no true liberal can masquerade or moonlight as a democrat. they are too corrupt, too self-serving, and too willing to step aside in real moments of belief. i think the general direction we hit is

The Bitter Investment Banker Email

8:50 Oh god. Glaring error on page 17 of the pitch book. Forgot to convert Canadian dollars into U.S. classic analyst f*ck-up. I ve also got to pee. Pee real bad. Client has his eyes half-closed; he s not even paying attention. The Sycophant, my VP, sits across from me. Client says something. The Sycophant responds, Oh yes, that s spot on, you really hammered that point across perfectly. Client says something else. The Sycophant says, That s brilliant, a truly remarkable observation. Even Client cringes. Page 16 of the book. One page away from the Client s eyes snapping open, suddenly acutely aware of things, a loud and brusque, What the hell is this The Sycophant reduced to a weeping mess, groveling at his feet. At least it might distract me from my bladder.

2:30 Lunch with the Defeated One. We have this new policy of going outside for two, at most three minutes, to enjoy the spring weather before bringing the same congealed General Tao chicken up to our desks. A young couple clean and preppy enough to be in one of those Gap commercials, the annoying one where everybody s snapping their fingers, stroll by grinning away like Cheshire cats. It s frickin Tuesday, the Defeated One grimaces. He s boring a pencil into his wrist. We re not even alive, the Defeated One mutters. I ve heard this rant before; indeed, have heard a daily variant of this rant since we started working together: I could be dead and nobody would give a damn, one of those old pricks who passes off in his trailer and the rotting corpse isn t found for months afterward. Or: I am nothing more than an accumulation of spreadsheets. Really, my neurons are nothing more than linked cells. Shit, I feel a circular reference coming on. It s one of those jokes that only an investment banker could appreciate but still it s not very funny. Chuckle as a reflex. He s managed to draw blood with the pencil. Aren t you worried about lead poisoning If I should be so lucky. Besides, it s not lead, it s graphite. What about graphite poisoning Let s go back inside. The Defeated One stares at the receding backs of the Gap-commercial-clean couple, nods solemnly, and follows me to the elevators.

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I woke up one day and realized I had created you in my head.

Princeton University is racist against me, I mean, non-whites:

Hi Princeton! Remember me? I so good at math and science. Perfect 2400 SAT score. Ring bells?

Just in cases, let me refresh your memories. I the super smart Asian. Princeton the super dumb college, not accept me. I get angry and file a federal civil rights complaint against Princeton for rejecting my application for admission. They rejected me because I’m not blond or blue eyed and my name doesn’t end with Ockefeller IV or Osworth. I try convince my mom and dad to change my name to Jack Bauer (they could keep their own last names if they wanted to), but they told me Jack only graduated from Berkeley. Not my faults. All I get is huffiness from Princeton admission office and even fellow Yalie Jojo M. T. Witts-Piley. The Daily Princetonian no help either. Only make funs of my unfortunate circumstances.

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I think I have a new boyfriend, and he’s the guy who compiled this list:

16. You

Charges: Your whole life has been a pitiful exercise in rote mimicry, a meek subjugation of individuality in exchange for herd approval. Your delusions of “common sense” wisdom stem from an unwillingness to seek information and an inability to critically analyze it. You never hesitate to offer strong opinions on subjects you don’t know a damn thing about. You’re willing to believe anything a guy in a suit says on TV, as long as it doesn’t hint at your culpability in the negligent homicide of your country and planet or otherwise cloud your streak-free conscience. You’re more worried about friction on the “Desperate Housewives” set than the lack of health coverage at your tedious, soul-destroying job. You have no idea what is going on in the world, and you’re fine with that. You are why democracy doesn’t work.