Who’s Costing What

It is inevitable that whenever a service is limited, talk will turn towards issues like “who is more deserving of it?” or “should people pay more if they use the service more?”, and so on.  Insurance companies have a hold on this measurement in that, for example, young men pay more for auto insurance because they have more accidents and drive more recklessly than middle-aged women do.

Where this all starts falling apart is when it gets taken to its logical extreme:  should fat people pay more for airline tickets when their weight requires more fuel to power the plane off the runway?  Sure, say all the skinny people;  fuck you, say the chubbies.

And that’s for a pay service.  The argument becomes even sharper when it’s a free (to consumers) service such as, say, Britain’s National Health Service (NHS), which is going to become still more of an issue Over Here as the U.S. inches towards a “single-payer” (i.e. State-provided) healthcare system.

So who costs the healthcare service more:  fat people or smokers?  In her inimitable style, Brit journo Janet Street-Porter (who is skinny) scolds future BritPM Boris Johnson (who is chubby) for saying that fat people don’t cost the NHS as much as smokers.

Sorry, Boris but fat people are costing the NHS just as much as smokers ever did so why shouldn’t they face the same shame and taxes?
It’s official, eating yourself to an early death is a human right which must be protected.
Boris Johnson – who could be our next Prime Minister, a prospect which fills me with fear and loathing in equal measure- wants to review the levies on sugary food and drink because they ‘hurt the poor’. He calls them ‘sin taxes’.
This is shameless electioneering, stooping to a new low to grovel for votes.
What really hurts the poor is discovering your child needs every tooth filled and there are no dentists for hundreds of miles.
Or your teenager is too fat to play sport and is being bullied at school. Every extra kilo around a child’s waist is another year off their lives.
Giving people on low incomes the freedom of choice to buy unhealthy food is not a policy anyone who cares about humankind should be proud of. It is retrogressive and patronising.
Food laced with sugar and fat SHOULD be taxed, and that money ploughed back into the National Health service.

For starters, this whole “shaming” thing should be called what it really is:  bullying.  Shame  is what you should feel if you commit a sin or a crime (some overlap);  only scolds and control freaks (some overlap) want to ascribe the eating of a hamburger or a chocolate bar as sinful, and therefore worthy of taxing.

Hey, let’s not stop there.  If we’re talking about costs to a nationalized healthcare system, let’s not stop with smokers and chubbies;  what about car drivers, cyclists and motorcyclists?  I mean, we’ve all seen the accident reports and injury stats — why not tack a tax onto car, bicycle or motorcycle purchases to help cover those  costs to the healthcare system?  (Feel free to add your  suggestions as to ways to squeeze yet more tax dollars from citizens.  Indulge your inner politician.)

I’m making a joke about this, but make no mistake:  at some point this nonsense — especially when supported by media assholes like Street-Porter — starts becoming policy.  And we need to nip it in the bud, hard.

Let’s end this little discussion with a thought from Janet:

It’s the duty of responsible parents and schools to promote healthy eating, and the duty of supermarkets to promote real unprocessed food over junk.

Yeah… we know better than parents what’s good for their children, and (channeling Michelle Obama) schools shouldn’t serve meals that aren’t blessed by the Nutrition Police.  And supermarkets shouldn’t serve their customers’ needs and wants;  they should only serve foods that we say they should.  (Corollary:  and if our “suggested” foods turn out to be completely wrong — e.g. the food pyramid espoused by the FDA for decades — then that’s just tough titties.)

FOAD.

True Story

Apparently Rep. Frederica Willams (Communist-FL) was on her way to a speaking engagement when she discovered she’d forgotten to brush her teeth.  She stopped at a Walgreens on the way, and sent her assistant into the store to get her a toothbrush.

“Can I get a toothbrush for Congresswoman Williams?” she asked the clerk breathlessly.
The clerk thought for a moment, then replied, “Sounds like a fair trade.”

OMG — I think I’m going to be arrested for that.

Out Of The Past 2

Barricades, Explained

November 26, 2008
5:04 AM CDT

In a long-ago discussion in Comments, I made the statement that if I had my preference, I’d like to die either asleep in my wife’s arms, or else on the barricades.

I think I’d better explain the latter, because someone may get the wrong impression, and I’d hate that to happen.

Although I’ve started to look like a Frenchman and am descended from the French, most Gallic qualities have long since been burned off by the passage of generations. Most especially, the need for le geste magnifique, mais inutile (the magificent, but futile, gesture) has long ago been purged from my psyche.

