Spiting Your Face
I got a buddy who’s been predicting a worldwide economic Armageddon for about a decade now. He prays for it since he’s pulled out of the stock market after the 2008 debacle. What he thinks, what he hopes for, is that a good dose of economic hardship will drag Trump out of office, a result he dearly desires. He’s sitting pretty, pension, big Social Security checks, wife who worked too, plenty of money in the bank. If the little people have to suffer inordinately along with the rich boyz, okay by him. Small price to pay for ridding the country and the world of Donald J. Trump.
This morning the stock market went into such a head-spinning free fall that they closed trading down for a bit, see if that would cool some fevered brains selling like the world was coming to an end. Or coronavirus was about to go Pandemic. Oil prices dropped by a third on news of the virus and also because the Saudis and Putin decided to play chicken with the reserves, see who could outlast the other. As I write this, the Dow Jones is down about 2000 points and still sinking. Oil is closing in on 30 bucks a barrel. Another day of this and gas stations will give free fill-ups if you purchase a drinking glass.
I’m no economist, as you may have surmised over the years, but I know this. No one wants to see another Great Depression, except maybe my buddy. He asked me once what I was doing to protect myself in case his prophesy proved true. He was squirreling silver into deposit boxes, investing in gold, probably burying money out in the backyard. How about you, Skeeter? What’s your fallback?
My fallback? I don’t really think like that. I’m the grasshopper who fiddled away his summers while the ants labored. C’est la vie, I guess is my answer. But, I told my buddy I’d just buy a gun and come and take what he had. You know, if the neighbors hadn’t already cleaned him out by then. Don’t wish for a Depression, we’re all in this jungle together.
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Tags: Pandemic Panic, Stock Market Crash