Well, I'll just say this because it's a better day than most. Not because the sun is shining or because there is any hope that my law degree will get me a job, but, look, at this point, I'm sitting at the table, I'm on a losing streak, I'm down more money than I've ever had in my life, my wife/girlfriend has got pissed off and left the casino, I would be sleeping on the couch (if I had not lost it in the previous hand), and I've only got my car key to go all in, so, I'm throwing it on the pile. I'm all in, and I will be all in every hand after this because I'm a man with nothing to lose. It's the first bit of enthusiasm I've had for a couple of years now. You're going to have to forgive me.
I'll play fair. I'll be up-front. I'll be honest. I'll play by the rules. But, one rule no one can change is that when you've got nothing to lose, losing the next hand doesn't move you. You find yourself right back in the same place. it's funny, that. So, my law degree is staying on the wall. It's worthless. I know. But fuck me if it didn't suck trying to get it. It's staying to remind me that I work for myself. That was what it was supposed to represent at some point. Misled I was, but the fact is that the reason I thought I was going to law school was to chart my own course.
Forgive me if I haven't changed my mind about doing that. There are no debtors' prisons. What has been taken away from me, and I suppose from all of us, is nothing more than the incentive to live a lower middle-class life. The Sallie Mae death-zone makes me a slave, and quite frankly, she can go fuck herself. I'm not going to work for her, the harlot. I'll work to take care of what I need, but I'm not going to do 80-hour weeks at $15/hour so Ms Mae, the tart, can garnish 55 of them until I'm dead and gone.
So, get this: I'm gone. I'll tell you where when I get there, wherever it will be. I'm going to keep in touch. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. But, I'm also going to take obscene career risk after obscene career risk until one of them banks. And, if it never happens for me, well, then, I guess, Sallie, you're just going to have to live on less, now aren't you.
Economically, is that not the rational, cold-blooded business decision? Tell me it's not. Tell me there is a reason I should live my life in your death-zone. Tell me this is not what some of the major banks just did when they walked away from mortgages and leases and then refused to let under-water homeowners do the same thing. Know what? I'm too big to fail. So go fuck [sic.] yourself. No, my debts won't be discharged in bankruptcy. No, I'm not going to disappear on you and the kids. And, yes, I'm going to try my best. But, look, one thing I learned in law school is that the interests and debtors and creditors are not always aligned, however much you say you really want to work "with" me. That tends to happen when you over-reach and when you create necessitous men. Maybe you should have thought of that before now, because I've only got so much money, and you can't starve me into a better job (though, no doubt, you'd try).
I'll play fair. I'll be up-front. I'll be honest. I'll play by the rules. But, one rule no one can change is that when you've got nothing to lose, losing the next hand doesn't move you. You find yourself right back in the same place. it's funny, that. So, my law degree is staying on the wall. It's worthless. I know. But fuck me if it didn't suck trying to get it. It's staying to remind me that I work for myself. That was what it was supposed to represent at some point. Misled I was, but the fact is that the reason I thought I was going to law school was to chart my own course.
Forgive me if I haven't changed my mind about doing that. There are no debtors' prisons. What has been taken away from me, and I suppose from all of us, is nothing more than the incentive to live a lower middle-class life. The Sallie Mae death-zone makes me a slave, and quite frankly, she can go fuck herself. I'm not going to work for her, the harlot. I'll work to take care of what I need, but I'm not going to do 80-hour weeks at $15/hour so Ms Mae, the tart, can garnish 55 of them until I'm dead and gone.
So, get this: I'm gone. I'll tell you where when I get there, wherever it will be. I'm going to keep in touch. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. But, I'm also going to take obscene career risk after obscene career risk until one of them banks. And, if it never happens for me, well, then, I guess, Sallie, you're just going to have to live on less, now aren't you.
Economically, is that not the rational, cold-blooded business decision? Tell me it's not. Tell me there is a reason I should live my life in your death-zone. Tell me this is not what some of the major banks just did when they walked away from mortgages and leases and then refused to let under-water homeowners do the same thing. Know what? I'm too big to fail. So go fuck [sic.] yourself. No, my debts won't be discharged in bankruptcy. No, I'm not going to disappear on you and the kids. And, yes, I'm going to try my best. But, look, one thing I learned in law school is that the interests and debtors and creditors are not always aligned, however much you say you really want to work "with" me. That tends to happen when you over-reach and when you create necessitous men. Maybe you should have thought of that before now, because I've only got so much money, and you can't starve me into a better job (though, no doubt, you'd try).
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