So don’t expect me to rush to the barricades when The Glorious Day comes, AK clutched in wrinkled grasp, with ringing exhortations coming from my lips.

I am uncomfortable in the role of “revolutionary leader”. I’m not a rabble rouser, or an agitator. I seek not to form an army, or an underground movement, or any kind of Maquis. I don’t care about glory, or notoriety, or any of that nonsense. I am, quite simply, a man who will go so far, and no further, and who will resist oppression without fanfare, without recognition, and without a qualm.

I am also not a terrorist, or “freedom fighter”, and I will never engage in any activities which are proactive against Our Enemy, The State.

may, however, choose to resist, in a manner of my own choosing, because I have various boundaries, personal boundaries, which may or may not be the same as those of others.

So my “barricade” would be a lot simpler, and a lot more personal.

It could be at my doorstep, when agents of the State come to confiscate my suddenly-illegal guns.

It could be in a court of law, when I am forced to choose between paying a fine for disobeying an unjust law, and going to prison. (It will, I promise you, be the latter.)

It could be when the State tries to confiscate or trespass on my property.

It could be when the State threatens my family.

It could be when the State tries to load me, or any other “undesirables”, into the cattle cars (real, or metaphysical).

It could be when an agent of the State demands “Papieren, bitte” and I show them my tattoo instead.

It could be when I am restricted in, or forbidden to exercise my freedom of speech, or any of the other freedoms enumerated in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. I will decide what constitutes “reasonable” when it comes to restrictions thereon, and not some Congressman, lawyer, judge, policeman or government bureaucrat.

Just like Nock before me, I’m not intent on “setting an example”, or influencing others, or making a splash of any kind. Those who wish, may do what I do, or not. Those who wish to castigate me for my choices may do so, but it will have no effect. Those who wish to use me as an example do so without my consent or blessing, and those who expect me to “lead” them will be disappointed.

I am a quiet man, a reasonable man, but I am not nor will ever be a slave to the State. I left one country to escape that, and I will not live like that in my adopted one.

So if I die on the barricades, it may be known to others, or else just an unseen spark which flickers and dies in the darkness. Either way, I am indifferent. But it will be known to the agents of the State, I can promise you that. I will not go quietly into that dark night of oppression. It may well turn out to have been a futile gesture, but it will not be futile for me.

I may have lost most Gallic qualities, as I said earlier, but the one I have most definitely lost is the impulse to surrender.

And that’s all I’ll have to say on the topic. Ever.

No Ice Floes In The NHS

…which is probably a Good Thing, or else the oh-so compassionate NHS (Australia version) would have pushed this granny off on one long ago.  Simple details are as follows:

Ms Manley was informed on May 12 that her application for an aged parent visa was rejected because she does not fit the criteria due to her poor health.
The health criteria state that an applicant must be free from disease and must be free of any condition which would cost the health sector more than $40,000 (£22,000) in total.
Ms Manley’s full-time care would cost about $145,000 (£80,000) for the next three years.

In case anyone’s interested, this is known as “rationed care”, something the supporters of nationalized health care always deny will happen, but which always does.

Read the whole story for the full rage to take effect.

BFD

This from TexGov Greg Abbott:

Well excuse me if I don’t turn a few cartwheels and stuff.  Fifty years ago, you could see liquor stores’ delivery scooters putting around all over every city and town in South Africa, painted in the various stores’ livery.

And, just so everyone understands my scorn, you could order beer and wine for home delivery.  Also gin, vodka, brandy, Scotch and rum.  Fifty years ago.  In South Africa.

I once noted that as one moves south from the northern states in the U.S., the gun laws become less stupid, and the liquor laws become more so.  In Chicago, I could buy single-malt Scotch at the supermarket, but I couldn’t buy a gun anywhere.  Down here, even oh-so-cosmopolitan Plano became a “liquor” retail area (as opposed to just beer & wine) only about five years ago, but I have about fifteen gun stores within a couple miles of my house.

There are a lot of things to like about the South, but their liquor laws are not among them.

So:  wake me up when I can order my favorite Scotch and gin from Total Wines or Spec’s, and have them delivered to my front door.

Actually, check that.  Wake me up when I can buy my booze from Amazon.  Like you can in Britain (where you can’t buy anything made by Colt).

And one last thing:  I don’t enjoy the paternalistic tone of government “allowing” me to do anything, and being advised to do something “responsibly“.  Fuck you, fuck your responsibility, and thanks for nothing, you paternalistic asshole.

Now send the Texas State Guard down to police the Rio Grande, and stop pissing around with chickenshit like this.