let's see how many crazy things i can find that workers call "benefits"...( and i am not picking on them at all).
2) .In the gambling mecca of Atlantic City, retiring police, fire men and women hit the jackpot by collecting more than $13.7 million in cash for unused leave.As well as paid days off for Christmas shopping.
3) Free "yoga" for the unemployed in Columbus ,Ohio. (i know this is not only Govt. workers,but this is one for Ripley's)
I'm going to stop right here. i have a Yoga class ,in a half hour.I think you can look up more if your interested. And there is much,much ,more .
A MOMENT OF TRUTH
In order to get control of government and gain support of the unions and public sector employees the radical liberals in Congress (in fact throughout the entire country) have supported unrealistic pay raises, pension benefits and all sorts of goodies for those who work at all levels of government. Who would dare vote against raising the pay and benefits of fire fighters, police,and teachers.
Tranquility? Serenity? Why dost thou evade me? As I settle taut and tidy ‘neath the banyan tree, ochre striped macaques and red-assed baboons cavort with frantic abandon ‘bove me head. And still, chaos reigns throughout the land, the “internets”, and of course, within me noggin’, wi’ out unnecessary floggin’. There, I rule the roost, with only chicken shit below me. But out there, me thinks I espied too many chicken shits, none that say “pull”, eh, but quite a few that answer to “press”. I know, I know, it takes a little patience and perhaps a wee dram to penetrate my clever iambic pentameter, as I am given to waxy poetry, rhymed and sloshed with 15 year old liquidity. Such is me lot. But these baggers and press, such a thick bunch and given to all things stupid, lock, stock and barrel. The maiden’s head and the weasel’s tail, and telling a tale told with much alack and alacrity; truth stressed and stretched on the gerund, or alas, lost in the gravy.
My only solace is perhaps that intellect win out over balderdash, or maybe just a vision of a tender lass, whose summer thin shift allows the setting sun to shine through the woof and warp of a poorly woven sheer fabric, as she stands on the hill, giving me gaze in a coveted lustful manner; her thighs inscribed with the graphic eloquence of an illuminated script of Medieval gospel or bronze age fairy tale. They’re out there talking polls, I’m seeing visions of Joanna as I try in vain to satisfy the Greek chorus with my plaintive bleating, as they toss the rotten vegetables of their own failed schemes at me every night on the evening “news”. They sure got a lot of gall! These visions of Joanna kept me up past the dawn (Sorry Bob). Somebody please tell me what salvation is like after a while. Jeez, I can’t find my knees