The Recession

That smile on my face when the DOW drops 300 points in a day: I cannot help it. Recession specials at bars: score. More shares into my 401K: win. Sales on all the stuff I was going to purchase anyway: awesome. My rent not going up this year: worth every laid off banker. Every time the DOW sheds another thousand points, my hearts skips a beat. If it hits 5,000 in the next year, I could die happy.

So the average family is going to have to hold off on the third plasma screen TV, who cares? So the skinny bitches at Beatrice are going to have to buy, like, one drink a night? About time. I am sick and tired of the asinine defenses of rampant capitalism and the materialism inherent therein. The next person that references Adam Smith in their justification for continuing the “free” market system gets a bottle over the left temple. (Strange how in all the works of Smith he never once mentioned stock markets. Would it kill you to at least read any Veblen?) And the next CNBC analyst to misattribute the concept of creative-destruction to Schumpeter (and not Sombart) gets an envelope with ambiguous white powder. Enough is enough. Reading the crib notes on Smith, going to Wharton, and access to Wikipedia is not a legitimate platform to commentating on the economy. So you enjoy your bonuses and like to put your paycheck up your nose? Fine by me; just don’t spout off on the divine benevolence of a system predicated on the myopic ideal that man can best be understood by breaking the entirety of his aspirations down into the common coin of greed.

My philosophy: whatever it takes to get my father to quit riding me about not taking that soul-crushing job at Goldman Sachs after grad school.

— Jeff

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