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Friday, July 31, 2020

Bozoverse USA!

What Have We Learned?


It is hard to encapsulate take-aways when one is still participating in a pro wrestling match. We know how the match ends. Many of the participants will say the same thing at the end, no matter what happens. And there will be another SMACK DOWN AT THE END OF TOMMAROW to look forward to in another time and in another place. Reflecting while one is the immediate subject of a helicopter hold is dubious on so many levels, but sometimes reflection is all you have.


The Corona Virus is Thunderlips and we are all the guy in the kitty mask, receiving an elevated 360 whirlwind perspective of what life outside the ring looks like. At some point we too shall be deposited into a seat, front and center and ready to view the misfortunes of another unfortunate. Whether we will be allowed to take our seat in as civilized of a manner as someone who has just been utterly humiliated by his opponent can, or whether said seat will be sent upside our heads, or whether we will be flung into the seat and deposited seated upside down are plot details. Thunderlips will eventually be done with us. Of that we can be sure.


The first lesson that we’ve learned is that the round is not over until Thunderlips says it is.  The ref can blow his whistle to his heart’s content. We can pee our pink kitty tights green.  Donald Trump can charge the ring. If Thunderlips wants to keep fighting, there is little assembled ringside to stop him from doing so.


It is incumbent upon us in the Kitty Suit to keep some grasp of the distinctions between the actionable and the delusional. This is not a good look. Even if Thunderlips should manage to break his own neck, we will not have won this match. At this point the damage done to us is already immeasurable. Although Thunderlips is awesome and menacing and not of our making, there is an entire Europe and Asia and Africa and Oceana and islands between who have handled his ass. Our fate may not be unique, but pissing up our pink kitty suits are endearing us to no one. If one of our mad scientists finds a cure for this mess it will be chalked up to there being at least one of us who isn’t a complete idiot… and little else.


My stock portfolio looks swimming.  Let’s bid up the cruise lines again, just to watch them fall.  Is a market really free when it is dominated by hyperfast computers who can create account activity in lieu of linkage with tangible reality? Is a market really free when the debts of public trust corporations are being subsidized by the government, when socialist mechanisms are grafted onto the issuing of private risks? This isn’t about the values of houses this time. This is about fictional beings selling fractions of themselves and taking out mortgages on those fractions with money owned by you and me. We won’t have enough pink kitty suits to mop up this mess, too.


What sort of an economy shrinks by 33% in one quarter? Stop me if you’ve heard this one. And what sort of an economic environment is it when 25% of the already defined statistically depleted work force is idle?  This would not be the picture of go go stock market time if stock markets reflected anything other than the rich pretending that they are still rich. It’s all fun until we eat you.


Our powers that be who hesitated not a blink to graft our common horde of wealth to backing the equities market are taffy pulling the idea of slipping us another grand or so.  Of our money. So that we can eat. In this universe this requires deliberation. The burning cities aren’t enough for them.


Yes, this will be over.  We are currently 155K PEOPLE down from this plague.  That’s five fair sized suburbs worth of deceased, just since April. Any idea of the total once we are flipped from the ring is guesswork. And anyone who thinks Joe Biden is the solution to any problem lacks both math skills and product knowledge. We aren’t quite at FAILED STATE yet, but we have entered the bozoverse.



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