Father, don’t I have to work? No, my lucky son. We’re living now on Easy Street, on dough from Washington. We’ve left things up to Uncle Sam, so don’t get exercised. No-one has to give a damn. We’ve all been subsidized! But if Sam treats us all so well, and feeds us milk and honey, please, Daddy, tell me what the hell He’s going to do for money? Don’t worry, Bub, there’s not a hitch in this-here noble plan. We merely soak the Filthy Rich and feed the Common Man. But, Daddy, won’t there come a time when they’ll run out of cash? And we’ll have left, then, not a dime and things will go to smash?! My faith in you is shrinking, son, you nosey little brat! You do too damned much thinking, son, to be a Democrat!