I Hate This Economic Downturn

It's funny, don't you know, this economic downturn. Notice I am using the term 'downturn'. I have heard the term 'meltdown' being thrown around. But 'meltdown' is so final, so irrevocable-sounding - like 'dead-baby' or 'global-warming' - you can't just take that kind of thing back. You can't play it down by hiring a clever lawyer to spin it (or so I am told). So I'll just go ahead and say downturn. I mean we don't need to cause a panic here, now do we?

OMG! Can we still return that caviar-filled swimming pool?

A downturn means it's just a matter of time before things are looking up again. It's just like one of those roller-coasters at Millionaire-Six Flags. You can consider what's going on right now a minor nuisance, a bit of a jostle, really, and nothing more. As when the roller-coaster dips and all of a sudden your breakfast of truffle-swathed quail eggs with the 24k gold-flake garnish suddenly jumping-jacks up into your esophagus, but before you can re-appreciate all the subtle flavors of that marvelous meal, the car is rising again.

This is how I feel about the current economic downturn. But seriously, guys, a lot of less-fortunate people out there are really hurting! And, would you believe it, some sensationalists are even drawing comparisons to the Great Depression!?

So I am just doing my part, pleading to the nameless masters of national economy here: please stop joshing around, guys! I know, you never thought I would be down on my knees like this, but here I am - literally my very own personal knees - bent and comfortably prostrate on the mink carpet in the sunlit outer foyer- pleading for an end to this charade.

Also, a sacrifice to the gods wouldn't hurt.

 
Now: Granted it's a pretty good way to kill time until the Rapture, messing around with the economy like a game of Jenga, but don't you realize the less fortunate are looking down on you every time you take your private jet to the the mall? Don't you miss the good old times when no one cared?

The quaint downtrodden looked up to you, coveted your good fortune, your wives and the pair of prize-winning Friesian show-horses you had dipped in gold and mounted on a pedestal in your courtyard, the good time you used to have publicly guzzling Crystal while rappelling down the side of your crystal palace:

I make this look good!

Right? Those were the good old times. And all scot-free. Breaking rules like a boss. Like the boss of Goldman-Sachs. Even your wife lol'd when she found out about that wild orgy in Charlie Sheen's hot tub. No one called you out on your little extravagances. The private island, the stretch-monster-truck limo that drives your kids to school (in Dubai), the MI6-sourced bodyguard, the portrait you had commissioned of yourself picked out in 65,000 Swarovski crystals and which you ended up donating to some grimy inner-city high school, the diamond and gold grille you replaced your lower teeth with, and the F-1 go-kart you maybe sort of dinged:

Also, kinda stepped in some gum :(

And all the rest of it. No judgements. Wasn't that the best? You can have it all back. Guilt-free decadence, baby! Just won't you cool it with this bad economy stuff, please? People are beginning to take it seriously.