Clark had been circling that nail for a week. At this mont, he was lying on the beach sunbathing, seemingly relaxing, but actually he had run out of ideas. He just wanted to know which wicked person ca up with this trick—the key point is, isn’t this technique a bit too absurd?
Clark had really exhausted every conceivable thod, including adjusting the laser output, trying to pull it out with finesse, or drilling through the earth’s crust to attack the roots directly. These days, he truly had been sleepless, using every skill he had used over the years, and the result was that now he was lying here with the nail still firmly stuck in the ground.
As the situation developed to this stage, the main emotion supporting Clark to keep trying was defiance. He knew he could fly to Mars, try to talk to the Mars people, or seek help from others to see if they had solutions. But he felt he should at least exhaust all the thods he could think of himself before asking for help. And because he did have a lot of abilities, the Exhaustion thod took a long ti.
Just as Clark was getting ready to try again, he saw a group of people approaching from a distance. He turned around to see Shiller walking towards him on the sand, and Clark turned his body back.
"Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent!...Clark Kent!"
Clark had no choice but to turn back. He looked at Shiller helplessly and said, "What are you up to this ti? Why is it that nothing good ever cos when you appear?"
"That’s a stereotype." Shiller took a docunt out of his bag and handed it to Clark, then said, "Sign this."
"What’s this?" Clark looked at the docunt with so confusion, then instantly widened his eyes, "Kansas State Legislator application form?"
"And this," Shiller took out another docunt, "an abridged version of the Party Establishnt Application, a judicial ruling from the Supre Court, an approval draft for election reform..."
"What’s all this?" Clark was completely baffled, he said, "What does this have to do with ? Why do I have to sign it?"
Shiller snatched those docunts back and stuffed them into his bag, then said, "Actually, it’s all a bunch of waste paper, all made up stuff—You can’t beco a legislator just by applying, and parties aren’t established through application forms. I’m just here to inform you, the election results are out."
"What?" Clark was a bit surprised, "These people finally stopped fighting? Because of this nail?"
"Of course not, it’s because a historically brilliant presidential candidate has unified the opinions of both parties, leading them to unanimously decide to discard the previous voting results and cast all their votes for him."
"Who’s that capable?"
"You."
Half an hour later, Clark walked into the White House looking bewildered. He was examining the decorations of the Presidential Palace, wearing a sweatshirt and holding a cara, looking every bit like a tourist who had accidentally wandered into a political news site. Then they arrived at the often-seen-in-the-news President’s Office. Clark circled the desk twice and then said, "So this is my desk now."
"Yes, that’s the nuclear button."
"And what about this side?"
"Currently it’s the water cooler button, but you can pour any drink you like into the cooler, including cola."
"What the hell!" Clark said incredulously, "This is the nuclear button, and this is the cola button, what if I press the wrong one?!"
"That’s why they chose soone who doesn’t like cola," Shiller shrugged.
Clark closed his eyes forcefully and then said, "Shiller! You’re ssing with again!"
"Alright, there’s no nuclear button, it’s all an ergency alarm system, you shouldn’t have much opportunity to press it." Shiller sat down across from him and then said, "Considering you’re not familiar with the work of the president, I’ll be your personal secretary for a while..."
"Are you familiar with presidential work?"
"Of course not, which is why the two of us are here—the ones who are familiar with the work are in the State Lord’s Office."
Clark covered his forehead again.
"So what should I do?" Clark spread his hands and said, "What did the previous presidents do when they first ca here?"
"Of course, asking the sa questions as you."
"None of them knew what to do?!"
"Otherwise, they wouldn’t have ended up sitting here."
Clark lowered his head and covered his eyes.
"Actually, speaking of which, it’s not difficult," Shiller took out a stack of files, then said, "As long as you sign this pile, that’s all."
Clark took the files half-doubtfully, then waved his hand in front of his face, saying with so disdain, "Why so much dust?"
"Don’t ntion it, it took so effort to find these—traversed over 68 cosmos, couldn’t find a still-existing Arica with Little Roosevelt’s policies docunts, finally found one still in power, and traded a lot of good stuff to get it from him."
Clark stared blankly at Shiller, not daring to believe what he had heard. He tried hard to ignore the amount of information in those words, then said, "Why are they so old?"
"Because these are early docunts," Shiller said, "he sealed them up himself, and I had a hard ti finding them. If there’s no issue, go ahead and sign them."
Clark skimd through them; there were so many technical terms that they made his head spin. Fortunately, he’d brushed up on his English recently, and he could barely make out that these seed to be tax-related docunts. So, Clark didn’t think much of it and just signed. Shiller was sowhat surprised, and asked, "Aren’t you going to look more carefully?"
"Though I’m not from that era, I’ve heard my dad talk about it. Co to think of it, our family’s current financial predicant is thanks to that president — the taxes were just too high."
"And you still signed?"
