The Phaserl


Me and Manager Dan

by Richard Daughty, The Mogambo Guru, Gold Seek:

I have been advised many, many times that I would suffer a lot less seething hostility from co-workers, neighbors and family members (including the one, not mentioning any names, that promised to love, honor, ‘til death do us part with this ring I thee wed blah blah blah) if I would stop being so critical of people, to the point of cruelly belittling these, what is the word I am looking for? morons.

Like the evil Federal Reserve and self-delusional Keynesian econometric lunatics, for example.

As for the vast majority of people who do not, or ever did, deserve such ill-treatment, I am ashamed of myself, and I apologize.

My defense is that I, of course, suspect treachery everywhere.

So, naturally, when I don’t immediately find somebody actually sticking a knife in my back, putting poison in my food or wanting to borrow my car, I keep looking for subtle signs of such treachery until I eventually find them, cleverly unveiling dark, nefarious plots, logically deducted from clues in something said, or not said, or did, or not did, done, did.

You’re all against me. I know it. You know it. We all know it.

Then again, there are (and this is the important part!) those who deserve abject humiliation and the full weight of the Scorn Of The Angry Mogambo (SOTAM) jumping up and down on their preposterously inflated egos.

One of these people has written an article in the Economist magazine, in the category of self-proclaimed “Big economic ideas” wherein one can, I assume, theoretically find true economic wisdom, which in this case entails an explanatory subhead “What economists can learn from the discipline’s seminal papers.”

Wow! With that kind of a buildup, I am sure that you are, as am I, as are we all, breathlessly tingly with excitement! Hopes are soon dashed, however, when the doofus writes “Much as doctors understand diseases but cannot predict when you will fall ill, economist’s fundamental mission is not to forecast recessions but to explain how the world works.”

Hahahaha! I am laughing so hard that my stomach hurts! Ouch! Hahahaha! Ow! Call the aforementioned doctor! Hahaha!

“How the world works”, but recessions are not part of how the world works? Again, hahaha!

Suddenly and surprisingly composing myself, I ceremoniously stand, reach out my arm in a theatrically grand gesture, and thunder “Friends! Romans! Countrymen! Lend me your ears! The Whole Freaking Point Of Economics (TWFPOE) is to forecast recessions with enough lead time so that you can stop the silly monetary and/or fiscal crap you are doing, letting the body, in keeping with this ridiculous medical analogy, heal itself!”

Now, I admit that I am not, actually, a doctor. Nor have I ever portrayed one on TV, although I am sure that I would be great at it. Maybe have my own TV series, titled “Handsome Doctor Hollywood.”

Yet, even with my appalling lack of medical education, training or even a bare minimum of intelligence, my credentials are sufficient to EASILY tell that you are going to get sick and DIE — and soon! — when you drink nothing but whiskey, eat nothing except yummy doughnuts, get no exercise, smoke, take recreational drugs with borrowed syringes and are continually swapping bodily fluids with strangers, or, as Frank Sinatra put it, strangers in the night, exchanging glances, wondering in the night, what were the chances.

Since we are surprisingly comparing the mission of economists to doctors, I cleverly change direction to maybe make a few quick bucks. So I change my name to Hotshot Doctor Mogambo (HDM), and say “Hey! This doctor thing could be fun! Let’s put on a white lab coat, bring the patient in, and look at the lab results!”

Glancing at the reports, I instantly see that this is the part of the medical profession that is really unpleasant: Telling the patient bad news.

Ideally, as a new doctor, I want my patients to be young and beautiful women, in perfect health despite wearing scandalously little clothing and having a fawning, father-figure fixation, or be a healthy guy who is such a looney-tunes hypochondriac that he will pay outrageous sums of cash for whatever quack therapies I can dream up at the prestigious Mogambo Institute Of High-Priced Therapies For Miscellaneous Complaints (MIOHPTFMC) to cure his imagined ailments.

With my spiffy new professional medical demeanor applied to economics, I try to hide from the patient that the sad results from the economics lab tests are, to be brief, that everything that can be bad (pause for effect) is bad. Bummer.

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