Quality Cum Control

"Those people shouldn’t be allowed to have children."

The long-awaited social-engineering version of Ronny’s trickle-down theory had arrived. And it chose, as it’s destination gate, a boutique-filled strip mall near me. It’s only a matter of time before my friendly Ace Hardware man is cast aside to make room for yet another purveyor of fine fashion.

Rich people have all the good ideas. They always have had. For so many years, their ideas were repressed by the social do-gooders populating the ranks of our political representation. As a result, the really good rich-people ideas were cloistered in the boardrooms of Fortune 500 companies, and the purity of their genius was deftly and subliminally cloaked within advertising campaigns for pharmaceuticals and soda-booze. Our medicine was delivered Mary Poppins-style: with a spoonful of sugar. Stupid poor people had to be fooled into accepting what was good for them.

No more. The Bush-Frist-Delay hubris has set rich people free to demand that we recognize what they know. Rich people have always known what’s best for us. The way things should be. The way they should always have been.

And it’s not just jowly, fat, penis-bearing corporate and political movers-and-shakers who are feeling the machismo. Their wives are also basking in the splendorous freedom to unleash their views on the state of the family in America. Out loud. In public.

Right down to purification of the species.

"Those people shouldn’t be allowed to have children."

There you have it. Two highly-accessorized women of prominent marriage summoning the courage to solve yet another problem plaguing our country. While their children are shuttled from private school to dance class by their nannies, these women were sidewalk-café-lunching on salmon-to-die-for and brainstorming the solution to poverty. Poor people just shouldn’t have children. When the last of the poor people die of the things that poor people die from, the poverty problem is solved.

But wait, ladies. There’s a hitch. "Those" people have to breed. If they don’t, from where will you cull the next generation of country club wait staff? Certainly not from the pool of children with whom your children attend private school. Who will powder the assholes of the Class of 2020? Who will man the short-order grill while your children lounge at poolside? Who will fetch their wine and condiments? Who will bus their tables?

You are wishing a hell on earth for your own children. Enjoy your new-found power, but that power bears a weighty responsibility. You must preserve the class structure. Without it, the mirage of supremacy will vaporize before your children’s eyes. Do they not deserve the swell of pride that accompanies looking down their nose at those of questionable heritage? Have they not earned, via their blue ribbon genetic mapping, the unalienable right to flaunt their inherited resources before the masses? What’s the fun in having lots of stuff if everybody has lots of stuff?

Remember, ladies, that many must lose in order for your children to gain. You should promote the prolific breeding of the next generation of servers, lest your legacy disappear.

I scored my three bucks worth of hardware and hammered the Harley as I pulled from the parking lot, setting off every car alarm within twenty yards. Just to remind the ladies that I am here for them. Everybody’s gotta have somebody to look down on.