Don’t Fear the Reaper; it’s the GOP you should be worried about

DEATH EXPLAINS THE REPUBLICAN HEALTH CARE BILL

An Exclusive Interview by Yuri Nater

As an intern, I was surprised to be given this plum assignment and amazed at my good fortune to write my first article for the Times, one that would appear above the fold! Maybe the other reporters were afraid of Death, or thought this was a prank, who knows? But given the current job market for English Lit grads, I didn’t have much of a choice, so I caught a ride with a friend over to the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. Despite my beat up jeans and 99¢ Store sneakers, no one stopped me after I asked for directions to room 666.

I found the Grim Reaper enjoying a continental breakfast and skimming the morning paper. He was dressed in a stylish black robe with the hood down. his fiery floating eyes looked strangely friendly without the shroud, and added to the morning glow inside the room. He asked if I wanted some breakfast and, after I politely declined, persuaded me to at least have some coffee and a croissant. Settled in, the waiter asked if we needed anything else, then smiled and left the room in haste, declining the tip held in Mr. Reaper’s outstretched hand. What followed was a very informative interview that has been copied verbatim, per his request.

YN: Well, he was in a rush, wasn’t he?

GR: No biggie, I’ll catch up to him later.

YN: Nice hotel. Are you enjoying your stay here?

GR: Yes, I always stay at the Four Seasons… kind of poetic, if you know what I mean. The staff always knows when it’s their time. And they give me a wide berth, so I can enjoy a little “me” time in a luxurious setting.

YN: That’s true, the staff acted almost normally, considering the guest they have.

At the Four Seasons, they’re so used to serving rich wannabes like arms manufacturers, drug dealers and private equity CEOs, they have no problem dealing with that OG of oblivion, the pasha of passing away, the uber undertaker, yours truly.

Check out this hotel robe. It’s black fucking satin… sooooooo smooth. C’mon, touch it. You won’t believe the feeling of peace that comes over you when you’re wearing satin.

YN: Yeah, well, uh, my mom says I have an allergy to satin, so… Hey, I noticed you’re not wearing a hood. Can I take a photo for our readers?

GR: [shakes his head “no”] Your loss, kid. It’s pure freedom. I’d wear nothing at all if I could, but there are just too many problems with hungry dogs, ya know? Do you know how good this robe feels after schlepping around the globe in a tattered shroud? I can’t even get that thing dry cleaned when I’m on business. It’s so dumb, you’d think people are already brain dead. Everyone puts up a “closed” sign in the middle of the day when they see me coming, as if that would keep me out if I wanted to get in. When someone isn’t on my list, there’s nothing to worry about.

Like you, for example.

YN: [gulp] Me?

GR: Yeah, you, doofus. Remember Spring Break 2003, when you set a personal record for alcohol consumption over three consecutive days? I was there in your hotel room when you passed out, and your idiot friends drew penises on your forehead with a sharpie. If you hadn’t collapsed on your side, you would have suffocated your own vomit. I had to make an appearance just in case there was an accident.

YN: Dude, you’re the sultan of swan songs, le roi de ruination, the archduke of annihilation. How are there accidents?

GR: Believe it or not, there is some free choice. Haven’t you heard about the Darwin Awards? People do stupid shit that surprises even me. It’s like schrodinger’s cat writing a story. There’s uncertainty, so the names are like floating on my list, fading in and out.

YN: Do you always get room 666? Or is this like a corporate suite that employees of the Devil get to use?

GR: [Stands up, tips over the table, and starts yelling] The devil, my boss? If he shows up right now, I’ll send his ass straight back to hell. [Calming down] Of course, he can come right back. But then I would send him back down again, leading to a ridiculous waste of his time and mine. He knows the score, so he never fucks with me.

YN: So you’re God’s servant?

GR: I am an independent contractor, kid. You really are clueless aren’t you? God set up the original game, and gave me exclusive territory over the earthly plane. How do you think they make angels and saints? They send ’em down to earth, do their job and then I dispatch them. Haven’t you ever heard of Jesus, for Christ’s sake?

YN: Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your breakfast. Why did you even call for the interview?

GR: Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that. I want to make a public statement to dispel some nasty rumors going around. There’s this group of flaccid, punk ass bitches who are trying to take over some of my territory, and I’m here to call them out.

YN: Like al-Assad or the Rwandan government?

GR: No, not them. They show respect for me by flat out murdering people left and right. They do it the old fashioned way, with machetes and guns and bombs and gas attacks.

