Dear Members of Congress:
The astute among you (please God, a few of you are) may be aware that hard-working American citizens have taken quite a hit in their assets lately. Between the real estate crash and financial meltdown, most of us will be hopping to the tune of an alarm clock for a decade or so longer than we had hoped or planned.
Unless, of course, you assist us with easy cash. You seem to have the federal checkbook at the ready for every Ford, GM, and Chrysler that strolls through the chamber holding out empty pockets, so let me present my personal bailout plan.
Being conservative, I estimate my handout--excuse me, bailout--at a measly $50,000. A nice, round number, a bit less (actually, a lot less) than what I've actually lost, but oh, piffle, it's only money, right? And such a tiny sum! I would think you could scrape up $50,000 out of the annual Capitol Hill breakfast budget.
Anyway, in exchange for a modest $50,000 reimbursement for my mental distress at watching my life savings evaporate due to rampant corruption within government and without, I propose the following Ten Point Plan:
1. Continue to drive my 1993 car until the wheels fall off.
2. Wash said car myself, passing by the fund-raising kids who accept any donation.
3. Watch only my $8.99 (+tax) per month, unlimited Netflix, omitting any bargain matinees.
4. Watch said Netflix on my 1990 TV until it dies, then buy a used, cheap, pre-flatscreen set.
5. Keep wearing my 2001 leather jacket instead of buying a new one on sale.
6. Stop the quarterly manicures--such extravagance!
7. Allow my newspaper subscription to expire; there's nothing but bad news, anyway.
8. Stay out of Target, even if all my brands are on sale.
9. E-mail friends and family for birthdays, instead of sending cards.
10. Tell my kids to bring their own food when they visit me for Sunday dinner.
No doubt I'm overlooking numerous areas of profligate waste within my personal budget, but I hope you'll agree that the above-noted proposals are a productive start to justifying my bailout. I look forward to your prompt response, hopefully before you adjourn for your next six-week holiday.
By all means, feel free to send my check C.O.D. I'll pay for it; I always do.
