The Cyan Letter

The less initiative or capability to succeed you have, the less you are expected to accomplish. Conversely, some may say perversely, the more you are capable of and work for, the more you are expected to carry the load for others. This system works in the NBA, and we all love Michael Jordan. This system does not work in society, but that is where we are headed. FDR had the ideal plan, and I don't know why it's not still in use. The Civilian Conservation Corps. Yes, people without jobs who were going to sit at home and collect money from the government were given jobs that improved America. They built roads and fish hatcheries and earned the money the government was giving them. Self-esteem and national pride go up, obesity and dissension go down...everyone wins.

Instead, we tax those that make more to the limit they can take, and give their money (AKA the earned income credit) to those who don't make much. Now, some people don't make much because they have limitations and that's okay; dole out some EIC. However, those lazy so-and-so's (that's old-time speak for lazy bastards) who play the system and do as little as possible, they get zip. The difficulty is distinguishing one from the other; the same difficulty applies to sifting out the blue-bloods from those who actually worked hard to accumulate their wealth and deserve to hold onto as much of it as possible. Which leads to the point...

Young Barrack of Loxley sat atop his trusty steed and surveyed the forest he presided over. At his side, atop nice steeds themselves, if somewhat inferior to Barrackin hood's, sat Little Joe Biden and Friar Hillary. They observed those that appeared to have more than their share and indiscriminately took some of their wealth and gave it to those having less. Sometimes they had to shake the indigents awake and knock the empty mad-dog bottles aside in order to give them the wealth that others had earned. One day a small crowd happened to be loitering near one of Barrack's robberies, which was disguised as altruism, and knowing the target of the robbery, the crowd was incensed and spoke loudly of their disapproval. "Get the hell away from them," they said.
"Good people," Barrack of Loxley said as smoothly and eloquently as 'good people' can be said. "I am Barrackin Hood, and I requisition from the undeserving rich and generously re-appropriate to the deserving poor," he ever so eloquently continued.

"But she worked 18 hours a day for 20 years to make her business successful before selling it and retiring with her well deserved wealth," the angry mob called out in a surprisingly unified and chorus-like voice.

"Good people..."
"Save it! We know you only read everything from the teleprompter!"
"Well what the hell, I'm on the road all the time and have lots of issues to stay on top of," Barrackin Hood confessed in a Howard Dean like display of emotion the bordered on hysteria.
"You should not take money from people who give their all to earn it!"
"But how do I tell who's who?"
Silence fell over the usually unruly and raucous , though illegally assembled crowd.

"Roll up their sleeves," a small voice arose from the crowd.
"What could that possibly prove?"
"If they have pale skin and visible blue veins, than they are blue bloods who were given their wealth and deserve to have it re-appropriated under your existing system."
"Hmmmmmmmm." Young Barrack wondered aloud, at a rare loss for words as the single h followed by many m's streamed across the teleprompter.
"If the skin is weathered and scarred, and the muscles developed from scratching out an existence overshadow the blueness of the veins hidden beneath them, then leave them alone."
"Hmmmmmmm," he continued as he subtly reached out and tapped the edge of the monitor before him.
"But, am I to roll up their sleeves every time I see them?"
"No, once their orientation is determined, you could make the blue bloods sew a blue B onto their shirts so they are easily identified."
"I like it." And with the sure and swift judgement that modern electronics allowed him, Barrackin Hood decreed that the "Cyan rule" be passed into law, and all those displaying blue b's be robbed blind.
Some of the indigents awoke briefly and mumbled sounds of approval before vomiting upon themselves and rolling over in the gutter, assured that they would continue to be taken care of.