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GAL FRIDAY: Putting tax on pot bellies


Veoma Ali

GAL FRIDAY: Putting tax on pot bellies

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POT BELLIES AND POTHOLES seem to go together these days.

It seems as though each time I try to veer away from a fissure in the middle of the road, I am in danger of colliding with a gut on the side.

As I enjoyed my fish with chips on the side from a cozy place at The Pelican Craft Centre, I discussed with a colleague the solution to the problem of both potholes and pot bellies.

I must say, while the latter is certainly an enjoyable progression – the delight of food, drink and even condiments for people who love ketchup, like me – the former is a regression, caused by wear and tear and when shifts happen.

Both however, are dangerous, especially when placed in close proximity on the narrow back roads where many try to escape the woes of daily traffic.

So, here’s the solution: for every inch of belly that exceeds the required measurement, there will be a taxation of $100. If your paunch can make you a pauper, then you are more likely to control its expansion, right? These taxes would go directly towards the contribution of road repair. I alone would owe about $1 000 – see how profitable taxing the tummy could be?

As Errol Griffith said this past week, “The only person I can control is me.”

So, Sir Charles and all the road fixers would be kept busy, at your expense, only if you so choose.

Before I go, let me tell you about a beef I had at a fast-food outlet. Yes, it was great beef, perfectly positioned between buns. Coincidentally, as I was about to place my order, I was jostled by a nose ring, wearing a person.

It couldn’t possibly be the other way around, since the nose ring was the most enormous and noticeable aspect. The nose ring claimed she was there first; and bullied her way in front of me. I may be accused of being a coward, since I cowered before her and let her in front.

She ordered chicken and demanded, “The pieces got to be big.”

When her number was called, the nose ring began fuming. “I said I wanted two ribs.”

She bellowed so loudly, it grabbed the attention of passers-by. And then, almost as if out of a movie, a Mr Alistair arrived, calming the nose ring and soothing her, almost magically.

It was then that the nose ring was completely transformed; and became a quite attractive young lady. Mr Alistair politely asked her to pay a bit more for her special request, which she automatically did, without eruption.

Since I know you want to know where I was, let me tell you: I was at Burger King and the supervisor there is pleasant, polite – all things Kim Tudor would be proud of. He’s also one of the people who won’t be subjected to the pot belly tax.

You think Professor Sir Trevor Hassell would support my tax proposition?

Somehow, through these pages, I can hear you whispering, “Fat chance!”

 

Veoma Ali is an author, actor, broadcaster, advertising exec, and most important, a karaoke lover.

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