Our Economic Decrepitude: What Would The Doctor Do?

How to Achieve a 4% to 5% Unemployment Rate Within 12 Months



By: Dr. Charles Ormsby – September, 2011


Pretend you were a doctor and you just received a call from an ex-patient who had dropped you for another doctor 23 years ago. At the time he left your care, the patient was very healthy and was getting stronger every day. Because of his vitality, his family was prospering and his neighbors were benefitting from his productivity. During the eight years he was your patient you had saved him from a major disease and removed several substantial health risks that had been sapping his strength.

But now the voice on the other end of the line was very weak and you could tell that the patient was in pain, had little energy, and seemed to lack hope. He just whispered, “Please help. I really need you.”

You said, “I’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes later you pull up in front of his house, grab your medical bag and run to the front door. After ringing the bell, no one answers. Listening carefully, you hear your friend’s muffled voice calling, “I can’t get to the door. Just come in.”

You rush upstairs to the bedroom and cannot believe what you see. Your once strong, self-confident friend has been reduced to a weak, dependent individual with a desire to thrive but with little confidence that he can. He is wearing a tattered T-shirt that says “The US Economy” with a subtitle “Free-Strong-Unafraid,” but his condition belies these words in every respect.

Looking closely you see numerous strange devices, constraints, and bottles of pills attached to or surrounding the patient. None of them make any sense, so your first question is, “What the heck are these?”

Pointing to the tubes inserted into the veins of both arms and legs, the patient mumbles, “Well, these were inserted by the Czar Phlebotomist assigned to me by the Commander in Chief who directs my medical team.”

“What!” you say, “How are they supposed to improve your health?”

“I was told that I was producing more blood than I absolutely needed and so the doctor that replaced you said I had to put in the first tube to help the poor. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I wanted to show compassion.”

“What about the other three?”

“The second one was put in to sustain the administrators that were in charge of collecting and distributing my blood; I was told they needed sustenance also. The third and fourth were inserted by my current doctor, a real smooth talker. He said something about stimulating something, but I was too confused to really understand what he was saying. I think he told me to HOPE that something might CHANGE. Oh, and there is another tube you can’t see. All I remember is someone saying to shut up and bend over. All in all, it has been a very taxing experience!”

“But that isn’t all,” he continued. “I used to run every day to improve my cardio-vascular heath, but the Commander in Chief directed my EPA (Expiratory Protection Analyst) to investigate my exhalations and he determined that I was emitting too much carbon dioxide. The next day he sent in the Breathing Czar to put on this choke collar and the Blood Flow Czar to administer countless regulatory drugs that constricted my blood flow and slowed my metabolism. Along with the constant blood drain, these have really sapped my strength.”

“It looks like we’ve found some things we need to fix right away,” you tell him, but first you ask, “Why are your hands tied behind your back and those cinder blocks chained to your ankles?”

“I told my DOE (Doctor of Endocrine, in charge of my metabolism) that I needed to roll up my sleeves and find some affordable fuel for energy if I was going to prosper, not to mention keeping warm in the winter. My DOE said that was forbidden, and he tied my hands. He explained that getting fuel might disturb the wildlife and, in any case, he thinks I can get all the energy I need if I lay in the sun or if I send more blood to the Middle East or South America. Now, if only I had enough energy to get outside or some extra blood to trade for fuel.”

“Yes, but the cinder blocks and chains?”

“Oh, I forgot. They are so I won’t leave the plantation. Something about producing blood according to my ability and supplying them according to their need.”

“OK, one last question before we restore you to good health. What is this contraption next to the bed?”

“That is the Model QE123-NURD Defibrillator. Pretty fancy title, huh?”

“It sure is. I assume it is meant to re-start your heart if all the other treatments they have given you make it stop beating.”

“Well, sort of. After that ‘shut up and bend over’ tube was inserted to get the resources to fund low-cost housing loans, my heart rate did become unstable. If they had pulled the tubes out I would have been fine, but they used the old model, the QE1, to hit me with a trillion volts and that really knocked me back on my ass. I haven’t gotten up since. I did think about getting up once, but then they used the up-graded QE12 model to whack me with another trillion volts. Wow, that was a doozy!”

“Have they used the QE123 on you yet?”

“No, but they are talking about it — and that is why I called you. You see this one has those four letters, “NURD,” appended to the model number. They told me it was just a mis-spelling of NERD, the guy who designed it, but I know they are lieing.”

“What do think QE123-NURD stands for?”

“I know what it means. It stands for Quantitative Easing 1, 2, 3, Now UR Dead.”

“OK, here is the good news. If you ELECT me as your new doctor, I can get you on your feet quickly. With your life-blood no longer being drained, your breathing restored, the countless drugs no longer regulating and restricting your blood flow, your hands untied, the cinder blocks removed from your ankles, and the threat of being zapped removed, I think you can return to good health within months and be down right chipper in a year.”

“Does that mean that in a year I can look forward to more than 95% of my working parts being back and productive again?”

“That’s right. You should have no more than 5% of your parts idle at a time, and most of them merely transitioning from one productive capacity to another.”

“That’s GREAT! When can we start?”

“Here’s the bad news. I’m sorry, but we can’t begin to make you well unless we use one of these defibrilators on your current Commander in Chief and if doing so induces him to radically change his ways.”

“That doesn’t seem likely. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we have to wait until November 2012 to designate a new Commander in Chief. Oh, one other thing.”

“What is that?”

“There are numerous legal constraints that prevent us from removing all these things that are killing you. We have the Sixteenth Amendment, the 13,458 page tax code, an uncountable number of legally entwined regulatory agencies all cemented in place by legislation, three million federal employees controlling you and in charge of distributing your blood, and tens of millions of people who enjoy sucking your blood.”

“But I want to live. And if I I am allowed to be free, we can all prosper and enjoy an ever increasing standard of living. I’ve done it in the past and I can do it again. I just need to be free!”

“So, doc, what is the prognosis?”

“I’m optimistic. Clearly their ‘medicine’ is what is killing you. The cure is obvious. The only question is whether or not there are enough people with courage to bring in a new Commander in Chief; one who will effect the cure. The next year will determine if you, I mean we, recover and go on to future greatness OR if our freedoms continue to wither on life support and eventually perish.”

“What should I do now?”

“Keep the doors locked and your head down. Conserve as much blood as you can. I’ll be back in a year to tell you if your condition is terminal.”