Most people are on break, on hiatus, on vacation, on mental strike ... so what am I doing here in the office all alone, no secretaries, no research assistants ... even the doorman and the chauffeur are off. ... My investments are in the toilet, every time the phone rings it is somebody I owe money to, my mistresses are all at the beach picking up younger men, thank God for that modest villa I bought in Italy five months ago. Worse comes to worse, I can always fly to Rome, rent an Audi, drive up to the villa, and suck Campari and soda until I get an idea. ... I think one of the credit cards is still good. Maybe I should be in the movie business, there is nothing like the movies in badass times. Excuse me, I have to take a call. I'm back. That was my broker's husband. She didn't go to work this morning, emptied out the cash accounts, 20 million dollars ... do I know where she is? The guy was pretty frantic. Is he crazy? If I knew where she was I'd go right after her. Half of that was my money. I have my suspicions, though. She went to the island of crooks, it's a floating island in the Pacific, belongs to Ken Lay and some of his cronies, they welcome all crooks provided they bring cash, lots of it. I've got a mini-nuke trained on it. I had to make my own breakfast this morning, fried some eggs right on the goddamn sidewalk, it's so hot I'm having my skin freeze-dried. Where did all that great national mood go, the confidence index and all that crap, American optimism and all that malarkey, all that neocon fly-the-flag right wing BS ... to Lay's toilet island, that's where. Had a touch of it myself, I'll admit. Too much, prob'ly, cause I just didn't notice the economy going sour while I was flag-waving. ... Where is the rain, that's what I want to know. It's way past year 2000 and out of 50 states only Wisconsin got the annual average. Did the bastards take the rain with them when they went missing? What bugs me the most it's the scale of the friggin' robbery, we used to be gentlemen, didn't steal more than anybody else, and look where it's gotten me ... back in time to the age of robber barons ... it's a good thing it's deep simmertime or I'd be a lot more dangerous. Call it stupor, but I'm still on the job, while you folks try not to think about it. Soon as my chauffeur gets back, I'm gonna test my mini-nuke.