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Taxing thoughts

It turns out that Winston Churchill was in favor of a progressive income tax with a total exemption for the poor and a higher rate for unearned income, according to the biography, “Churchill: Walking with Destiny,” by Andrew Roberts.

Wow, so am I. Bet I could rally Britain after Dunkirk, too, but possibly not quite as well as Sir Winston.

Which reminds me of an interview I heard on NPR just recently with Sen. Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts. I particularly liked her plan for a 2 percent tax on income above $50 million a year. As she explained it, that means if you earn $50,000,001, you would be taxed 2 cents on that $1. Now it could get dicey for you were you to earn $50,000,010, because then you’d owe an extra 20 cents. Ouch.

And of course if you earned $50,000,100, you’d owe an extra $2.

Yeah, you’re right: It gets into a lot of money. So what if it would raise billions, maybe even trillions, for roads and bridges and maybe to get young people out from onorous student loans. That’s not the problem of the guy who earned $50,001,000 and now has to pay an extra $20. Give the guy a break, why doncha.

MR. POTATO: Hey, Billy, what I gotta do to duck this extra tax?

ACCOUNTANT: Well, first you could learn to speak properly.

MR. POTATO: Will that help?

ACCOUNTANT: Not with the taxes, but at least I won’t have to listen to you. Didn’t you go to Yale?

MR. POTATO: Yeah, but I was a legacy.

ACCOUNTANT: Got it. Anyway, beating the tax is simple: Just don’t make any more this year than $49,000,999.

MR. POTATO: You want I should starve?

ACCOUNTANT: No, but I think you should stop telling people you went to Yale. You’re embarrassing them.

MR. POTATO: Hey, I’m a legacy, all right?

ACCOUNTANT: Yes, as if I couldn’t tell.

* Dear Democrats: Stop. Just stop. Just stop reacting to every nutty thing Donald Trump says. Trump says, “I’m gonna close the border with Mexico.”

Democrats go, “Arggghhhhhhhhh, noooooooo, it’s cruel, it’s …”

ME: Stop. Did he do it? Did he close the border? Of course not. He’s just being the class clown. He’s annoying to get attention and you’re giving it to him. Guess who that makes the idiot?

And sending migrants to sanctuary cities? Schmuck, let him. See if he even tries to do it and if he does, see how it’s going to work out.

Reacting to every nutty thing is nutty and all you’re doing is making it seem as if he’s scaring the hell out of you.

Just about everything he threatens to do he doesn’t do or can’t do, so stop.

You want to be scared? Look at the judges he’s appointing and that Mitch McConnell (Kisses for My President) bows and scrapes for. If Mitch had a forelock, he’d tug the heck out of it.

Please. Just stop reacting and try to get some things done. Jeez.

* My wife takes all the fun out of doing the laundry. I do the sheets and I sometimes do towels and, especially with the sheets, she has orders: Only do whites with the sheets. Because the sheets are white.

What’s the fun in that? Take the white sheets and throw in some red shirts and see what happens. That’s the fun of laundry. Who can tell what will happen?

Adventures in laundry.

But no.

* A poem of warning as spring brings beastial fun:

“Here come the bears. Out of their dens they wake up and wander,

They search for food. They don’t have to ponder their existence.

How cantankerous they seem, awakened from their dreams.

They’re hungry and in need of subsistence.

“Oh, look,” says one, “a bird feeder’s hung. Some schnook left it there for my dinner.”

He rips it off of your tree, it’s food and it’s free. This wide awake bear is a winner.

“Then he climbs on your deck and thinks, “What the heck, I’m hungry, I need a lot more.”

There’s no garbage can, so he needs a new plan, and that’s when he spots your screen door.”

* I bring you this passage from the novel “Tony’s Wife” by Adriana Trigiani, the words spoken by Saverio Armandonada:

“Money’s only worth something if you can spend it to make somebody else happy.”

* I have yet to enter The River Mill Tavern in Milford — near the TD Bank and Irving station — but every morning I read their sign when I pass. Sometimes it’s mundane but sometimes it’s clever.

I know, I know: Yeah, but whatta they got on draft?

* The headline in the Portland Press Herald grabbed me right away:

“China Democrat enters 2020 presidential race.”

They resurrected Mao? Ah, no. Rather, the story was about Fred Wiand, 78, of China, Maine, who has announced his intention to capture the Democratic nomination. His bona fides? Four years on the China Planning Board and three failed campaigns for state representative in the 1960s.

He left on a national tour a couple of weeks ago. Go, Fred.

His issues? Who cares? Nobody, really. We just want to know who leads in the polls. No one cares that Elizabeth Warren has a really good tax plan. Phooey. Who’s up? Who’s down?

But Fred thinks somebody in D.C. is setting a bad example and he wants to set a good one and restore civility. He’d rejoin the Paris Climate Agreement and focus on climate change, which we know is a myth perpetrated by Sarah Sanders who is secretly not as dorky as she seems, but is pretty good at perpetrating myths.

Sandy Maisel, a government professor at Colby College in Maine, doesn’t think much of Fred’s chances and one of the big reasons is:

“He’s not going to raise enough money.”

Yes, Cyndi Lauper had it right: Money changes everything. Give to Fred. Or to me.

So, if Fred could raise, say, $6 million in the second quarter he’d have a chance? C’mon, you people, give ’til it hurts. Ouch.

* So, Bill Weld is in, challenging Donald Trump for the Republican nomination for president. As Weld said on WGBH radio the other day, they are “two big orange guys going at it.”

Well, I’m in, too, then. Mayor Pete is going to have to win the New Hampshire Democratic Primary without me. I’m staying in the GOP primary to vote for Weld.

* Oops, got snookered by the Internet. I wanted some information about women professional tennis players so that’s what I Googled, just that, and up came the first site: “25 hottest women’s professional tennis players.” Stupid me, I thought they meant “hot” as in playing incredibly well and winning tournaments.

Doh! Nope, up popped 25 pictures of relatively young women in shorts or swim suits.

Again I say:

Doh!

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