I keep seeing these commercials for life insurance in between my viewings of the Patty Duke Show and Mr. Ed on my favorite converter box channel. I never really grasped the need for life insurance. I mean – Yeah, I understand that it would provide cash for people (survivors they are called, as if they were ever in danger of a heart attack that I would suffer) that I would be leaving behind. The problem there is that I need every penny to pay bills NOW. Besides, it just seems obscene to me to be socking away money for a particular moment in time wherein I would never be able to spend it – Ever! AFLAC, I get. That provides some money for real expenses like bills, groceries, cigarettes – you know – real things that are needed in daily life if, for some reason, I were unable to drag my miserable shape into the toy company and tap out a few package designs for any extended period of time.
After I explain this reasoning to people about life insurance, they inevitably deliver the following retort:
“Well, it helps with your funeral expenses.”
What the Hell? I just… Okay, here it is. I have such a problem with this one. First of all, I assume the state would be able to translate my house and any other personal property into an adequate burial for my carcass. What will I care? I will have no need for my house after I am dead, right? The other thing that always bothers me: imagine I am walking around downtown Iowa City some evening (very unlikely as I can’t stand that town ) after eating a particularly rich dinner, collapse on the sidewalk, and die of a heart attack. Are the police going to come to the scene of my demise and cordon off the area immediately around me with yellow crime scene tape? Will the state just let my body lie there in a heap on the sidewalk until they figure out a way to extract enough cash for a funeral from me? No!
I suppose one could make the argument that this is a very selfish attitude to take, but I figure I have paid enough taxes that these folks should have to put forth a bit of an effort when dealing with my death. Which brings me to a re-occurring vision I often entertain: the state trying to figure out what to do about my “assets.”
I picture the poor S.O.B.s that are charged with going through my house and figuring out what half of the things I own are, and what they are used for. I laugh when I imagine this.
“What in the Hell IS this thing,” one of them would ask of the other as he held up my Weird Sound Generator. You have to imagine a life-sized plastic human skull model kit with volume style knobs and toggle switches festooned around the crown of its head.
Or examining one of my many refurbished clocks where I have replaced the hands with transparent acetate discs and painted geometric shapes all over them, turning them into moving kinetic sculptures of sorts. How about a larger than life-sized motorcycle helmet fashioned out of Bondo auto body putty to look like a deer skull – antlers and all? Or a pair of 7″ platform boots that, when worn, make you appear as though you have cloven-hooved feet?
Yes, the day that the state comes in to assess my personal property, they may have to contact Ripley’s Believe It or Not.
There is another statement I hear often on the news that goes something like this: “Do you have any idea what this trial is costing the taxpayers?”
No, I don’t, but the bigger issue is what would these people NORMALLY be doing in the course of a day’s work? Is the judge, because he has to don the black robe and sit up on the bench, having his normal Tuesday routine of fly-fishing interrupted? Is either lawyer on either side being torn away from their usual tasks of playing Scrabble or trying hard not to make the little red plastic Eskimo fisherman not fall on to the table-top while tapping a chunk of white plastic “ice” away from around him with a little plastic hammer? Would the court reporter normally be learning to speak Korean during this time? Perhaps the bailiff, instead of standing in the front of the courtroom, arms crossed, could be out finding just the right antique end table to finish off his recently refurbished family room in the basement of his home.
I do not understand the ridiculousness of this statement. Are they trying to make a point about how judges, policemen, and such would never be necessary if it weren’t for this lone miscreant on trial for whatever transgression he had the nerve to participate in, causing our taxes to go up while gypping our public officials out of a healthy round of Stadium Checkers? It seems to me, if we follow this line of thought all the way to its logical end, we should actually be thanking crimninals for creating so many jobs.
Then there is Lotto. Why in God’s name did we ever come up with Lotto? I don’t loath it because it is denying poor, ignorant people out of their hard-earned cash. As a matter of fact, I consider Lotto to be part of the “stupidity tax.” I have an issue with the fact that people playing the lottery make a home out of the service counter at the gas station, mini mart, or tobacco store.
Here in Iowa, we have about thirty different scratch-off games as well as the Power Ball lottery where you pick a series of digits, and if they match the ones drawn out of a gadget resembling a Bingo caller’s machine with the numbers printed onto ping pong balls, you are the big winner.
Whenever I stop to get gas, say, at lunch or before some important appointment, I somehow end up directly behind some dolt who is not only buying “two Funny Moneys, a Scratch-O-Rama, four of those Big Bux – NO-THOSE – Over there!”
“These?”
“No, down farther!”
“These?”
“No – The ones with the frogs on ’em.”
Not only do I end up behind these dolts, but they proceed to play the games right there at the counter! So they inevitably get one or two free plays and maybe win two dollars on one of these tickets, but they are also retired and have the whole day to kill being Joe High-Roller at the mini mart.
By now, there is a line running damn near to the back of the store with people swaying back and forth, staring at the ceiling, holding sodas that are turning room temperature, and trying to control their fidgeting four-year-olds.
So they continue, oblivious to the ever-lengthening line of tortured and tormented customers waiting to just pay for their gas and other crap and move on with their lives.
“I got a free play here on the Frogger and two free plays here on the Funny Money.”
“So do you want two more Funny Moneys and another Frogger?”
“No. Give me one of the Big Bux and – Oh…” She drops the ticket and it blows a few feet behind her on the floor. She looks back at the small community of customers and gives them a smile like, “Oh-Dropped my Funny Money ticket.”
She continues:
“Give me a Big Bux and one of those… Oh. You know, The pink…”
Anyway – You get the idea. I just wonder how much revenue is lost per day, week, month, year because this madness is allowed to continue.
I cashed out the one life insurance policy my parents took out on me years ago. I am certain that the paltry amount I received went directly to the electric company or to pay the phone bill. At least I was alive to see it spent. I do not play the lottery, either. I figure if I don’t buy two tickets a day that leaves me with about $800.00 a year to spend on fun crap like the gas bill, the mortgage, toilet paper. You know – Life’s little stiffies that make the whole thing worth living.