Imminent Financial Ruin
A guy who trades commodities and works at the Monterey Market in Berkeley (the best produce at the best prices in the SF Bay Area), told me today that I should sell my positions in the stock market and go to cash. He believes that the economy will be melting down in November (it will begin precisely tomorrow, but we won’t notice until November), and that the only way to fend it off is to go to gold coins. I’ve heard this kind of talk before. In fact, I hear it every ten years or so, but I haven’t yet seen Americans scrounging for berries and gnawing at yellow metal discs to see whether the supposed gold coins are real. It doesn’t mean it can’t happen, but it doesn’t mean it will, either.
I never know whether to believe guys like him. They “know” things about precious metals, pigs, and cotton—arcana that the average person can only begin to glimpse on late night TV infomercials—that I will never know. They are like Milo from “Catch-22”, and if I only listen to them then I will have a share. A share in what? In everything! It’s the American way.
I am not ashamed to say that I have no sense about money. Some in my family, and some among my inlaws, are good about those things. It’s easy when you have enough to start with, but it’s not guaranteed. I was always comfortable, but I’m also practically immune to risk. For me, telling people what’s on my mind is exercising freedom of speech. In the “worker friendly” United States, this is a bad thing. All of America wants that asshole Rumsfeld fired, but Bush likes a macho man and Donny’s as macho as they can possibly get at faggot-ridden Princeton! (Christ, the place is like Oxford—full of homosexual potential spies for the commies! But I digress.)
If the economy is going to have a meltdown, how come my cousin Dick didn’t call to tell me. He’s an economist, spent practically his whole career at Harvard (very unlike Princeton, my friends), and understands things like rice. Now a guy who understands rice ought to understand cotton and, by extension, pigs and gold. What’s the diff? Anyhow, I haven’t heard from Dick so everything must be just fine, don’t you think? Hmm? Goodnight, everyone. Dream of bags full of deutschmarks and the number of apples they will buy. It’s 1930 again, but nobody told you. Goodnight, Moon. Got ammo?
I never know whether to believe guys like him. They “know” things about precious metals, pigs, and cotton—arcana that the average person can only begin to glimpse on late night TV infomercials—that I will never know. They are like Milo from “Catch-22”, and if I only listen to them then I will have a share. A share in what? In everything! It’s the American way.
I am not ashamed to say that I have no sense about money. Some in my family, and some among my inlaws, are good about those things. It’s easy when you have enough to start with, but it’s not guaranteed. I was always comfortable, but I’m also practically immune to risk. For me, telling people what’s on my mind is exercising freedom of speech. In the “worker friendly” United States, this is a bad thing. All of America wants that asshole Rumsfeld fired, but Bush likes a macho man and Donny’s as macho as they can possibly get at faggot-ridden Princeton! (Christ, the place is like Oxford—full of homosexual potential spies for the commies! But I digress.)
If the economy is going to have a meltdown, how come my cousin Dick didn’t call to tell me. He’s an economist, spent practically his whole career at Harvard (very unlike Princeton, my friends), and understands things like rice. Now a guy who understands rice ought to understand cotton and, by extension, pigs and gold. What’s the diff? Anyhow, I haven’t heard from Dick so everything must be just fine, don’t you think? Hmm? Goodnight, everyone. Dream of bags full of deutschmarks and the number of apples they will buy. It’s 1930 again, but nobody told you. Goodnight, Moon. Got ammo?
posted by Tyrone @ 1:14 PM
2 comments
2 Comments:
I am taken aback at your use of the word 'faggot' in such a loose manner.
Displays your prejudice, and it's a shame that you claim freedom of speech to spout off. Seems like you are in bed with Pat Robertson. . Excuse me, wrong analogy , that may make you one of 'them' Princeton 'guys'
You are losing it!
Ah, finally, some critical comment about my use of the word faggot. Great! I also used it in a context of 1950's Oxford and commies, but no artistic license will be tolerated because "I'm a bad boy using bad words." Sorry if you can't stand to hear these words. Try moving to PC-istan where they cut off your fingers when you say bad things.
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