In an inspired, audacious,
“why-didn’t-anyone-think-of-this-before?” move that has Americans smacking their open palms on their foreheads from Fire Island to Big Sur, the Trump administration and the National Rifle Association have joined forces in an unprecedented nation-wide initiative to reduce and eventually eliminate health care costs.
“Stand Your Ground Against Health Care-tards!” is the second program implemented under Trump’s so-called “Great Big Yuge Agenda”, just two weeks after the start of “What Has Intelligence Ever Done For YOU?”, the educational program which has Betsy DeVos overseeing the winding down of the public school system.
But what about rumors that the new health care plan was inspired by a recent shooting at a New York City hospital?
I caught up with Ms Peggy Wagstaff, Trump’s most trusted personal confidante and official White House Playmate of the Month, half-way into her graveyard shift at the Trump Tower Full-Pay Medical Clinic and Make America Great Again Souvenir Concession.
“We were watching the news about that hospital in the Bronx, and—well, I guess you could say it was a lightbulb-over-the-head moment,” said Miss Wagstaff, as she carefully arranged ashtray replicas of the Las Vegas replica of the Great Pyramid of Ra.
“Cuddles got this weird look on his face, and then suddenly he shouted, ‘Health Care-tards! That’s it!! It’s fiscal responsibility, state lottery and reality show all in one!!!’ You know how he gets.”
First steps? Ms Wagstaff hesitated for a moment.
“I mean, the plan’s a little rough around the edges at this point, but so far we’ve issued firearms to all the doctors, the residents, senior nursing staff, the secretarial pool, and Mrs Pereira the night-shift cleaning lady, but we’re still fifty-fifty about giving one to that old guy with the aluminum pie plate hat who sleeps in the biohazard bins in the alley.”
Ms Wagstaff began polishing an enormous Jeff Sessions crystal paperweight, $49.99 on special.
“Donald says your average American does not want some little punk with a disease regular people can’t even pronounce lying around on a gurney the rest of us paid for, talking to a stuffed animal and getting sassy with the grown-ups, you know? Demanding more than his share of rice pudding and whining about the choice on the cable TV.”
What was the message here? Was this a teaching moment?
“Hmmm. Well, basically we’re talking I am not your keeper, every man for himself, all the things Ben Franklin put in the, you know. Bill of Franklin. Oh, snafu, or was that Bill Wrights?” She sighed. “There’s so much to remember!”
Bill of Rights? I suggested.
But Ms. Wagstaff was interrupted by an anxious-looking elderly woman carrying a small suitcase and sleeping bag. She handed Ms Wagstaff a bunch of crumpled papers.
“Hey there, Mrs… Campbell! Let’s get you sorted out! I see you’ve been booked in for our Half-Price Exploratory Heart Valve Procedure today at three. That’s awesome!”
I couldn’t help but be impressed as Ms Wagstaff moved on to the up-sell.
“Would you care to “Super Size” that to full open heart surgery for only fifty grand extra? You’ll also get an additional night in our shared single room, our post-op free gift of two aspirin and a glass of water, AND sheets for the bed!”
The woman opened her mouth as though to answer, took one loud, wheezing breath, and fainted dead away.
“Is that a definite ‘no’?”, said Ms Wagstaff, which I thought was pretty droll under the circumstances. “Alrighty, then, dear, no problem! You’ll find it’s two floors up then hang a left for your pre-op holding pen.”
“Cheapskate,” she added, as a couple of Candy Stripers dragged the woman up the stairs marked Economy Class. “Doesn’t seem to matter to some people that I’m on commission.”
Ms Wagstaff strapped on her holster, donned a fresh white lab coat and gestured for me to accompany her.
“Walk this way,” she said, heading with a no-nonsense stride down the hallway. I followed her through the double doors marked “Maternity”.
“I think this would be a great time to demonstrate the Random Cull”, Ms Wagstaff continued. “So, like—everyone in emerg, or everyone with a name that starts with C, or like today, I think we’ll do—black single moms. You get the idea?”
Ms Wagstaff suddenly whipped out her Glock, took aim and blasted the relevant beds and their occupants to kingdom come.
My ears were ringing from the explosions. Wagstaff grabbed an orderly by the arm as he ran by. “Hey, you! Wipe that blood off your face and go tell Mrs. Pork Chop in Housekeeping we need her up here, pronto. Routine spill. Thanks, sugar.”
Ms Wagstaff looked wistful.
“Just between you and me, sometimes I wonder why Cuddles hired me in the first place. Whenever I ask him, he just laughs his head off and says, there’s two great, big, YUGE reasons, Pegs—but then he never tells me what they are.”
Ben Franklin and Bill Wrights are—still flying their kites.