Cut Taxes? Are you crazy?

The movie Men in Black flashed into my mind as I was watching the Presidential motorcade roar by on Monday in Troy, NY.

All those serious looking, clean cut men in their neatly pressed suits, sporting the requisite dark glasses, scanning the crowd looking for extraterrestrials, I guess.

I held my sign high, hoping the President would see it. My sign read "Mr. President, 1. Cut Taxes, 2. Bomb Iran, 3. Play Golf."

People look at me like I'm crazy when I suggest that the government s hould cut taxes. It seems as if Tommy Lee Jones has flashed everyone with his neuralyzer, erasing memories of an America where taxes were low and the future was so bright you had to wear shades, and then hypnotizing them with fear and loathing of an increase in their take-home pay.

I had over a dozen people take my picture. They liked the sign. Even if they didn't understand it.

I think it's pretty simple. If you cut taxes we'll have more to spend. If we spend more then factories will make more stuff. People will be re-hired. More people will be paying taxes. Overall tax revenue will go up. America will become prosperous again.

People are shocked when I propose cutting their income taxes by at least 25 percent. Permanently. Why not? Wouldn't you rather have $2000, $10,000, $50,000 of your own money in your pocket, I ask. Uh, uh, well, how is the government going to pay for things? I patiently begin to explain supply side economics (without using that term, it scares them). Finally, after several minutes, the logic sinks in, a light goes off, (an internal neuralyzer?). Oh, yeah, thousands more dollars every year would be great! My own money? Can I keep it? Is it really mine? I could put an addition on my house! A new car! Wow!

What has happened to us? Why is this concept so hard to explain? Who fried our brains and convinced us that we have to keep paying more and more taxes to government?

I've thought a lot about this. I thought what I would do if I were President. I'm basically lazy. I don't like to work too hard.

So, instead of stirring up one hornet's nest after another, furiously campaigning day after day, arguing and fighting and debating and missing all of that quality time with my children, watching the wrinkles and the graying hair appear as if by magic, I would rather take it easy as President. I love a good nap.

I would have instructed my minions in Congress to cut taxes on Jan. 21. Cut them big and cut them permanently. Then, I would have held some pow wows with my military advisers. Devised a set of strategies. Get ready for bombing Iran, people.

Next, I would have made a phone call to Ahmajinedad. I wouldn't care about "negotiating with terrorists" and all of that campaign crap. Just call him up on the phone.

"Mahmoud, how's it going dude?" I'd say.

"Ah, pretty good Mr. President."

"Uh, Mahmmy, did you see Men in Black?" I would ask.

"Sure, Mr. President, Will Smith is awesome".

"Glad you enjoyed it. Anywho, you know the gun Will Smith carried? That cute little one that blew him back 10 feet when he fired it? One pulse and an alien disappears, splatters all over the place" I inquire.

"Ah, ...yes..." Mahmoud replies, uncertainly.

"Well, that's gonna happen to you, dude, in 48 hours if you don't dismantle your nuclear weapons program and let my inspectors come and personally verify that you have complied. Clock's ticking right...now" I would politely inform the Iranian President.

Click. I'd hang up.

And, then, in 48 hours if Ahmajinedad refused, all that would be left of him and his nuclear program would be a memory.

Then, I'd go play golf, or fish, mix it up a little, you know, until the next election when I'd easily win 95% of the vote. Everyone would love me, or fear me, and according to Machiavelli, fear works better.

What I don't understand is why so many people seem perplexed by this. Maybe I'm crazy.
The movie Men in Black flashed into my mind as I was watching the Presidential motorcade roar by on Monday in Troy, NY.

All those serious looking, clean cut men in their neatly pressed suits, sporting the requisite dark glasses, scanning the crowd looking for extraterrestrials, I guess.

I held my sign high, hoping the President would see it. My sign read "Mr. President, 1. Cut Taxes, 2. Bomb Iran, 3. Play Golf."

People look at me like I'm crazy when I suggest that the government s hould cut taxes. It seems as if Tommy Lee Jones has flashed everyone with his neuralyzer, erasing memories of an America where taxes were low and the future was so bright you had to wear shades, and then hypnotizing them with fear and loathing of an increase in their take-home pay.

I had over a dozen people take my picture. They liked the sign. Even if they didn't understand it.

I think it's pretty simple. If you cut taxes we'll have more to spend. If we spend more then factories will make more stuff. People will be re-hired. More people will be paying taxes. Overall tax revenue will go up. America will become prosperous again.

People are shocked when I propose cutting their income taxes by at least 25 percent. Permanently. Why not? Wouldn't you rather have $2000, $10,000, $50,000 of your own money in your pocket, I ask. Uh, uh, well, how is the government going to pay for things? I patiently begin to explain supply side economics (without using that term, it scares them). Finally, after several minutes, the logic sinks in, a light goes off, (an internal neuralyzer?). Oh, yeah, thousands more dollars every year would be great! My own money? Can I keep it? Is it really mine? I could put an addition on my house! A new car! Wow!

What has happened to us? Why is this concept so hard to explain? Who fried our brains and convinced us that we have to keep paying more and more taxes to government?

I've thought a lot about this. I thought what I would do if I were President. I'm basically lazy. I don't like to work too hard.

So, instead of stirring up one hornet's nest after another, furiously campaigning day after day, arguing and fighting and debating and missing all of that quality time with my children, watching the wrinkles and the graying hair appear as if by magic, I would rather take it easy as President. I love a good nap.

I would have instructed my minions in Congress to cut taxes on Jan. 21. Cut them big and cut them permanently. Then, I would have held some pow wows with my military advisers. Devised a set of strategies. Get ready for bombing Iran, people.

Next, I would have made a phone call to Ahmajinedad. I wouldn't care about "negotiating with terrorists" and all of that campaign crap. Just call him up on the phone.

"Mahmoud, how's it going dude?" I'd say.

"Ah, pretty good Mr. President."

"Uh, Mahmmy, did you see Men in Black?" I would ask.

"Sure, Mr. President, Will Smith is awesome".

"Glad you enjoyed it. Anywho, you know the gun Will Smith carried? That cute little one that blew him back 10 feet when he fired it? One pulse and an alien disappears, splatters all over the place" I inquire.

"Ah, ...yes..." Mahmoud replies, uncertainly.

"Well, that's gonna happen to you, dude, in 48 hours if you don't dismantle your nuclear weapons program and let my inspectors come and personally verify that you have complied. Clock's ticking right...now" I would politely inform the Iranian President.

Click. I'd hang up.

And, then, in 48 hours if Ahmajinedad refused, all that would be left of him and his nuclear program would be a memory.

Then, I'd go play golf, or fish, mix it up a little, you know, until the next election when I'd easily win 95% of the vote. Everyone would love me, or fear me, and according to Machiavelli, fear works better.

What I don't understand is why so many people seem perplexed by this. Maybe I'm crazy.