The budget impasse in Washington has forced my wife into talking to the radio.
Day after day, she pleads with NPR. Day after day, NPR blathers on about the “fiscal cliff.”
“Enough with the fiscal cliff already,” she says. “Just stop it.”
I’m with her. We survived the Nostradamus-Mayan doomsday of 2012. We survived Donald Trump’s run for president. We survived “Plan 9 from Outer Space.” (Wait. Maybe that was Donald Trump’s run for president.) We even survived Y2K.
But will we survive — organ music please — the fiscal cliff?
As a journalist, I understand the appeal of “fiscal cliff.” It gets across a point succinctly. Budget stories are never easy to write, and “sequestration” isn’t a word that polite people use in daily conversation. Even so, the use of “fiscal cliff” has become little more than a drumbeat of fear and a stupefying stew of mixed metaphors. They were humorous at first. Now they’re just absurd.
No, wait. The cliff is really a train wreck.
I meant car wreck.
No, I really meant to say the cliff is a wall.
But don’t worry because you’ll be able to fly over it.
Santa didn’t pack it in his bag of goodies.
Maybe he was trying to hide something.
There is a hangover remedy, though.
Of course, maybe the fiscal cliff really will lead to the apocalypse.
Australians warn that there’s something worse.
I’m not so sure.
So here’s my suggestion.
Better yet, kick the can, clip some coupons and fly over that fiscal cliff! But don’t go nuclear if you hit a wall, wind up with a hangover and start seeing train wrecks, car wrecks and floods of greenbacks. That’s the dirty little secret of this never-ending Armageddon.
OK, I feel better. Or at least I will until my wife turns on the radio.