Vice President Whoopee Cushion: More fun with my money


What would you do if you had a company car, a very powerful and fancy car, and along with it a company gas card? And what if your very large company, of which you were vice president, gave you no guidelines as to its use, no restrictions, only insisting that you use it at times for certain company needs?

What you do with the car really depends on your character, doesn’t it? There is a natural human instinct at first blush, to say “heck yeah, gonna drive fast, do donuts in the parking lot, cruise for chicks, go on long personal trips on the company’s dime, go to Vegas with it, and while we’re at it, use the gas card for everything we can buy inside the gas station – sodas, beer, whole cartons of cigarettes, candy.”

But most of us over 16 years old are a little better than our most base impulse. We are being trusted by the company to do what’s best for the company. Our own moral compass keeps us from seriously considering abusing the privilege.


Now let’s take the scenario one step further: the company, of which you are vice president, is in dire financial straits, making payroll only by borrowing money, in a spiral of rising debt. If you were a person of even the most basic moral fiber whatsoever, you’d use that car for the bare minimum possible.

But then you wouldn’t be Joe Biden.

biden_sleepingLast week we took note of his business trip to Europe, with half-a-million dollar tabs (each place) for Joe and his entourage for one-night stays at 5-star hotels in London and Paris. To tell the truth, I took it a little easy on Captain Racist Indian Joke because I thought limousine service might have been rolled into the cost. My mistake. Limo service turns out to have been another $322K in Paris alone.

But hey, another day, another example of living it up on the taxpayer dime. Shotgun Joe has the VP house in Washington DC, fairly generous living quarters. Very fairly generous. Meanwhile, Joe comes from Wilmington, Delaware, a mere 100 miles away. Apparently he’s so homesick he flies home on Air Force 2 almost every weekend.

Yep. He flies 100 miles home on the company jet almost every weekend. You can add limo rides on both ends, Friday and Sunday, and secret service details for the duration. Almost every weekend. As we know from the Paris and London affairs, he doesn’t do anything second class. Not as long as taxpayers are paying for it.

Sure is good to be a gangsta.

Of course, now due to the sequester (and the fact that people are finding out about it), he’s announced that he’s gonna suck it up and ride on the Amtrack train instead. Ain’t that grand of him?

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The weapons had evolved, but our orders remained the same: Hunt them down and kill them off, one by one. A most successful campaign. Perhaps too successful. For those like me, a Death Dealer, this signaled the end of an era. Like the weapons of the previous century, we, too, would become obsolete. Pity, because I lived for it.


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