Back in My Day, Business Wasn't For Crybabies

These days, it seems like you can't rifle through a newspaper looking for the comics or pretend to read a magazine on the subway while staring down a young lady's blouse without hearing something about the latest business scandal. If somebody isn't having a rubber-gloved finger probed up their asshole for shredding confidential documents, then they're facing the Spanish Inquisition for making a personal fortune by overvaluing their company's stock at the expense of the bottom line. And through it all, I've only got one question on my mind: since when did the entire business world turn into a bunch of crybabies?

Back in my day, you didn't hear people pissing and moaning about insider information or cooking the books and it's not fair, boo-hoo. Back then we only had one rule in business: no kicking in the nuts. And that one was sometimes optional.

Those were the glory days of bold men doing what it took to get head, not bald men doing what it took to get ahead. We had priorities, and big cars. Anybody who wanted to ask too many questions didn't get to ride in the big cars, they could schlep it back to the Hilton in their miserable little Yugos if they wanted to play around with any of that Woodward and Bernstein bullshit.

Heady times, indeed. And the corporate takeovers were the best of the best. I remember I was working for Schleinhauser Nut & Bolt Co. when they bought out Winslow Fasteners. Good god was that sweet! The spoils! We took many of their top executives as man-slaves and the most comely of their female execs and secretaries as our concubines. And I don't recall anyone complaining then, except of course for the man-slaves and concubines.

Forget about trying to live that large these days, you'd be lucky to pull off a subsidized loan to buy company stock in the current "goody two-shoes" national climate. The law of the land used to be that if you didn't have balls big enough to hang with the big boys, then you could cart your shriveled little nuggets on over to the unemployment line, bub. Get in line behind all of the other suckers who take a court order not to shred documents seriously. Hell, in my day I shredded stacks of court orders not to shred documents, that's just the way things worked. It was always better not to leave a paper trail, especially not concerning the sticky finer points of business like profits and expenses and other such voodoo.

Back then people understood that it was all about survival of the fittest, meaning the most cunning and feared, not to mention flinty. These days, people wouldn't know flint if it started their ass on fire in a movie theater. Nowadays it's survival of the least offensive, and may the bland guy win. At least it will be until some real slick bastard comes along and reminds us what it's all about, like some kind of big business Jesus Christ. I personally can't wait; this infantile obsession with "fair play" is really starting to chap my ass.

Jesus, did anyone see the tits on that girl waiting in line over there? I mean, she could lose a few pounds around the middle before she'd be a bona-fide knockout, but still, good lord! A man could get lost in that cleavage. And I hope it's me. I wonder how she feels about 50 year-old married men? Maybe she's got some kind of corporate take-over fantasy rolling around in that pretty little cock-teasing head of hers.

I think I'm going to ask her to join my staff.

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