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Name: The Gadfly
Location: Moreno Valley, CA
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U.S. Economy in a Nutshell

The Brittle Piece

Once upon a time, there was a humble candy maker named Buddy Smack who specialized in making peanut brittle. Unless one was allergic to them or simply detested the taste of peanuts, one would soon discover the irresistible quality in just a very few bites of brittle. Old Man Smack was very guarded when questioned about the recipe. He usually answered inquiries by stating, "What goes into Buddy's brittle, will sit well in your middle."

As word spread of Mr. Smack's famous brittle, the demand for the stuff nearly caused riots in some of the bigger cities across the country. Supplies of the brittle simply flew off of the shelves almost as quickly as they arrived by truck to the stores. Anyone who knew a thing or two about a good thing (and Buddy's Better Brittle was a really good thing) took stock in Smack's Incredible Confectionery Company by investing as shareholders.

Within a few short months, Mr. Smack's profits were soaring. He was able to build other factories across the country, creating thousands of jobs for peanut-pickers, peanut-shellers, and brittle-bakers. Local economies were booming with the sales of the stuff. After years of perfecting his secret formula for peanut brittle, Buddy Smack had finally struck it rich!

But things were not as well as they might have appeared. Because of Mr. Smack's great success with his world-famous brittle, his competitors in the confectionery cartels suffered heavy losses in the marketplace. Workers in the Sour Sucker Ball factories were being laid off by the hundreds. The Gooey-Grimey Gummy-Glop Gloopers Union Local #80 marched on several of Mr. Smack's factories in protest, harassing brittle-workers and blocking distribution centers.

It simply was not fair that Mr. Smack, through his own talent, abilities, and hard work could be allowed to make so much money. So, the unions and the cartels sought relief from their respective legislators. What was the answer to their problem? Regulation and taxation: the two best friends a politician ever had!

Senator Jack Hass passed a regulation requiring all peanut-shellers to participate in 80 hours of mandatory fire prevention training (for we all know how friction could cause a peanut-sheller to spontaneously burst into flames.) Congresswoman Ema Bovine proposed a bill to impose a sales tax on every third peanut found in each brittle consumer's stool. Of course such a bill would require the need for inspections, and inspections meant the need for inspectors, and that would mean the introduction of every politician's third-best friend: Bureaucrats!

And in short order, all of the efforts to bring fair play to the marketplace only resulted in closing all the doors to Mr. Smack's successful business. Soon all of his investors sold off what remained of their plummeting shares in Buddy's brittle business. As taxation and regulation established a firm grip on Mr. Smack's assets, it became increasingly more unprofitable to produce and sell peanut brittle.

Yet the politicians delighted in the harvest of tax dollars gained from Smack's brittle ventures. The size of government soon expanded. So as Mr. Smack's business began to fail, the politicians realized something had to be done to rescue their cash cow before it collapsed and died. And so it was that the government reached into its own treasuries and began buying up all the peanut brittle stock shares from Mr. Smack it could acquire.

Mr. Smack was no fool. Every package of brittle he sold meant more of his profits going into the government coffers. So,without fanfare, Mr. Smack closed up his business quickly and moved out of the country. And with him went all the jobs, investment capital, and good business sense.

Mr. Smack opened up a new factory overseas and exported his brittle all over the world. He became wealthier than he could have ever imagined. Meanwhile, the government officials back home held Congressional hearings to determine the cause of the collapse of their brittle candy markets. Congress held so many televised hearings and pointed so many fingers that the voters re-elected almost all of them back into office just so they would stop interrupting "American Idol" with all the hearings.

The moral of this story is as plain as the peanut in your brittle. Politicians don't know peanuts about what is good for business, Buddy, but they sure can talk smack about it.

(copyright 2008, Gregory Allen Doyle)

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A Poetic Dig At Human Nature

A Hole Other Story

As Ned looked down atop a rock
In sand, he saw a soily sock.
“Who left this here?” old Ned inquired.
“Perhaps the owner has expired.”

An excavation soon revealed
a rusty saw and wagon wheel.
“I must dig deeper!” Ned implored.
“A find this good must be explored.”

He asked a friend to help him out.
“I’ll tell you, Mack, what it’s about.
The origin of what we know,
lies buried in this ground below.”

Though Mack was doubtful of Ned’s claim,
Mack grabbed a shovel just the same.
And bent on helping out his friend,
Mack shoveled dirt for days on end.

Then weeks passed by, each toiled and dug.
Ned found a coin, Mack found a mug,
unearthed two bones, and one loose tooth.
They found a lot, to tell the truth.

Still deeper down their shovels bit.
Ned marveled at the size of it.
A crater grew beneath their feet.
They called in Frank, then Jim and Pete.

Ned brought in cranes and dynamite
and blasted morning, noon, and night.
He rented trucks to haul the rest.
Perhaps they’d find a treasure chest?

A scholar stopped there by the rim.
“Who is your boss? I must see him!”
From Pete to Jim, to Frank then Mack,
each echoed, “Ned, will call you back.”

Reporters swooped down on the hole.
The cops showed up for crowd control.
Inquiring minds just had to know.
How far would Ned’s hole have to go?

A source who would not leave his name,
predicted power, wealth, and fame.
“Old Ned has something special here.
A fortune’s find is very near!”

Like locusts, hell-bent for a meal
Folks swarmed Ned’s dig with lust and zeal.
They picked each pile clean in pursuit.
In riot’s wake, each grabbed Ned’s loot.

Disgusted Mack walked off the dig.
Jim just got drunk. Frank took a swig.
Pete helped himself to Ned’s best wine.
Then up they staggered from the mine.

Now friendless and still in the hole,
Ned cried out for his weary soul.
He wept great tears in pained reprise
And filled the hole in several tries.

A two-day float up through the shaft,
Marked all his labors, fore and aft.
Ned perched again on that old rock
And spied a matching, soily sock.

Ben Franklin quotes Ned’s sorry plight;
In timeless words on wisdom’s flight.
“Soily to Ned, soily he cries
Hole he dug solely, socked in demise.”



The Gadfly
(copyright 2008, Gregory Allen Doyle)
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