Massachusetts State House presents ‘Nightmare on Beacon Hill’ to stop tax rebate

It’s like they’re filming a horror movie at the State House this weekend, and the script, as the trailers used to say, is Ripped from Today’s Headlines:

“Nightmare on Beacon Hill.”

It’s got the scariest plot the hacks, payroll patriots, and assorted Democrat deadbeats could ever imagine:

The taxpayers — real-life Americans who actually work for a living — may be in line to get back $3 billion in public funds that the parasitical hacks were conniving to lavish on themselves and their fellow leeches in the non-working classes.

This will not stand! But the problem is, who will stop this unspeakable hate crime against the hackerama?

That’s why Nightmare on Beacon Hill, even in pre-pro, looks like a classic disaster film. It poses the traditional apocalypse-movie question:

Which matinee idol will step up to prevent the end of the world?

The hacks need a Hollywood superstar to rescue them — think Bruce Willis in Armageddon, Will Smith in Independence Day, Steve McQueen in The Blob, etc.

Who on Beacon Hill has the blockbuster box-office potential to become the name above the title?

How about Speaker Ron Mariano? He’ll be 76 on Halloween. Lyndon Johnson was president when Mariano first lowered his snout into the public trough, and he’s been placidly chewing on his cud ever since.

He’s been muttering about stopping these damn MAGA deplorables with calluses on their hands from reclaiming even a nickel from his stash of phony-baloney jobs and flim-flams like windmills and “job training.”

Sadly, Mariano long ago had a charisma-bypass operation — he’d be better cast in the role of the feckless president who can’t decide how to stop the Martians from overrunning the planet.

The only possible starring role for the Speaker on the silver screen might be in a Slim Fast infomercial — at least the “Before” part — but let’s face it, he’s no Johnny Depp.

Speaking of which, at least in terms of lifestyle vices, the State House teems with Johnny Depp types — think Sen. Michael Brady or Rep. David LeBoeuf.

Either would be perfect in a low-budget Netflix or Hulu film — say, Invasion of the Bad Ice Cubes.

But right now, the hacks must deal with this current over-budget production — Nightmare on Beacon Hill.

In case you missed it, last week an obscure state law from 1986 was discovered that calls for the return of excess state revenues to people who work, that is, not Democrats.

The timing couldn’t be worse, because the legislature goes out of session for the year tonight at midnight. Granted, these solons have never been shy about stealing a hot stove and then coming back for the smoke.

But $3 billion is a lot to heist — before midnight!

The good news is, this is the kind of nail-biting deadline every disaster movie requires. But it makes for a truncated shooting schedule. First thing the hacks need is a script, i.e., how to overturn the law.

The problem is, the General Court is no longer exactly teeming with masterminds, criminal or otherwise. Most of the “legislation,” such as it is, is now written by lobbyists. The actual legislature is more like a sheltered workshop, minus the work, that is.

Lobbyists have filled the brain vacuum. They have become quite adept at stealing, which they describe as public-private partnerships, in which public funds go into private pockets, no strings attached, just maxed-out $200 contributions to every legislative “leader.”

Nowadays the heisters may call themselves “climate advocates” or consultants in diversity, inclusion and equity, but it’s still the same old kleptocracy.

This weekend, however, the Beautiful People are facing the unthinkable prospect of having to give back $3 billion they wanted to dole out to their beloved constituencies — shiftless illegals, community activists, drifters, the gender-confused, racial arsonists, junkies, winos, the Tattoo-American community, blow-ins, goateed trust-funded pajama boys, antifa, puberty-blocker advocates etc.

In other words, Democrats.

This is just a guess, but I’m thinking the legislature won’t pull the trigger to repeal the law. It’s too close to Nov. 6.

It would draw too much attention to their even bigger scam — the proposed 80 percent hike in the income tax on “millionaires,” a definition that within two weeks of passage would include everyone who makes more than $40,000 a year.

Theoretically the Democrats could overturn the law, but then Gov. Charlie Baker would just veto it… after they’ve gone home for the year.

Another option: a lawsuit. Maybe get one of the public-sector thug unions to take a break from turning over tables outside Market Baskets where Americans are gathering signatures to stop illegals from getting drivers’ licenses.

The nose-ring-wearing comrades could seek an injunction to halt the return of the stolen funds, claiming the cash hasn’t been “appropriated,” as if the amigos are suddenly concerned about following the letter of gringo law.

A less likely option: the lame-duck auditor Suzanne Bump must “certify” the amount to be returned to Americans. Bump is utterly shameless, so perhaps she could be convinced to declare that the $3 billion surplus has shrunk to… $79.38.

After all, this is a woman whose private-sector company was sued for sexual discrimination last year. It turned out that Auditor Bump’s CEO was a convicted serial bank robber — his Bureau of Prisons number is 18581-038. You could look it up.

Seriously, this is the woman who gets to decide how much money Americans will get back from the regime occupying the State House. You can’t make this stuff up.

A more likely prospect: Charlie Baker folds, cowers under his desk in the Corner Office and lets the Democrats run amok. It is, after all, his m.o. these last eight years.

Bottom line: don’t make any plans for spending your windfall until after tonight’s preview midnight showing of Nightmare on Beacon Hill.

Why do I have this gnawing fear that, one way or another, in the final scene, the taxpayers are going to get exactly what Janet Leigh got at the end of Psycho?

The only question is, in a building full of Anthony Perkinses, who will emerge as the next Norman Bates?