I Believe I Shall Destroy The Stock Market Again

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I Believe I Shall Destroy The Stock Market Again

Yesterday, I was listening to Beavers, my aide-de-camp and advisor in matters financial, narrate the financial abstract of my vast personal fortune when he mentioned in passing that I was doing quite well in the Stock-Market. This was, of course, no real news to me, as my stock position has always been top-drawer; decent market holdings are necessary both to balance one's cash position and to leaven one's investments in real estate, Swiss gold, and the slave-trade of Far Araby.

But then Beavers mentioned that the Stock-Market seems to be under-going a tremendous boom, resulting in a time of vast prosperity for countless others, as well!

My ire aroused, I demanded that he give a full account of this unnatural ubiquity of wealth. Apparently, the Market has spread its lovely, avaricious legs to every low-rent merchant with two cents to rub together and rewarding self same oafs with undeservedly high returns!

A torrent of steaming black ichor shot from my nostrils as this news sent me into a fresh rage. What has become of the free market if any half-wit can engage in open trade? Why, if we stay this course, a large "middle-class" could arise, wherein the lowliest fishmonger could purchase food, shelter, and clothing in exchange for a mere life-time of crushing debt!

Though Beavers has assured me that the poor are worse off than ever, I am significantly aggrieved by his mention of individuals, some under the age of 60, who have made small fortunes through the clever manipulation of a new type of calculating-engine, and who will doubtless spend it all on raccoon coats and bathtubs of gin. This happened once before, and I barely acted in time to stop it. Tomorrow, when the Boston exchange opens, I shall sell all my holdings in Consolidated Steam and unload six million Weimar Republic Deutschmarks. This, combined with the emptying from Zweibel ware-houses of 60 years' storage of pork bellies and Dr. Klimpt's Poultry Liniment, should cause a run on the market that will see New York in flames by the after-noon.

History has forgotten that, though market-crashes result in times of high criminality, as well as suicide amongst the destitute poor, there is also a down-side: I shall miss my poultry liniment. Still, in times like these, we all must sacrifice something for the good of the Republic.