Life has not been easy for small business owners of the Caucasian persuasion since Black Spy Barack Hussein Obama passed the Reparations Act of Reverse Racism (RARR!). Good, hardworking Americans have found their already-shrinking incomes further taxed to pay for the data plans of Obamaphones, which are then used by Welfare-Americans to shop online and put local stores out of business. Just such a fate recently befell area White man Jan Koch (relationship to the Koch brothers unknown), whose Travel Store is closing its doors this month.
But despite the increasingly dystopian nature of the country as it slides toward an inevitable race war, some hero entrepreneurs have refused to take the easy way out (food stamps) and have valiantly started a profitable business despite the best efforts of the Obama regime. Success has not come easily for David and Healey Young, who live a Spartan existence while their pour all their resources into staying afloat.
The severe difficulties that the Youngs have faced have given them a humble, grounded perspective on life. Says Healey:
I love classics toughened up with edgy pieces. I’ll pair a checkered oxford with a pouf skirt and insanely high ankle-risking Lanvin wedges. I love L.A. designer Gladys Tamez’s hats. And vintage pool dresses when they’re least expected.
David is equally modest, admitting only with embarrassment that “I discovered the Santa Barbara-band Dishwalla, so I have a gold record for their first album Pet Your Friends.” He also makes a self-conscious reference to his signed poster of Green Day’s American Idiot. It is rumored that the album name is in fact a reference to David Young.
The vocation that the Youngs have sacrificed everything for is a thankless one. They run a private “jet charter service”—a misleading title for a business that is little more than an air taxi operator. David and Healey fly the planes themselves, and are continually at the mercy of Obama’s nouveau rich. Often they are treated as glorified UPS drivers; David recalls the humiliation he felt when he “flew a tuxedo to its owner on a Citation X, the world’s fastest civilian jet.”
For all their suffering, the two refuse to go into detail about the debauched behavior of their passengers:
What happens at 40,000 feet stays at 40,000 feet.
But their reticence may only be due to the fact that their livelihood is continually at risk—one disgruntled call from an Obamaphone could put them on the streets.