Colorado’s Dead Medicaid Recipients: The Latest Welfare Queens?

Ah yes, another day, another report revealing that a bloated government bureaucracy has somehow managed to shovel millions of dollars into the great beyond—literally. Colorado, land of purple mountains, legal weed, and now posthumous health insurance plans, reportedly coughed up $7.3 million to cover Medicaid recipients who were too dead to appreciate it. Even by government waste standards, this is next-level.

Now, let’s get one thing straight: Medicaid is a lifesaving program that serves the poor, the sick, the elderly, and the disabled—you know, the people that a decent society wouldn’t leave to rot in medical bankruptcy. But of course, conservatives will be foaming at the mouth over this, spinning it into another reason to take a chainsaw to public healthcare. Never mind the corporate subsidies, tax loopholes, and bloated defense budgets hemorrhaging billions every year—it’s always Medicaid and food stamps that get trotted out as “waste” when it’s time to tighten the belt.

So what actually happened here? Bureaucratic ineptitude? Outdated databases? Or maybe Colorado is just pioneering some bold, new universal afterlife coverage program? If so, someone should let the insurance companies know—they might jack up their premiums again.

But let’s not pretend this is some massive scandal. Administrative hiccups like this are about as shocking as finding out your uncle watches Fox News. The real issue isn’t a few million dollars lost in the system—it’s the Republican war on Medicaid itself. Red states have spent the past decade fighting Medicaid expansion like it’s the second coming of Lenin, leaving millions of people uninsured in the process. If conservatives cared half as much about getting people on Medicaid as they do about yelling when it misfires, we’d have universal healthcare by now.

The problem with the timing of the exposure of this hiccup is that it coincides perfectly with the recent establishment of Elon Musk’s ridiculous Departmental of Governmental Efficiency, which is ostensibly tasked with reducing government waste and eliminating fraud – but, in reality, is just an excuse for a goofy millionaire to make a pun referencing his favorite crypto scam, the Dogecoin.

DOGE is a steaming pile of technocratic horseshit, and it’s stinking up the joint worse than a Tesla factory on fire. This isn’t some noble crusade to save the taxpayers—it’s a billionaire’s wet dream turned dystopian reality TV show, starring a cast of zit-faced tech bros and Musk’s unchecked ego. Picture it: the world’s richest man, already drowning in conflicts of interest deeper than his Cybertrucks are in recalls, gets handed the keys to gut the federal government by a spray-tanned game-show host turned president. And what’s the plan? Slash everything that doesn’t line his pockets, all while waving a chainsaw around like a coked-up lumberjack at CPAC, screaming about “bureaucracy” as if he’s not the poster child for corporate welfare.

DOGE isn’t efficiency—it’s a power grab dressed up in a meme coin’s Shiba Inu costume. Musk’s posse of 20-something crypto creeps and ex-SpaceX lackeys are storming agencies like the Visigoths on Adderall, shredding programs that actually help people—USAID, CFPB, you name it—while pretending they’re saving us from “waste.” Waste? How about the billions shoveled to Musk’s own companies through government contracts? This guy’s got more taxpayer cash propping up his Martian fantasies than NASA, yet here he is, playing budget vigilante with a straight face. And the team? A Berkeley grad amplifying white supremacists, a racist tweet-machine who bailed when the heat got too high, and a 19-year-old Neuralink intern with the LinkedIn handle “bigballs”. The whole thing’s a farce.

Musk’s out here turning the Oval Office into a romper room for his kid X, while his goons demand federal workers justify their existence or get the axe—and the Pentagon’s like, “Nah, we’re good, thanks.” It’s chaos capitalism on steroids, with zero transparency and a finish line that ends in Musk’s businesses raking in more deregulation goodies. By July 4, 2026, when this clown show’s supposed to wrap, we’ll either be a leaner, meaner “America, Inc.” or just a smoking crater where democracy used to be.

Meanwhile, Dogecoin is a festering boil on the backside of the cryptocurrency world—a laughable, meme-spawned monstrosity that somehow stumbled into relevance despite having all the substance of a stale internet joke. Born in 2013 from the twisted minds of Billy Markus and Jackson Palmer as a parody of Bitcoin’s lofty ambitions, it’s a “Shiba Inu coin” that proves the market can be as dumb as it is greedy. What started as a middle finger to crypto’s self-serious hype morphed into a Frankenstein’s monster of speculative nonsense, propped up by a cult of bagholders and a billionaire puppeteer named Elon Musk who treats it like his personal plaything.