"Because it’s not entirely his fault. Although the taxes were high at the ti, agricultural subsidies were also quite high, and transactions were relatively free, everything sold well. It was the subsequent presidents who kept canceling subsidies, and ultimately it beca what it is today."
"It seems you have so understanding of his policies," Shiller said.
Clark replied with a bit of pride, "Of course, in fact, farrs pay the most attention to policies. Their cash flow is already tight, and sotis missing a single subsidy can make it impossible to keep the farm running. My dad always warned about this, which is why I beca a political journalist."
Clark paused for a mont, then continued, "I can sort of understand the pattern of this policy: High taxes significantly reduce disposable inco, but that money doesn’t just disappear into thin air; it turns into specific subsidies. These so-called specific subsidies an you can only use this money to buy designated items, and there’s nowhere else to spend it. It’s like forcing farrs to buy seeds, fertilizer, and machinery, rather than investing in anything else.
"I suppose factory owners were also in the sa boat. Most of their inco was taken, then returned as specific subsidies, supposedly subsidies, but really just resources. They couldn’t use the money for anything else, it could only go into factory production. Not to say it got better and better, but at least it guaranteed a certain output."
"After this system was done away with, farrs started making a little money and started liking investnts. They either threw it into the stock market or dabbled in futures or sothing. Factory owners might have done the sa because they weren’t buying new equipnt and output declined year by year. Farms beca less and less valuable and turned into burdenso assets, sold off at low prices. The money earned could go make more in the stock market. No one wanted to be a farr anymore; they all flocked to big cities to get into finance."
Clark had a reminiscent look on his face as he said, "I rember, originally, around my ho, there were four farms, and by now, they’ve all changed owners, except for one that’s still in production. One was turned into a vacation estate, and another was abandoned — mind you, these farms used to be the best plots, with yields similar to ours. But Bob, who sold his farm first, made a fortune in the stock market and now seems to have moved to Los Angeles to enjoy his retirent life."
"Actually, I kind of regret not advising my dad to sell the farm. Had we invested in the stock market back then, my mom wouldn’t have to work so hard, and she might even be a wealthy lady in Beverly Hills now."
"And now?" Shiller asked.
Clark rubbed his hands together and said, "Never mind the rest, just give the files related to agricultural subsidies. I must replenish all the missed subsidies for the farrs over the years!"
Shiller flipped through the docunts and took out several, then said, "That’s not a big deal, but the key is whether you can collect the taxes — if you can’t collect them, there’s no money to give out as subsidies."
"How can it not be collected? What does the tax bureau do?"
"They’re doing their job, but it was too sudden, and so people can’t accept it, overreacting is normal. If there’s any violent conflict and certain people want to sensationalize it..."
Clark imdiately said, "You’re right, those political journalists love to report on this kind of thing. Go arrest the editor of The Daily Planet first; he’s as good as ten n."
Shiller sighed helplessly, and Clark raised an eyebrow and said, "Alright, I know that’s not legal, I was just saying."
"No, what I an is, it’s during violent conflicts that evidence can be captured — if you simply take them away directly, that wouldn’t happen."
Clark gave him a questioning look. Shiller said, "Using police and the military to deal with tax resisters can be troubleso. There can be casualties in the tussle; we need a cleaner and quicker thod."
"You an..."
"Use superpower users," Shiller said, "I happen to also serve as the head of A.R.G.U.S., and I have many capable operatives there, like Doomsday, who is perfect for collecting taxes. If worse cos to worst, we can contact the Justice League; they are quite efficient when working together."
Clark thought for a mont, then nodded and said, "Alright, let’s do it that way. I believe they can quickly get the taxes collected."
Then, Shiller pulled out another file and said, "Here’s the ’tropolis City Managent Reform Program’; take a look."
Clark picked up the file and started reading. It was mostly about asures to aid holess people, including building shelters, providing communal housing, improving heating conditions, and thoroughly eliminating the tent zones.
"Of course, and here’s another one," Shiller handed over another docunt and said, "solving the issues of rampant drug use and gun proliferation; this one is a bit trickier, and we may need superpower users if necessary."
"No problem," Clark nodded and said.
Shiller stood up and said, "I’m done with my matters. You have an hour’s break next, followed by a half-hour exclusive interview..."
"I don’t need any break; let the journalist in," Clark said ambitiously, "I want to discuss my policies on taxes, subsidies, urban managent, and tackling contraband. I need them to know I’m a good president."
"No problem, I’ll let her in now." Shiller nodded and walked out.
Clark was rehearsing his points when a smart figure walked in. When Clark looked up, he saw Lois. He sprang to his feet, nervous enough to forget all his prepared lines, and stamred, "Lois... why are you here, I..."
"Good afternoon, Mr. President," Lois smiled at him and said, "if there’s no issue, shall we start the interview?"
"Yes... sure..."
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