Going Galt

You know what I hate?  “Vanity” license plates.  There, I said it.  At least I have the balls to take an unpopular position.  There’s something about the vanity plate that just screams pompous windbag to me.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s because the space limitations, combined with bad spelling and peoples’ desire to try and say something profound about themselves, make many vanity plates hard to read, and create a dangerous distraction.  I know word puzzles are fun and exciting and all, but they should be done on the toilet, or waiting in line, or something like that, not at 70mph.  Half the time, the only thing you can really discern is that someone wanted their vanity plate to say something, but there is no way in seven hells you’ll ever figure out what it is.  Yeah, I hate that.

You know what I hate more?  Sometimes, it’s really easy to figure out what the vain driver in front of you is saying with their license plate.  And sometimes what they’re saying is that they’re a complete and total ass.

Such was the case several months ago.  I was behind some luxury SUV (I can’t remember if it was a Lexus or an Infinity; it was one of those and to be honest they have equally no reason to exist, but I digress), because he had cut me off while yakking on his phone (shocking, I know).  Normally, I don’t get really bent out of shape over such things.  I figure letting some dick with no human courtesy ruin my day with his asshattery is giving him way more influence in my life than he deserves.

But this guy… Oh, this guy was special.

His vanity plate, displaying what he must consider to be the most important thing people should know about him, was JONGALT.

This says something about someone well beyond your typical HISNHRS, or DADSTOY, or something like that.  For those of you who don’t know, John Galt is a character in the seminal work of noted sociopath and tea party hero Ayn Rand.  He’s the one who sets up a cloistered, separate society where the “producers” of the world (in Rand’s world, these are also known as rich people) go to enjoy their own kind, away from all us leeches who actually mine the coal, build the cars, maintain the electrical grids, and teach the children.

The guy in the SUV obviously relates to that sentiment.  Sure, he’s probably on his way to create some derivative-style financial tool that will create fake money out of nothing and thereby enrich himself and his friends while contributing nothing of any inherent value to civilization, but it doesn’t matter.  He’s well off, and therefore better and more productive than the rest of us, and those he pays to maintain the ridiculous machine transporting him are just scum, sucking at the teat of his largesse as long as they can, until he gets it in his head to “Go Galt,” as the term has come to be known.

I, for one, think it’s a fan-damn-tastic idea.  And there’s nowhere better to “Go Galt” than Glen Beck’s proposed Independence, USA.  I’m sure he will be missed.

Why, without people like him, my own significant earning power will be… unchanged, actually.  Although, actually, my income probably would go down, since I would likely go back to teaching.  See, without Mr. JONGALT and his ilk running around, there won’t be nearly as many people to fund anti-school legislative lobbying, and maybe, just maybe, the rest of the country might get back to thinking public education is something worth actually paying for.  And the demand for teachers would likely increase, which would be cool.  Not just for me, mind you, but for the future of civilization.

Without the Galts, we could have pension funds again, and there wouldn’t be some greedy asshole “producer” looking to get his grubby mitts on it, so he can drain it of its value and steal the hard-earned savings of thousands of employees before shipping their jobs off to China.

Without Randinistas like him, who would vote Republican?

Yes, what a world of hurt we’ll be in when the “makers” decide to give us all the finger and “Go Galt.”  They will be sorely missed.  Or something like that.

Here, Mr. Galt, let me help you with your bags.  No, no tip necessary.  I wouldn’t want to leech your wealth from you.  Have a good time in Independence, USA.

Bon Voyage, and don’t let the door hit you where the good lord split you, asshole.


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