No, I’m talking about the Republican party.

YN: What? They’re the party of life, aren’t they?

GR: Kid, you are even dumber than that pain au chocolat. For that matter, who would connect “pain” with such a delicious breakfast pastry?

YN: It’s French, sir. “Pain” is pronounced kind of like a nasal version of “pan” with the “n” half pronounced…

GR: Well, fuck you, smart guy, and fuck the French. They didn’t even invent the croissant, but they took credit for it. It’s like they take shit and put their name across it in big fucking gold letters, like some scam artist.

Where was I? Oh yeah, we’re talking about scam artists. The GOP has been trying to give me a bad name for too long, and I’ve had it with them. Remember “death panels?” That was the lie of the year in 2009. Extending health care insurance under Obama Care to millions of people was only going to save lives, and I don’t appreciate having my reputation sullied in any way. You’re supposed to fear the reaper, not walk out of a clinic sucking on a fucking lollipop.

But now, with Trump Care, they’re lying again.

I just saw some heartless Texan on TV talk brag about how they were going to insure that pre-existing conditions would be covered in a more efficient way. Do you know what’s efficient, kid?

YN: I don’t know, single payer health care, like Medicare for everyone?

GR: No, what’s efficient is to create a separate insurance pool for all the people with pre-existing conditions. Insurance companies then charge impossibly high premium rates, and the Republicans promise to provide subsidies when the rates go up to over $25,000 per year. This Texan — and given his lack of heart, I might be paying him a visit soon — said they would provide $8 billion over the next five years.

YN: What’s wrong with that, if it covers the extra expense?

GR: Wow, you may very well have a chance to win a Darwin Award in the future. Look at the words, “$8 billion over the next five years.” That implies two things: a funding limit, and possibly a legislative sunset.

When you set a funding limit, it is impossible to foresee how much more the insurance companies will raise their rates. Even with the subsidies, people with the highest risks will not be able to afford their insurance, lose their policies, and proceed to die off during the months it takes for the public outcry to make Congress do anything to rectify the situation. Every high-risk person that dies twenty to fifty years before their time represents a revenue bonanza to the government. Holy crap, one dead baby is a veritable gold mine!

President Orange can just say “I didn’t realize it was so hard,” Paul Ryan can do his evil grin while pantomiming “who knew?” and the GOP can justify their tax cuts for the rich by pointing out all the savings they created with their health care bill. Shit, if they can eliminate the FDA, we’ll probably be eating Soylent Green in a few years, which will lead to new kind of farming activity at nursing homes. Just think how much they’ll save on health care then!

YN: I think I follow you now, but what’s a legislative sunset?

GR: It’s a time limit written into a piece of legislation, or a sneaky legislative trick that triggers a time limit. Unlike Obamacare, where the insurance companies are required to provide coverage for pre-existing conditions forever, a legislative sunset means the bill has to be extended after it expires. Sometimes, a sunset provision is good, because you don’t want to extend a law with bad consequences or one that was necessary during a time of crisis, but is no longer relevant. But sometimes a sunset provision is bad, because it allows the next group in power to completely screw over the people because enough time has passed and nobody remembers how important a particular law is, until it’s too late. And the party in power can kill a life-saving law simply by not extending it. It’s a coward’s way out. In other words, a favorite tactic used by scum bag politicians.

YN: So, if the new law kills thousands of people, why are you unhappy?

GR: Do you even read the news? Or do you just pass your time looking at your twitter feed in between going on coffee runs and walking the boss’ dog? Have you seen one word about this new form of “death panel?” They call it “freedom to choose,” with the “invisible hand of the market place” holding a .357 magnum.

Usually, I get along just fine with the Republicans. Start unnecessary wars? Check. It’s what you do.

Cut food stamps, head start programs, refuse to provide funding to 9/11 responders? It’s all good. They are cutting down the time I have to wait to collect my souls.

But take away health care from people already on my list? These motherfuckers are going to kill thousands every year and I’m not getting one shred of credit. [sighs]

Homie don’t play that game.

YN: [Room darkens, red flames blazing from his eyes, I step back] What will you do?

GR: Oh, I’ll just send a memo out to a higher authority, and believe me, there will be hell to pay.

YN: A “higher authority?” You said neither God nor the Devil was your boss. Please explain.

GR: I’m just going to send a little note to Putin that says “The GOP knows about your ties to Trump and they want you to pay for their silence.”

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