Headline of a local newspaper article:
“T-shirts could aid Viking’s stadium bid”
Curmudgeons, particularly testy ones like me, risk the rejection uh loved ones. Case in point: My parrot, Socrates, pouted most all weekend because I failed to place clean papers in his cage, a Saturday morning ritual. Never mind that the Sunday bottom liner was stuck inta his cage immediately followin’ delivery, Socrates continued his sulk. Finally, I shamelessly bribed the brooding bird into cordiality with a couple uh crackers.
Thinking of bribes takes me back t’ losin’ it, big time, an’ rippin’ the Saturday paper t’ shreds – unusable for Socrates’ sanitation. I had managed to stifle mah ire almost long enough t’ finish an article about uh proposed payment scheme fer uh new Viking’s stadium. And, though I nearly choked at the chutzpah uh the greedy recipients uh that proposed public largess, “… the Vikings suggested they weren’t happy about … a sales tax on luxury boxes,” I just plain blew my stack over readin’ the little plumb suggested fer that New York carpet-bagger (Viking owner and real estate developer), buried in the article’s final paragraph.
Seems the legis late your is considerin’ an exemption uh sales taxes on stadium materials; accordin’ to the Revenue Department, that figures to be somewheres between 18 and 29 million dollars – but uh course the proposed sales tax on clothing could ease that little give-away. But that’s not all, the “bill doesn’t require … property taxes on the stadium and related properties, which would shift the tax burden to other properties.” … Like the rest of us.
I wonder how many crackers it took to float that idea?