of geezer, I might be tempted to offer a “neener-neener” to all those youthful stalwarts out there (pollsters refer to them as ‘young invincibles’) who clamored for The One in the last couple of elections. Twas primarily their massive, if uninformed, participation in the electoral process in 2008, and to a somewhat lesser extent in 2012, that installed one Barack Hussein Obama into the White House. Don’t we all have vivid memories of rosy-cheeked coeds and sneaker-wearing lads with wispy beards moiling about on campuses, street corners and concourses with their cute hand-written signs with unbearably trite poli-mottoes. Yes We Can!
Well, it turns out that indeed they could … and so they did, and now it’s time for them all to cowboy up. That’s right, Muffy and Skip – your demigod Prez has rigged the game so that you and your entire fledgling cohort now get to pay, and pay dearly, for every Pap smear, prostate exam, hip replacement, triple bypass and for all I know every acupuncture session that your parents and aunts and uncles undergo from now until eternity – or whenever the Affordable (yeah, right) Care Act goes belly up – whichever comes first. I’m betting the latter, but then I am a well-known crepe-hanger when it comes to gubmint programs.
The good news is that you will not (yet) be held liable for most of us superannuated types because we are already on the dole; you remember Medicare, don’t you? A little income redistribution scheme first concocted by LBJ as a vote-buying strategy; it would have worked too except for a hell-hole in Southeast Asia that caused poor ole Lyndon to be summarily unhorsed just as he was hitting his collectivist stride. But that’s a whole ‘nother tangent, for another post, for another time.
To return to the point, we Medicareans have yet to feel the full sting of the OCare lash, though I am confident that at some not too distant point O and his henchmen will get around to us. But for right now, we are at the top of the health care food chain so to speak, followed by those who have yet to reach the hallowed age of 65, but still have enough hair in unmentionable places to be considered adults.
And guess who’s at the bottom, kids! That’s right – it’s your turn in the barrel, and a cold and expensive barrel it is. Just imagine – you now get to purchase vastly overpriced insurance policies of decidedly inferior quality which you very likely won’t need for the next couple of decades – all to secure the comfort and succor of a nation of wrinkle-bellies two or three times your age. Oh, you could just pay the fines (which, according to Chief Justice Roberts aren’t really fines at all but taxes), but I’m sure that seems a little plebian to someone of your refined egalitarian sensibilities.
By the way, the next time you young’uns wander into a voting booth, before you pull the lever think about the iPad or the new pair of Uggs or the quarter pounder with cheese you can’t afford because most of your discretionary cash is now going to provide low-quality medical care to people the vast majority of whom neither need nor want your help.
Funny world, huh?