I recently had a caller to my daily radio show take issue with me after I said that California's mandatory $20-per-hour wage for fast-food workers is nothing but Marxism and will result in people getting fired. I also believe that might be the plan; poor people are easily controlled.
The caller claimed everyone was entitled to a "living wage" based on where said worker lived.
He's not alone. I've spoken with many a Marxist who believes their mere existence entitles them to someone else's money.
Your yellow-haired, demi-boi-in-law likely also believes that a skill-free french fry basket-shaker "deserves" enough money from the McClown to buy a car, pay rent, afford groceries, raise kids, score doobage, and take an annual, mostly peaceful vacation to burn a big blue toilet city.
The caller was certain that every fast-food joint was an ATM that could afford to pay their workers mad stacks, even after I pointed out that two nearby burger joints, a McDonald's and a Burger King, were currently vacant. Krispy Kreme once ruled the nation, but dozens have gone the way of Red Barn. Let's not even talk about the deserved death of Sambo's.
Fast food joints?
— Abe Laaron, The Sausage King of S.A. (@RodimusBowtieSA) March 25, 2024
So the places that can make hundreds of thousands per day?
They’d rather cut their workforce, and potentially hinder their product, than pay their workers a living wage
Always remember, businesses don’t care about you. You are ALWAYS expendable https://t.co/Z57TsqNDVg
FACT-O-RAMA! There are currently only five Krispy Kremes left in the state of New York, all of which are in the Big Apple.
The belief that every business is a shinplaster geyser is clearly stupid, but suggesting that every Flunky Phantom in a paper crown somehow deserves a house and a car on the King's coin is absurd.
Fast-food gigs are for people entering or leaving the workforce. They were never intended to provide a "living wage" for all the Jimmy Do-littles who can't even summon the gumption to remove their "comfy" jammy drawers and put on pants when stopping at 7/11 for pork rinds and a Mountain Dew to wash down their jazz salad.
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Reality, like a rough hit of Dank Sinatra, can cause a bad case of the scaries. People with goals, plans, and ambitions know what fast-food jobs are meant for: money, experience, and perhaps a trip to management. But the Marxist flunky-bunch believes the road to success is paved with McNuggets, and scooping them into a container deserves a super-sized, Biggee Bag o'cash. Ambition, work, and perseverance are for suckers.
FACT-O-RAMA! I am proud to say I grew up directly down the block from Detroit's Murda Mac. I'll let you surmise how it got that name.
In the world of the leftist, one merely needs to exist to be worthy of a sumptuous livelihood for screwing up my two-cheeseburger meal.
That caller I mentioned asked what I would do if the radio station cut my pay. I told him I am also a writer here at PJ Media and a comedian. I supported myself with jokes for decades. Now, I have three careers, and he should give it a try rather than assume his presence entitles him to anything. And if he wants a real job, he might take that hula popper out of his lip.
