We are entering a newly minted Gilded Age, where $500 hamburgers will be deemed cheap and entirely beneath the average run of the mill connoisseur. The Bureau of Welfare will be replaced with high end wineries, where aged California reds will auction for $1,000,000—minimum.
I’ve taken the liberty to secure property, in desolate areas in the Northeast corridors of the United States, for the intent and deliberate purpose of making pinless hand grenades. They will make fantastic party favors, during the next Gilded Age.
People will dance in the streets, fat and naked, while men hang off of street lamps, blowing horns and playing accordions— until drunken and gay policemen pay them thousands of dollars to go home. The stock market will bite the faces off of short sellers, like hungry rattle snakes in the midst of a busy basketball court, littered with people in wheeled chairs.
President Obama will be declared a “living God.” The people shall vote him “Emperor for life”; and the republican party will move to Mexico, where they will oversee the important business of sweat shop discipline.
Money will be so plentiful, people will use it to line their kitty litters. And, of course, C-notes will be used as tinder for the traditional and mandatory Saturday afternoon BBQ, in the next Gilded Era.
As for me, I shall seek to destroy all big booted clowns, by way of shooting them out of purple cannons into nuclear power plants. My blog will become a picture zoo for traveling circus enemies and my burgeoning “pinless” hand grenade business.
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