Déjà Vu All Over Again

1500 points the market plummeted last week. This was preceded by
months of money drunk Wall Streeters feeding like little piggies at
the trough of dirty money. For me it's déjà vu all over again. Black
Monday, October 19, 1987, the market crashed 508 points, while I was
the master of ceremonies at Chippendales, the world's greatest male
stripping empire. And just as one-bedroom fixer-uppers were recently
being valued at half a million dollars, citizens were taking out loans
with balloon payments so full of hot air they exploded, and the new
Bush was turning Wall Street into a Vegas casino; so Chippendales,
with its steroid-bloated, mountain-peak-pecced excess was business as
usual in a culture where the Emperor was a male exotic dancer with no
clothes on. In both cases, America was writing checks with its mouth
that its ass couldn't cash and it crashed like an addled addict after
a lost weekend.

In fact, that's what happened to me. Started when the Snowman, a
Chippendales studmuffin, began feeding me coke so I'd give him better
intros. Soon I was shoving massive amounts of blow up my nose to feed
the demon beast inside that could never be satisfied, til one night I
did so much coke I died. Luckily, I came back to life. I quit coke
that night. Dedicated myself to working hard, finding love, and
conquering my demon beasts old-school style, by unraveling my knots
slowly and painfully. Took me decades of busting my hump and years of
hypnotherapy, but today I'm drug-free, with a job I love, a wife who
loves me in all my idiocy, an apple-of-my-eye baby girl, and a
glorious home with a spectacular garden that feeds me every day.

I'm hoping America will have just as happy an ending. Dump the
gas-guzzling SUVs, play well with others, stop the billion dollar a
day war, and prosper the old-school way: work hard and earn it. Well,
that's my two cents worth, and with inflation I owe you approximately
one trillion dollars.