“One love, one life, let’s get together and feel all right...”

Sure.

Let’s all get together and feel good about what the new administration is trying to hoodwink us with.

Do we want a global economy? Do we want to lose the dollar forever and do our business with some kind of global yuan? I don’t think so.

Do we want the United States to stay on top and remain independent of all other nations, or do we want to go to bed every night bowing down to some foreign flag or 50-foot statue of the New World Leader? And believe me, all the leaders in this “global marketplace” want to be top dawg.

I think we all pretty much want things here in the good ol’ U.S. of A. to stay the way it is. We don’t want to be taken over by foreign entities, we don’t want to become a socialist society (but the government is gonna try it, draggin us along kicking and screaming), and we don’t want to work our butts off to pay for the all the goodies our non-contributing neighbors are expecting us to hand over.

The current administration is basically trying to soft-sell the “Share the Love” feel-goodness of how we should all being taking care of each other.

No one should make more money than anyone else, and if you just happen to fall into that category, you should be willing to let the government take the whipped cream off your slice of pie and dole it out to your neighbors.

Uh uh, honey. That ain’t the way our founding fathers thought it ought to be. It was basically, “We are here, we are gonna make this country something special, and we all have our own row to hoe. If you can’t pick up the pace, you’re gonna fall behind. So be it.”

Just like the old tale of The Little Red Hen.

Little Red was baking a big loaf of fresh bread and wanted to know who was willing to help her in order to share in that yummy treat. No one wanted to plant the grain, no one wanted to reap the wheat, no one wanted to grind the wheat into flour, no one wanted turn the flour into bread. She had to do it all herself.

The Cat didn’t want to. She just sat and licked cream off the floor.

The Dog didn’t want to. He just sat pickin’ ticks off his tail.

The Duck sat there like a bump on a log waiting to lay her golden egg.

When Little Red pulled the warm sweet bread out of the oven, she asked, “Who will help me eat this bread?”

And pandemonium broke out in Little Red’s kitchen as the Cat, the Dog, and the Duck are went hellbent and feathers flying to get to that bread.
“I will, I will,” they all shouted.

Little Red cut that first slice of bread and said, “Humph. Y’all sat around and watched me work my little red butt off, so you ain’t gettin’ any. I think I owe it to myself to have this bread.”

However, along came President Obama and said, “Now Little Red, do you think that’s fair? For you to have allllll that bread for yourself, while your neighbors are sitting there going hungry?”

“Well, Mr. President, do you think it’s fair that I had to do all the work. Cat sat there lickin’ her paws, Dog sat there fartin’ and pickin’ ticks outta his tail, and Duck … don’t even get me started on that lazy good for nothin’ so and so ... and now you want me to share the reward that I reaped and they had nothing to do with?”

“Why, yes, Little Red. Of course I do. All your neighbors deserve to have a portion of what you have, because you have so much,” President Obama chided.

“And just what are you willing to give up, Mr. President? Are you willing to turn the White House over to the homeless in Washington, D.C.? Are you willing to make Sasha and Malia share all their nice toys and clothes with other people simply because they have them and other people don’t? Does that make sense? What about that pack of smokes you keep tucked in your jacket? Are you willing to give up those hard-earned smokes to someone who just walks around all day bumming money and smokes off people because they’re too stupid to get a job and contribute to society? I don’t think so.”

“Who told you about my smokes?” President Obama asked indignantly.

“Listen up, Mr. O, I’m all for being a charitable hen when the occasion arises, but don’t you come around to my henhouse and start barkin’ orders like you’re Foghorn Leghorn. I’m not sharing with these slackers because they didn’t put out one iota of sweat to get this bread made. And I’m not sharing it with you, either. And tell that Mr. Geithner hiding over there behind my broom closet that if he tries to tax me for the seed that I sowed, the wheat that I ground, the flour that I baked with, and the bread that I’m holding in my hot little hand, I’m gonna take that golden egg of Duck’s and toss it through his window.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I have some hot fresh bread to eat and some slack neighbors to scoot out of here. Go on, y’all ... git on out. Go find yourself an Acorn office to hang out at...”

And that, my friends, is what this country is coming to.