The Fixed Income Blues. Sing It, Baby.

As the price of gas spirals to dizzying heights and the utilites line up like so many slobbering dogs to apply for rate increases, there's a cry heard across the land. It's a complaint. A justification. The Rebel Yell of the over-65 set.

"I'm on a fixed income."

And I ask this: who the hell isn't?

Now, I suppose that there might be successful entepreneurs reading this and shaking their heads in pity. Maybe even an Amway salesperson or two. I don't know. But the rest of us? Well, we generally earn a set amount of money a month, and we need to work within pretty consistent parameters.

"I'm on a fixed income."

Tell that to the fella who serves you your coffee at McDonalds. Bring it up to the next secretary you have contact with. Try it on for size the when you roll the old chariot into Jiffy Lube. Sure, you might get a sympathetic response or even a sad-faced nod or two. Just bear in mind that these people are paid to be pleasant to you. In fact, that salary is their own fixed income. Fancy that.

"I'm on a fixed income."

Most of us are, Assclown. Take a number.