Unless you've been living under a rock (and hey, if positioned in just the right way, you technically could slowly asphyxiate to death, thus getting off - so hey, maybe this "living under a rock" thing ain't so bad) you've heard of the recent events surrounding one Bernie
Madoff.
Madoff was the president of NASDAQ, which, for our good friends getting their nirvana on underneath aforementioned rock, is " the largest electronic screen-based equity securities trading market in the United States" according to
wikipedia.org.
Madoff was a hugely powerful man on Wall Street and beyond, and his meteoric rise spoke of the American Dream: growing up working class in Queens, Madoff went to college, took his first few thousands and played the penny stocks, ending up a
bajillionaire. Let's put it this way: in the Forbes 500 social scene, dudes wanted to yacht with him and women followed him into the bathroom. Life was good for our pal Bernie!
Unfortunately for our protagonist, all things would come to an end when his snitches, er, sons, ratted his rich ass out to New York state authorities in late 2008. Things weren't looking so good for the
Bernmeister already; that hooker
lovin' puritan, former Wall Street wazoo and Governor Eliot
Spitzer, had already been on his ass for awhile. God Eliot - give the guy a break! He's just trying to steal the most money in the history of time!
Sheesh.
Anyhow
,
Madoff confessed that he had been running a
Ponzi scheme for some time. Named after Charles
Ponzi, this sort of fraud involves doing cool stuff like this: http://www.investopedia.com/terms/p/ponzischeme.asp. He ripped off
alot of cool people, like Kevin Bacon,
Zsa Zsa Gabor, Jeffrey
Katzenberg, and that hot piece of meat Larry King (when I heard the last name, it got my blood boiling. Nobody fucks with my Larry!). He also fucked over a number of charities - which for some reason really pissed a ton of people off.
But I digress. This all relates to my next point: F%&
kerware parties.
In the 70's and 80's, our mothers had to deal with the onslaught of the modern day pyramid scheme and all the awkwardness that came with having your friends trying to hock you shit. Our generation, however, had been spared up until recently. Why? There are a multitude of
justifiable reasons to say no to said gatherings. One: the
hors d'ouerves typically served - Costco cocktail ring, anyone? - suck balls. Two: people don't need low-budget organic skincare (http://www.watkinsonline.com), Rubbermaid-type containers (www.tupperware.ca), or crappy cosmetics (http://www.marykay.ca/). Three: the pressure to purchase is notoriously bunk.
So as a result, all this good, clean manipulative nonsense was slowing down, and the housewife-styled pyramid scheme as Earth knew it was approaching extinction. However, like any good parasite, the pyramid scheme adapted. And sneaky bastard that it is, Mr. Pyramid found its means of
resurrection through a sure-fire method: sex. That's right kids: pink dildos and pineapple lube are the tools of Beelzebub himself!
It's easy these days to say no to a Tupperware party. But a sex party with "the girls"? You say no to one of these things and you're looked at with the
Phylicia Rashad Momma-Cosby death stare. (You know the one - when Mrs. Cosby would look at Mr. Cosby from the side of her eyeballs when she'd catch him eating a
hoagie? That one. Scary stuff!)
For those of you who have been lucky enough to have been spared an invite to one of these events, it goes a little something like this. A money-grubbing acquaintance who wants to get rich quick without working hard invites you over to their home for a "Sex-Toy Party", "Girl's Night - No Boys Aloud!," or the absolute worst, a "F@*kerware Party." And since the advent of
Facebook, it has only gotten ten times worse. Hide your razors pals. This stuff is grim.
*Editors Note - I don't hate sex toys - far from it, in fact. One time a few years back I didn't leave my apartment for 96 hours and all I had at my disposal was a Rabbit and some microwavable popcorn for sustenance. What I DO hate, however, is some 35-year-old patchouli scented "Sensuality Consultant" telling me how to best get my rocks off while I'm eating a
luke-warm sausage roll, catching up with some girl from high school who I haven't seen for three years. While we're at it, would someone refill my plastic cup of Arbor Mist? Thank you.
Maybe I'm much more private than I perceive myself to be, but I find it hard to conjure up
legitimately organic, sexual thoughts when conversations like this are taking place:
Sensuality Consultant: "Now here, girls, is the next big thing. You loved The Thunder Vibe. You made him jealous with The Shockwave. Well girls, one false move and he's out - because once you go Cowboy Up, being single won't even f$%king matter - because this dildo is absolutely amazing! It's been designed by a former NASA scientist!"(
Sensuality Consultant then flashes a knowing look to all involved, intimating that she herself has taken the Cowboy Up dildo for a test drive and it meets her undoubtably insatiable sexual desires).
Host of Party: "Oh. My. GOD. You guys.....this sounds so good. I think I saw Shane use
it on the "L" Word."
(Scattered glances are traded amongst the guests, with the knowledge that if this dildo is good enough for the de facto hottest primetime lesbo it absolutely would work for anyone, and thus, them - and that speaking against said dildo would impart that one didn't find Shane hot, which in turn means you are against the current sexual rage, bi-curiousity, which in turn means you are a homely school marm).
Cuckolded Guests: "I'll take two."
And so the pyramid scheme has triumphantly been able to grab ahold of our current obsession with sexuality, or rather, how sexually we are perceived, and has wrapped its malleable little noose around us once more. I ain't buyin' - not one amber-scented massage oil. Join me in the revolution, my friends, and march on down to your good old fashioned Mom and Pop (or Mom/Mom, Mom/Mom/Dad, or Dad/Dad etc.) sex store to get your goods.
Now the motivation for hosting these events, aside from the amaaazzing products to be had and the good times that are shared, is money. And one thing celebrities like Zsa Zsa Gabor and Kevin "I Showed My Wang At The End Of Wild Things - Surprise!" Bacon have, er, had, is cash. So while they probably didn't have to deal with the turmoil of pressing the "Not Attending" button to a shite Facebook event invite before, they may be dealing with this sort of nonsense soon. (Sidebar - does Zsa Zsa Gabor have Facebook? That would be really hot if she did. Puurrrr).
After examining these modern day jackals, I've come to one conclusion I know to be sound - Ponzi or pyramid, at least these fraudulent strains are screwing us over equally, regardless of caste or fiscal state. And in this world, where the middle class is disappearing at an alarming rate, leaving us with the uber-rich and destitute, it's nice to know that we all can still get f#$cked in a multitude of different ways and positions, both physically, financially, and moronically. So really - thank you, Mr. Bernard Madoff, for re-asserting the notion that getting f#$ked can happen at every station. At least you can argue that you're an equal opportunity employer next Monday when you get your ass handed to you in court.
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