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Nothing up my sleeve... Presto!

I stopped by Milliway's on my way to the Time Travelers meeting next month. The concensus from those hanging about and around the kick-ass bar, waiting for a table, is that we're fucked.

All the Red Bull, Mountain Dew Blast, 5.329 Hour Energy, Caf-Pow Kool-aid induced optimism/hysteria/fear-mongering has worn off. The teeming splintered masses, speaking through their preferred provider media outlet are expressing their anger and frustrations.

We're stuck, perhaps permanently, at the intersection of Impasse and Vine. That light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be a illudium PU-36 explosive space modulator. "Where's the KABOOM? There was supposed to be an Earth-shattering KABOOM!"
(Always a well spent 5 minutes)

Once again, the dismal state of Americans' relationship with basic arithmetic has been exploited. The last four decades have been quite a party. At this point, people barely remember who came up with the brilliant idea to run a tab. "We'll put a big bowl in the middle, people can pay as they go and we'll settle up at the end. (Nudge, nudge wink wink... You know, we'll take the cash, then put the tab on the company credit card...)" Any and all attempts to wrap things up and close out the tab have been met with derision. END the party? It's just getting started! There's a line out the door waiting to get in on the fun!

The Regressive Dinner party has either been the bestest party evah or the demise of Western civilization. People who claim the latter have been scoffed at, villified, demonized, marginalized and uninvited to partake. Fair enough? Nobody wants a party pooper!

When it comes to our limited, scarce illusion of resources, it's become vital that they be used to keep the music bumping. We saw what happened when sanity stepped up and burst the happy funtime housing/banking bubble. We don't want more of that now do we? Just snort some of this HCR and you'll be good to go!

The good ship U.S.A. is just in need a few minor repairs. Engineering assures us that the parts are on order. Sure we've had hull breaches and have had to cut off life support to vast sections, but we've been able to limit the damages to the steerage and tourist sections. The bad news is that we've been so far off-course for so long that the delivery charges on our parts order have reached an order of magnitude. The executive committee, in closed session, has decided to cancel the order. It's been agreed that we can delay the inevitable implosion by another Friedman or two. Surely, long enough to spread some more joy, baubles and bubbles among the party deckers.

We shouldn't have to remind anyone of the unpleasantness caused by the Mutiny of 2000.
You helped us retake the bridge. Sure, we promised to drive you home and no hanky-panky and we fully intend to honor that promise as soon as the party starts being a drag. Hey, gotta jump here. They guy from the Pharma lobby just showed up with a "desert" tray.