caught in the matrix
I frequently get the feeling that I’m in the minority amongst New Hampshire liberty activists for having a “normal” job. I define “normal” as on a schedule of Monday - Friday, 9 - 5 (officially, anyway; the reality often exceeds those boundaries). I have health insurance. I pay extra for long-term disability insurance, so that if I come down with cancer, get in a car accident, or whatever, I won’t become either destitute or a burden to others. I save for the proverbial rainy day. And I pay taxes. Boy, do I pay taxes.
I laughed, with a tinge of mania, when my annual Social “Security” Statement arrived a week ago. It informed me that I’ve already paid over $55,000 towards my retirement “benefits”, which I’m sure I’ll be able to start collecting back at age 67, right after monkeys start flying out of my butt. Until then, I’m on my own. No, scratch that; even if monkeys DO fly out of my butt, I’ll be on my own.
Some make the argument that ’tis virtuous to not “feed the system”. My taxes pay for wars. Do I lay awake at night, racked with guilt over that fact? Um, NO. No more than I’d feel racked with guilt over being mugged, repeatedly. Angry, frustrated, impotent; these things I feel. But guilt? The government is like my friendly neighborhood pimp. I sell my services in the marketplace; he pockets a percentage of my take, with the clear understanding that if I hold out on him, he’ll beat me senseless.
Anywho, I just read an old article by Murray Rothbard on this exact subject, and most unsurprisingly, he puts it far better than I ever could. Preach it, Murray:
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