Now I know some of y'all are asking yourself..."How the hell did I wind up here?" This column is not for you, nor probably are any of my other columns.
This column is dedicated to my fan, who at this point is probably thinking," For the love of God man, you are simply way too depressing". It's for this type of critical thinker that I pen todays column, with a solemn " You think it's easy to write after drinking this much" apology.
It has been commented that I might be a bit too pessimistic about the economic circumstances of the United States at present. Of course, many of these same people were critical of my Kirby Vacuum Blow Up Doll, and we saw how well that turned out.
I can't help but be discouraged for our prospects, in the time honored phrase of over-educated corporate weasels, 'Going forward". In our current case that phrase would have more to do pissing away our future than some kind of economic mobility.
We have arrived at the intersection of "Political Hyena's" and "Privileged Asshole" street. While I begrudge no man his profits from his urea business, I do have a problem when he passes it off as sunscreen, given how my back gets sun-burnt.
For the past 25 years or so, the Federal government in conjunction with the MFM has made a determined effort to destroy the American middle class. We were indoctrinated to accept all manner of government spending and restrictions as "For the children" or "It will save lives". Forgotten in this campaign were the questions of "Who's paying?" and "How?".
The answer of course is the middle class is paying and the bill is due now, but unfortunately we maxed our Visa card out on all the BS we were fed. Well, that and those really sweet Ping drivers.
So now here we are. We put used car salesmen in charge of our tax dollars and grifters over our banks. Our elected officials sold us a Buick built with union labor and their retirement added to the sticker price. The Poindexters in charge of our 401k's have invested like middle age men after 10 drinks at the gentleman's club. Now we have no money and have our wives asking "who's Tiffany?".
We have arrived at the painful morning light of our national bender. We're slowly opening one eye to find our national Buick wrapped around the oak of debt with hyperinflation smoldering in our trunk. We don't have a job anymore because our boss fired us and hired the damn chinese bartender from the titty bar. To complete our humiliation, when we finally crawl to the bathroom, we discover Tiffany gave us a parting gift.