Minimum Wage Increase: Waiting For The Meteor

Yesterday I had a friend, Machismo Wainwright, strike up a conversation with me about the raising of minimum wage. It was in response to me sharing some “Republicans suck and voted down raising the minimum wage.” post on facebook. He asked me if I was really in favor of it and mentioned a few of the negative points. Such as the possibility of having to fire people in order to pay other’s higher wages. What if everyone becomes too expensive? To the point that automation has a more appealing price point to shareholders and lots of people lose jobs.

I agree with him on the points he brought up. My reply was that something has to be done and that I am in favor of doing something. Sure that something could something that sounds impossible like Getting the money out of politics! or The government regulating shit out of things that are too expensive for people to afford on the current minimum wage. Which by the way is pretty much fucking everything! Another something could simply be Waiting for a meteor to wipe us out of existence.

Instead, I began to fall back to my defensive dry humor and said something far more plausible “We can fix it! Although I have no idea where we are going to get a time machine and go stop Reagan, Nixon, Pat Buchanan and everyone else responsible for this mess. This time travel reference was not of the Terminator paradigm, but more of the Bill and Ted/Back to the Future variety.

An asian guy and a guy with a red beard in a time travelling smart car pull up in front of each and every respective offenders house. From there we cram them in the nearly non-existent back seat – apologizing profusely for the cramped space while pointing out that in the future we don’t have the money to buy huge vehicles. Also, that thing called global warming turned out to be real and is now called climate change. Without more a do we take them to the future and show the scummy clog they have created.

We make them watch women give birth and go back to work in under two weeks. We make them watch hard working people not make ends meet. We make them watch as young people go to college and incur crippling debt only to get unpaid internships. We make them watch as people die due to terrible medical coverage.

The message sinks in. I have a good feeling about Reagan and Nixon being overall good guys and seeing the errors of their ways. They are also incredibly interested at the wealth accumulation prospects of a time traveling smart car! Machismo will have to keep an eye on the keys. George H. “Walker Texas Ranger” Bush says he will do his part to make things right as he throws a box of magnums up on the counter at the 7-11. “If only we had’em in this size the first time ‘round.” He says as he tips up his cowboy hat with his thumb. “Now that’s what I call planned parenthood!”

We can’t fit everyone in the smart car at once, so we just have to keep taking them and then dropping them off. Things get a little weird when we pull up at Buchanan’s place. Doesn’t help that young Bill Clinton didn’t eat lunch before we left and he is a little hungry. However, when the door opens is when we officially step into the poo. I must have seen a photo of young Pat Buchanan recently. He seems so familiar.

“Aw, my cha-chas!” Bill Clinton roaringly mumbles as Pat kicks him square in the nards. Before Machismo and I can even react younger – and surprisingly spry – Pat Buchanan lunges forward, dropping to one knee and punches both of us in no-no’s. He sprints away from the battle, leaving us lying in crippled heaps.

While laying in the fetal position next to a panting young Bill Clinton, I realize why young Buchanan looks so familiar. “God damn you, Ted Cruz!” I yell with all the strength I can muster. Yelling through the pain throbbing in my stomach.

“That is a great name, I think I will use it when I establish a new political career for myself in the future.” He says as he opens the door to the smart car. He pauses and leans against the roof, resting his elbows. “Say where ya’ll from? Ya’ll seem like nice folk, you from Canada or something?”

“Yeah, we are from Calgary.” I whimper after a moment’s pause. I know full well what he is going to say next and it pleases me to no end that I have bested him, for now.

“Hey that sounds like a great place to live and call my birthplace!”

Eat shit young Pat Buchanan, enjoy Nickleback, winter, and your damn hockey team. I think to myself as I smile and double over in pain once more. I  hear the smart car drive away and hit a fuel efficient eighty-seven miles an hour as it begins its leap into the future. A whole mile sooner than the older model. I lie there and wait for the meteor to come.

(Continued)

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