We’re looking at a mind-boggling, trillion-dollar budget deficit next year and I say keep the red ink rolling.
My wife, who’s heard me rail against deficits since I served as a budget hawk back in Bill Clinton’s White House, thinks I’ve lost my mind – or at least my principles. I used to be a deficit fetishist, an oddball who read one of Pete Peterson’s budget doomsday books on his honeymoon, and who has bored countless friends with filibusters on our fiscal follies. But I’ve changed.
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