The Obamacare Nightmare

The year is 2023, and I anxiously walk to my local Omamacare Administration building, run by the IRS.  It is an opulent structure, with a massive front entrance stairway and Roman columns on both sides of the twelve-foot glass doors.  As I walk into the grand ballroom-sized entry, I hear the echo of my footsteps bouncing off the grey marble floor and walls.

 

Glancing up, I see a fresco painted on the thirty-foot high ceiling, similar to the Sistine Chapel.  It is a painting of some officious-looking man in a dark suit and tie, floating on a cloud. He’s holding a pile of paperwork in one hand while reaching out with his other toward a wretched-looking soul in a hospital bed.  The huge face of HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius is smiling down on both of them.

 

As I approach the marble-tiled front counter, I overhear some IRS union employees chatting about last night’s gala office party.  “The champagne was domestic, but there was plenty of it to go around.  How about that spoof video from headquarters about zombie Teabaggers?  Hilarious!  It’s amazing what great quality cinematography they can produce with taxpayer mon… Can I help you?”

 

I cleared my throat. “I have a very serious problem.  My doctor tells me I need emergency surgery immediately.  He says I only have six to eight weeks to live if I don’t have the operation.”

“That’s fine, sir. We will be glad to help.  Just take these forms home with you, fill them out and send them back to us.”

 

“But these forms are hundreds of pages long.  There must be thousands of questions in them.  I’m dying here.  What do you need to know?”

“Oh, just the standard information.  You know, political affiliation, religion, content of your prayers, that sort of thing.  We will let you know the next steps in three to six months, depending on the quality of your answers.”

 

“What would the next steps be, exactly?”

“Probably another round of questions, like asking you to justify your value to society.”

 

“But I only have two months to live, at most!”

“Well, you don’t have much value to us, then, do you?  Perhaps you should just go home and take a pain pill.”

 

“I’m begging you, sir!  My time is running out!  Please suspend the rules and spare my life!”

“No can do, sir.  As our great HHS Secretary once said when she was asked to bend the rules, ‘…Someone lives and someone dies.’”

 

Andrew Thomas

as published in American Thinker