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The New Deal

By Charles Reuben

       I will put aside my concerns about Amtrak’s future for the moment and focus my attention on the future of Social Security.
       In order to come up with a definitive solution to the problems facing aging baby boomers, I pulled out my Ouija board on a full moon night and channeled the spirits.
      “What are we to do about social security?” I asked them.
      “B-U-N-N-Y R-A-B-B-I-T,” was the reply.
       It took me a while to figure out what the spirits meant, but after an enormous amount of medication, I mean meditation, and soul searching, I believe I have the answer.
      The Bush administration needs to get Congress to authorize the purchase of a stuffed bunny wabbit for every man, woman and child in these United States.
      Every American would feel great if they had a little, stuffed bunny wabbit to provide for their needs when they got old!
      And there’s an added bonus: if a person felt particularly aggressive on a given day, he or she could smack his bunny wabbit around a little bit without creating an undo burden on the fabric of society.
       I know for a fact that stuffed bunny wabbits can make you feet secure: Look at the face on the little boy above this editorial. That’s me when I was four years old! I don’t have a care in the world. And it’s all because of my bunny wabbit.
      And for those who feel that this solution is too simplistic, the government could issue vouchers to be used toward a teddy bear of their choice.
      At Chucksville, we (like the Bush administration) are working overtime to come up with simple solutions to complicated problems that simply do not exist.


Talking Cars
By Charles Reuben

       My father loved cars.
       He bought some of the most powerful, stylish, big cars that ever came out of Detroit and he drove them into the ground. The picture on the left of my three sisters and my Dad was taken in Chicago long before I was born.
       Gas was 25 cents a gallon when I was a kid and my family used to drive all over the country to visit relatives. My Dad was in the habit of buying Chevy’s and they served our family well.
       Most of Mom’s family lived in Montreal and we would make frequent road trips to the East Coast, stopping in New York to see the Statue of Liberty and Niagara Falls.
       Dad always drove into the City to take care of business. I perfected my driving skills behind the wheel of our ’72 Chevy Impala and was responsible for quite a few of its dents.
       The first four-wheel vehicle that I ever drove was probably a pedal car. I don’t have a picture of it, but I wish I still had it because it would be worth a fortune in the antique market.
       My Dad built my brother and me a go-cart when I got too big for the pedal car. (That's me on the right!) Unlike the pedal car, this vehicle could travel very quickly and did not have any sort of braking mechanism. Nonetheless, our go-cart was every bit as solid as the family car and was able to withstand many a severe collision without inflicting severe bodily damage upon its occupants.
       Our go-cart could be turned with the feet, moving the steering assembly in a left or right direction. A rope could be used to pull the go-cart if gravity did not happen to be on our side.
       Instead of a horn, our go-cart had a bell mounted in the front. This proved to be useful to warn people to get out of the way, a very important feature since we did not have the ability to stop.
       I don’t know what ever happened to our go-cart. It has, no doubt, gone the way of so many things that have touched my life, molded my character and developed a love-hate relationship with cars.

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