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| "Do you mind? I'm trying to take a nap here." |
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| "Huh? What? Who's clicking the camera?" |
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| "What's that? There's water in the other end of this thing? Well, I'm sure it'll come in handy if I get thirsty." |
You may recall how we got our “free” tractor using what I like to call Government Math—a magical financial system where saving money is the same thing as making money, and if you don’t spend what you could’ve, then obviously that leftover imaginary pile turns into profit. It’s flawless.
So naturally, I figured: if it works for multi-trillion-dollar budgets, why not for my hips?
This morning, I had two donuts for breakfast. Now, before the food police show up with their little calorie citation pads, let me just say—I could have had a bacon egg and cheese biscuit with a side of hash browns and regret. But I didn’t. So technically, I saved about 400 calories right there. That drops the donuts down to a negligible 100 calories. Barely worth mentioning, really.
Then, for lunch, I had a salad. Not one of those fun ones with fried chicken and ranch dressing masquerading as lettuce. I’m talking actual rabbit food. Lettuce, cucumbers, maybe a slice of tomato just to say I live dangerously. Easily saved another 400 calories by not going with a cheeseburger. At this point, I’m basically operating at a caloric surplus in the healthy direction.
Afternoon snack? Carrot sticks. Raw. No ranch. No hummus. Just cold, crunchy disappointment. That’s gotta be worth another 150 calories saved just for the trauma.
Dinner? Another salad. Because I’m committed to bad decisions and leafy greens. That’s another 450 calories banked like some kind of sadistic savings account.
So when dessert rolls around and I’m eyeing that banana split with hot fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry on top like it owes me money, guess what? That 800-calorie tower of dairy joy only counts as 200. Because I earned it.
Tally it up:
Donuts? 100
Banana split? 200
Total for the day? 300 calories.
Which leaves me plenty of wiggle room (pun intended) for an evening chip buffet while watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote. And no guilt, because this is Government Math, baby. If the federal government can “balance” the budget by redefining words and moving numbers around like it’s a shell game at a carnival, I can definitely justify a second helping of Cool Ranch Doritos.
The scale won’t budge? Must be a data error. Probably Russian hackers. Or the batteries.
Hey, if this system is good enough for Congress, it’s should be good enough for my thighs.
Our old tractor was getting, well... old. Not the wise, dependable kind of old like Aunt Ethel who bakes pies and remembers the war, but the kind of old that groans every time you try to start it and leaves mysterious puddles on the barn floor. So last summer, we started looking at new tractors. Then we looked at our bank account. And promptly stopped looking.
But this year, I got smart. I figured out how to use the same economic principles the U.S. government uses to get a free tractor. That’s right. Free. Tractor. And before you start questioning my sanity or checking for fumes in the barn, let me break it down for you:
Let’s say you want a $60,000 tractor. But instead, you choose a $30,000 tractor. Boom. You’ve saved $30,000. Apply that savings directly to the cost, and you’ve now paid nothing. Zero. Nada. Tractor = free.
But wait! It gets better. The dealer gave us a $10,200 trade-in for the old one. (Bless their hearts, they must not have actually started it.) Now, we also got a backhoe attachment for about $10,000. Which means, according to my math—and I checked twice—we are now owed $200.
Naturally, we expected the finance company to send us a thank-you note and maybe a nice fruit basket for helping stimulate the economy with such brilliance. Instead, they’re demanding we make monthly payments. Can you believe it? I even tried explaining the government-style math to them, complete with hand gestures and everything, but they just weren’t getting with the program. I may have to draw them a pie chart. Maybe with actual pie.
Anyway, I’m now applying the same economic model to future projects. That new $12,000 roof I need? If I just don’t get the $24,000 slate one I was never going to buy anyway, I’ve saved $12,000. Meaning the roof is already paid for. Technically, I should have $12,000 leftover to fund the matching chicken coop expansion.
I don’t know why everyone isn’t doing this. It’s genius. It’s foolproof. It’s… exactly how the government does it.
Only difference is, they have a printing press.
Budget Breakdown (a.k.a. How to Retire Rich on Barnyard Math):
Wanted Tractor: $60,000
Bought Tractor: $30,000
Instant savings: $30,000
Trade-In Value: +$10,200
Backhoe Attachment: -$10,000
Total Owed to Us: $200
Finance Company’s Opinion: Irrelevant. Clearly they don’t understand economics.
But wait, there’s more!
Order your Free Tractor Plan™ today and we’ll double your confusion at no extra cost! Operators are standing by to explain this exact system to your accountant, your spouse, and the poor kid at the bank who’s about to reconsider his life choices. But act now—because logic like this doesn’t come around often, and neither do interest-free financing options.
Call 1-800-GOV-MATH. That's 1-800-468-6284.
The Free Tractor Plan is not responsible for repossessions, financial audits, or hard stares from your spouse. Use with caution. Offer not valid anywhere sanity is still required.