Let’s not mince words: Dogecoin is a technological relic with no real utility. It’s an inflationary coin with no supply cap—135 billion in circulation as of now, with 10,000 more churned out every minute—making it a slow-motion trainwreck for anyone deluded enough to see it as a “store of value.” Bitcoin at least pretends to have scarcity; Dogecoin’s design screams “pump and dump” with a side of clown music. Its blockchain? A lazy fork of Litecoin, itself a Bitcoin Lite, offering nothing innovative beyond a cute dog logo and a community that thinks “1 DOGE = 1 DOGE” is profound philosophy. Transactions are cheap and fast, sure, but so is handing a dollar bill to your buddy—doesn’t make it a revolution.

The price history is a rollercoaster of idiocy. It languished in penny-stock obscurity until Musk started tweeting about it in 2019, turning it into a hype machine for the terminally online. By May 2021, it hit $0.74, a ludicrous peak driven by Reddit clowns and Musk’s SNL stint—only to crash 70% in weeks when the joke wore thin. Today, at $0.21 as of February 26, 2025, it’s a shadow of that mania, yet still overvalued for what’s essentially digital lint. Musk’s endorsements—like calling it “the people’s crypto” or pushing Tesla merch sales—keep the corpse twitching

While there is no actual connection between the crypto currency and the commission other than both being total bullshit, there is an overlap among their supporters. One of the more notable ones is Lauren Boebert – an apparent fan of the acronym no matter what the letters stand for.

As soon as she caught whiff of her state’s Medicaid scandal, she rushed to her phone to tweet “WHO’S READY FOR A COLORADO DOGE?”

Assumedly she is calling for a state level task force modeled after Musk’s endeavor, but she may just as likely be calling for an official state cryptocurrency considering her mental deficiencies.

Lauren Boebert’s foray into cryptocurrency is a masterclass in incompetence and hypocrisy, a sideshow that perfectly mirrors her broader political persona—loud, reckless, and utterly devoid of accountability. The Colorado congresswoman, who fancies herself a champion of free markets and a thorn in the side of regulatory overreach, couldn’t even manage to follow basic congressional disclosure rules when her husband, Jayson, dabbled in crypto trades back in 2021. Eight transactions on Robinhood, ranging from $4,000 to $60,000, slipped through the cracks unreported—violations of the STOCK Act, a law designed to keep lawmakers honest about their financial dealings. This isn’t some minor clerical oversight; it’s a glaring red flag waved by someone who rails against government corruption while conveniently ignoring her own obligations.
Her public stance on crypto is just as laughable. Boebert’s tweeted tirades—like her 2021 gem warning Bitcoin and Dogecoin fans to “vote Democrats out FAST” over Biden’s capital gains tax hike—paint her as a defender of the little guy’s crypto dreams. Yet, her husband’s modest trades, barely scraping $200 in profit, suggest less a savvy investor riding the Dogecoin wave and more a bumbling amateur playing with pocket change. The irony thickens when you consider her outrage at a crypto provision in an infrastructure bill—“nothing to do with infrastructure,” she whined—while her own financial transparency was crumbling under the weight of her negligence. Experts like Kedric Payne called her STOCK Act lapse “disturbing,” and it’s hard to disagree when someone so vocal about economic freedom can’t even file a damn form on time.
Then there’s the December 2024 DOGE fiasco—her gushing over the Trump-backed Department of Government Efficiency at a Turning Point USA event, blissfully unaware or willfully ignorant of how it teased crypto fans with its acronymic overlap. It’s peak Boebert: a shallow attempt to ride Elon Musk’s coattails without grasping the nuance, all while her own crypto record is a mess of unreported trades and unfulfilled promises. Her experience isn’t just a failure—it’s a caricature of a politician who preaches deregulation but can’t handle the basic rules of the game. If Boebert’s crypto misadventure proves anything, it’s that her economic bravado is as hollow as her commitment to the principles she claims to uphold.

“We are on the brink of something so revolutionary with the DOGE commission,” she said. “This isn’t just about waste, fraud and abuse and holding those agencies accountable. And, just a little insight, we used to call that Congress. But Congress has let you down. Year-after-year. Decade-after-decade. And now, we are going to hold these agencies accountable to their funders and that’s you, the taxpayers filling this room.”

Lauren Boebert isn’t just a MAGA megaphone—she’s what happens when a conspiracy-laden Facebook comment section comes to life and somehow wins a congressional seat. The self-proclaimed champion of “freedom” (translation: performative outrage and incoherent rambling) has spent her time in office doing exactly two things: embarrassing herself and setting new records for legislative uselessness.

