Biff Buffer: Hello, Everyone, welcome in to tonight’s “Spotlight on Oddity Show.” This program will be a special treat for you as I interview the last private sector worker in Amerika. He has been living under the radar and out of government scrutiny in the little decrepit village of Toledo, Ohio. Our producers have done an amazing job of investigative work to discover tonight’s subject for our interview. He was reluctant to speak on mic with us, but Guido and Tony, our Associate Producers, were quite persuasive.
We’ll be right back with tonight’s scintillating interview after this time out from your friendly, caring Government Health Service and Sexually Transmitted Disease Warehouse:
Biff: Welcome back. As promised, our guest today is the last private sector worker in the United States. Please tell the folks at home your name, Sir.
G.A.C.: My name is George Armstrong Custer the Ninth.
Biff: Interesting. I find it fascinating, George. May I call you George?
G.A.C.: I prefer to be called “Nine.”
Biff: Well enough. Nine, many of our listeners are surprised that there is a private sector worker in this country because the most benevolent, benign and loving government is providing employment for all. How did you miss out on the wonderful and secure opportunity for government employment?
G.A.C.: Well, I never applied for the mandatory government employment control subsidy because I was too busy with my small business when everything was nationalized.
Biff: Just what is your “business,” Mr. Nine?
G.A.C.: Just call me Nine. No “Mr.” needed. I am a handyman. I clean gutters, repair windows, fix bicycles…all kinds of useful things that the government workers never get done.
Biff: Is it a lucrative business? It must be difficult to carry on without the government worker card or the tattoo of approval. How much do you earn?
G.A.C.: It is somewhat difficult dodging all the inspectors and regulators, but my services are in great demand because the government agencies never fix anything. My earnings average around 27 million dollars per week, but with gasoline at 42 dollars a gallon, it’s becoming more and more difficult to get by.
Biff: You use gasoline? Are you an environmental sloth, Nine? Do you not care about the planet and your fellow citizens? Twenty seven million dollars per week makes you a rich person. Does your wealth matter more than your fellow citizens and the health of our planet? You must be the sole remnant of the greedy selfish capitalist class of bygone days. With your me-first attitude, how can you justify being alive?
G.A.C.: Well, I have to use gasoline to operate my 1977 Chevy 1500. It has never been converted to burning food like the other vehicles have. Rich? Yes, I earn 27 million dollars per week, but I receive no free housing, no free food, no free healthcare, no free transportation, no free cable and no free censored internet, or any of the other benefits the government forces on the citizens.
Biff: You sound just like all the robber barons we learned about in school. You are the richest man in Amerika, and you have managed to duck the system while avoiding paying your fair share. You are a disgrace. You violate the very structure of our society, then complain because you’re not receiving benefits like the honest people are.
G.A.C: I’m not complaining. I’m explaining why I’m not rich. And I do pay my fair share. My weekly tax bill is 26 million, 999 thousand, 988 dollars and 87 cents which leaves me with $11.13 per week. How can that be interpreted as my not paying my fair share?
Biff: But YOU ARE RICH and you are ignoring your responsibility to the less fortunate in our society. Besides…something is odd here. How can you survive on eleven dollars a week?
G.A.C.: You’ve got it all wrong. I do help the less fortunate. I do their work for free. As for how I manage to live. Well, I’ve been drawing down my savings.
Biff: SAVINGS! Savings! There you go. You rich people hiding money from the government. Wait a minute! Where are you going? We aren’t done yet.
G.A.C.: (climbing into his truck). I’m leaving. I can’t live here any longer now that you’ve put me on the air. I am going away forever.
Biff: You can’t leave. There’s no place to go.
G.A.C.: “Galt’s Gulch.”
Summary: Those two words were the last ones that anyone heard from George Armstrong Custer, IX.
Biff and his crew saw the old truck fade away into the distance until the two tail lights merged into one red dot. And there was no more private sector to pay its fair share.
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