My name is d'Lynn. I'm a disabled Vietnam vet. I don't look too bad for a beat-up old fart, do I? And that's my ride. She's looking pretty good also, especially when you consider that she'll turn twenty this summer. That's right, it's a 1990 with a 1990 sidecar. I can't ride a solo bike, ergo the sidecar rig. It's my sole means of transportation - rain or shine, snow or wind, and this summer also marks a milestone in both of our lives, as I will finally be able to pay her off. Twenty years old? What? Why did it take so long? You weren't paying attention, were you? It's right at the beginning of this paragraph.
I am a disabled vet, which means I receive a veterans administration disability pension, which also means "I'm broke!" Just one step ahead of being homeless every month, and that's not an idle statement or an "Oh, woe is me" dire complaint. There’s a point to this, so hang in there a minute or two and read on.
There's a 25-year-old illegal immigrant woman living in Florida , with eight kids. Yes, eight "anchor babies" and she receives just shy of $1,500 per month per kid, plus medical, plus food stamps.
Oh, wait. I've been informed that I shouldn't call them Food Stamps anymore. That's not PC. It's all called “Social Assistance” now. You do the math on that yourself. I'd say that she was schooled early in how to make it in the system. Twenty-five years old, eight kids . . .. . . yep, she started early.
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