Dear Jonny, Occupy Wall Street?
What do you think of This Occupy Wall Street business?
I imagine a tall, muscular, well-tanned man dressed in a twelve-thousand-dollar suit. His name is Todd. At once he finds himself tossed into a pit with a short, obese, pasty white man wearing a two-hundred-dollar suit. His name is Joe, and he’s baring his teeth with a wicked viciousness, fists clenched tightly, seemingly ready for a fight to the death. For a moment they size one another up, head to toe, then let their eyes meet in an intense, malicious stare. This lasts for only the briefest of moments, until Todd showcases a bored, slightly amused smile while cackling loudly in a half-bored, condescending tone. This sends Joe into a blind, boiling rage. Eyes bulging, he digs his heels into the earth, then bunches up his shoulders and springs forward in an all-out sprint. Todd holds his ground, still cackling. Faster and faster Joe runs, closing in very quickly, a purely murderous look about him. Just before their bodies meet, two hulking men wearing equally expensive suits drop from above, land on either side of Todd, and then pull from their holsters two large caliber, gold-plated pistols. Before Joe has any understanding of what hit him, innumerable bullets pierce his brain and destroy his heart. His bloodied body tumbles to Todd’s feet. Now as expressionless as the men surrounding him, Todd retrieves his wallet from his jacket pocket, removes one of the countless hundred dollar bills, and flicks it atop Joe’s twitching form. “Keep the change, asshole.”