Where’s the Goose?

To question the free market, look no further than the Reagan era, when the air controller’s union got busted and the workers began getting cross-eyed looking at the screens.  Junk bonds promised cures, insurance companies sold or lost their base and the game became suck the cash out of Paradise and toss the human refuse we “dearly care for” in the trash.

Add Global Economy, NAFTA Folly, endless warfare and this Alaskan Transparency, mimed perfectly on Saturday Night Live, with America’s children prepping “Whatever” bips their ears, crotches, ears and snoots, while John Wayne’s Washington, with lung cancer on the horizon, buys it off with, “So What” and a smirk.

To paraphrase John Nichol's character in, The Magic Journey, all you do is create a whole bunch of issues that don’t exist and get everybody running around not knowing their butt from a hole in the ground and then you do what you want.

When companies buy each other out like over the counter elixers, when mortgages sell like popcorn during intermission and banks smell like loan sharks in Bailout Alley, or one drives a Hummer with a $28,000 a year salary, could there possibly be a shark in the tank? 

The Dow drops 500 points? My niece says her friends are not concerned about the war or the economy.  As long as they have a credit card, there is no need for concern.  Such gracious fodder for the rip-off geniuses who plan privatization and genuflection of free market enterprise while they take off the condoms and cook grandchildren for the next slaughter, fiasco and Dubai suite they can park in,  written off and charged to the tax-friendly hordes we have turned out to be.

Investor, Phillip Wilber Ross, who recently “fixed” the problem at ISG. stated he was once a would-be writer.  When asked if he would ever return to writing he replied,” I have trouble enough with the facts, let alone trying to deal with fiction.”

Obviously he is not alone.  America has spun into such a far-fetched tale, even the fairy godmother, who knows the carriage turns into a pumpkin at midnight, won’t tell Cinderella that the shoe won’t fit forever, unless she gets the facts straight and her house in order. 

A woman told me she bought a goose down pillow at Macy’s.  That night she dreamed blood appeared on the pillow.  The goose was alive.  It frightened her so that she took the pillow back to the store for a refund.  While she was bargaining with the sales clerk, the pillow began honking and running among the bedding, knocking over displays and finally disappearing in the dream, in which she got her refund, but the next night, just before she fell asleep, she thought of the goose and she wondered where it went. 

What strange characters we have become in this plot of loss, this miscue, this slow descent, this hero’s truth, smitten with no sacrifice, no commitment and no allegiance.  In the film, Return of the Jedi, the hero asserts that he is not afraid to descend into the unknown.  The Jedi replies, “You will be.” 

One might add to this tale, “Welcome to America and if you see a live goose amidst the bedding, please let America know.