Let’s start with the fact that Boebert is the human embodiment of a malfunctioning AR-15, always locked and loaded with bad takes, misplaced aggression, and a desperate need for attention. Her greatest political achievement? Managing to make Marjorie Taylor Greene look like the smart one in their feuding far-right circus act. That’s no small feat.

Because nothing screams “serious policymaker” like hyping up a meme cryptocurrency while claiming that the real threats to America are drag queens and affordable healthcare.

Of course, Boebert’s real talent is screeching about tyranny while doing absolutely nothing useful for her constituents. Her version of governance involves tweeting through every crisis, picking fights with cartoon M&Ms, and ensuring rural Colorado remains as neglected as her grasp on basic civics. Meanwhile, she’s voted against infrastructure improvements, veterans’ benefits, and practically anything that doesn’t involve owning the libs.

She’s also a card-carrying member of the MAGA grievance-industrial complex, where being loud, wrong, and perpetually offended is the only job requirement. She whines about “elites” while cashing a congressional paycheck, rails against “big government” while demanding handouts for industries she likes, and champions “family values” despite her personal life playing out like a bad reality show.

The best part? Boebert’s brand of conservative cosplay is wearing thin, even among her own voters. With her razor-thin reelection win and a reputation for being more of a liability than an asset, she’s on borrowed time—assuming she doesn’t torpedo herself first with another half-baked PR stunt. Oh wait, it’s KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID ROCK!

While this particular tweet earned her the brunt of this article’s attack, Boebert is far from alone in cheerleading both Dogecoin and the Department of Governmental Agency. It makes you wonder when they will go ahead and announce the inevitable “solution” to systematic waste is paying government employees in Dogecoin.

Other notable supporters of all things D-O-G-E are Gene Simmons of KISS and Jake Paul, both annoying Trump ass-kissers and vocal investors in dogecoin. The “Demon turned Jackass” bass player called DOGE “rock n roll for taxpayers.” Paul was all in on Dogecoin and slurping up Musk’s breadcrumbs be refering to it as “Bitcoin’s little brother” – he hasn’t opined directly on the office of DOGE, because he is too stupid to, but he did party in Mar-a-Lago and tweet “TRUMP 2024” after the election.

Even Snoop Dog is sadly getting on board with the bullshit. He got all into the 2021 Doge craze and briefly changed his name to Snoop Doge on twitter, and now after years after criticizing Trump has suddenly declared he has “nothing but love” for the President. What happened? Could it be the Doge/DOGE thing? Is the world really that insane?

Yes. It is.

But perhaps there is some sanity in the crypto world, as Mark Cuban has demonstrated the rare ability to support one DOGE and not the other. He praised Dogecoin as “the people’s currency” in 2021 and allowed people to buy Maverick’s tickets with them. But when it comes to the DOGE task force, he is smart enough to know the difference – touting Musk’s $2 trillion dollar budget-cutting fantasy a “pie in the sky” that will “tank the economy.”

Both DOGEs are built on hype, not substance. Dogecoin’s fueled by Musk’s X megaphone—tweets spiking it from pennies to $0.74 in 2021—while the Department leans on his “genius” mystique and Trump’s MAGA cult. Neither has a backbone: Dogecoin’s inflation makes it a joke next to Bitcoin’s scarcity, and the Department’s $2 trillion cut is a fantasy when discretionary spending’s barely $1.7 trillion a year—math so bad it’s insulting. Utility? Dogecoin’s a speculative toy; the Department’s a PR stunt—neither solves real problems. Their fans overlap—crypto bros and MAGA diehards—drooling over Musk’s every word, blind to the emptiness. **Differences**: Dogecoin’s at least tangible—you can lose your shirt trading it. The Department’s a ghost, a press release with no power, doomed to fizzle when Congress laughs it off. Dogecoin’s damage is personal—bagholders crying at $0.21—while the Department’s a systemic farce, teasing cuts to Medicare or defense that’d spark riots if they ever materialized. One’s a market scam; the other’s a political grift. Both are Musk’s ego trips—Dogecoin as his “people’s crypto” plaything, the Department as his stab at statesman. Neither delivers: one’s a meme-turned-millstone, the other a slogan without a spine. Together, they’re a masterclass in branding bullshit—shiny distractions for a world too dumb or desperate to see through the smoke. What a pair of rotting clowns.

Either way, Musk’s laughing all the way to the bank—or maybe Mars—while the rest of us choke on the ashes of his “efficiency.” Woof woof, motherfuckers.