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Crash Hell
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Prosperity Heaven
I am Alan G. Aeneas. I am a refuge from a past destroyed. I am a discover of a future world power. You know me. Until last year, I was geekishly cocky and wore a baseball cap backward. You saw me interviewed on TV a dozen times in 1999 and early 2000 during the climax of captain Bill's great tech bubble. As a glamorous dot.com whiz kid, I became rich and famous faster then almost anyone as Captain Bill masterfully eliminated the concept of honesty from public thinking. His crew, me included, sucker punched a duped America without anyone realizing who was responsible for undermining its long-range economy, security, and future.
In the late 1990s, with the boundaries of honesty removed, fraudsters like me easily manipulated Captain Bill's delusions and accountant Bob's hoaxes. I became a celebrity, sucked millions from duped investors, and bought a trophy wife -- a famous TV journalist. In early March 2000, I blurted out with irrational exuberance my now infamous line on TV, "You don't need no stinkin' honesty in Bill's hi-tech boom!" Then, within a month, without warning, my company became one of the first big dot.coms to crash into oblivion. By August 2000, I'd lost not only all my investors' money, but lost everything I owned, including my trophy wife. ... I was flat broke with millions in debt.
How did all that happen so quickly? Let me start at the beginning: I quit college in the winter of 1998 and headed for Las Vegas to make a living servicing casino computers and playing Blackjack. You see, without any basis, I fancied myself as both a computer genius and card-counting Blackjack pro. But, with my drug-addled brain, I was unable to integrate more than two concepts at once. And, as a jazz saxophonist, I was too laid-back to build any kind of a career.
I landed a few lounge-show gigs in local casinos. Of course, I steadily lost at the Blackjack tables. In the spring of 1998, I contemplated my future while high on pot and wine. The more I contemplated, the more excited I became. Suddenly, I became wildly excited for the first time since reading Atlas Shrugged as a young teenager. ...Man, was I hatching a plan, or what? A foolproof plan to make millions -- a plan that would make Ayn Rand proud!
Well, I really didn't have a viable business plan. For, you see, I knew nothing about business. In fact, I learned to violently hate business from my college professors. I'd even been arrested several times for destruction of business properties while demonstrating for the environment, for animal rights, against genetically altered crops, against multinationals. I was against anything and everything concerning business and science. My professors smiled and gave me A's. Whenever possible, I hurt businesses, destroyed their properties, and shoplifted as much as possible hoping to get laudatory interviews on NPR and BBC.
Of course, I never created any real values useful to others. I only destroyed values created by others for others. In emulating my heroes, I worked to bring our planet back to its pristine, pre-human state. Thus, the irony: From a cheshire grin, I began chuckling, then snorting loudly. Finally, I broke into hysterical screeching with both hands spasmodically grasping handfuls of air. The wine I'd been gulping squirted from my nostrils. "Hey, world, I'm gonna be a businessman!" I barked, laughed, and then choked. "How 'bout that," I rasped looking in the mirror and seeing tears streaming down my beet-red cheeks.
"Screw my Marxist professors! Screw earth-goddess Gia!" Then I suddenly roared, "Bring back Ayn Rand! Bring back her Virtue of Selfishness! I'm gonna be a greedy rich bastard -- a famous celebrity too. I'm gonna get all the high times and movie-star chicks I want. Knighthood too. ...Yeah, then I'll become a public servant -- a politician like JFK. I'll start by buying a senate seat. Then the Presidency? Why not? Bigger messes than I have made it...and I never killed or raped anyone."
The next morning, for the first time in my life, I threw myself into sustained, high-intensity efforts formulating and then developing a business plan. Not a rational plan, mind you, for my ideas were irrational. Yet, my plan was irresistibly compelling to greedy ears ... and that's all that counted. ... I had concocted a dot.com scam for super-fast riches and sex-scoring notoriety.
The Rise
What great timing. I was debuting at the height of Captain Bill's hi-tech/IPO-stockmarket scam. My plans comprised an offshore, high-fee porn dot.com site that linked drug users and sex seekers to cheap, safe, drug-and-sex suppliers worldwide. Within two weeks, I had three venture capitalists interested -- so interested that they could not sit still in their chairs as I glamorized my scheme. One investor became so excited that he stood up, clutched his crotch, and began rocking from foot to foot as if he were about to urinate in his pants. When I finished my presentation, he turned his face skyward and let out a long howl.
Aiming to garner $250,000 in my first year, I corralled $350,000 during that one meeting alone. And, after only four months, I sucked two-million dollars into my bank accounts. ... My cool accountant, Bob, did creative bookkeeping. His slick work concealed my public frauds while letting me live high as the moon.
I spent most of the money on luxurious business suites along with expensive clothes and cars. With my scheme, I had to increasingly impress investors with displays of prosperity and confidence. I did that with surprising ease. Amazingly, the venture capitalists seemed even greedier than me. ... Six months later, I had twenty-million dollars at my disposal!
My hyperbolic pitches and Potemkin appearances kept mushrooming. Everyone believed me because each desperately wanted to. Investors and their money kept flooding in. I was their hero... their savior. Thus, I switched my full focus to taking care of myself big time. Moving into a four-bedroom penthouse overlooking the Las Vegas Strip, I bought a trophy wife, his-and-her Lamborghinis, a Cigarette speedboat, two thoroughbred racehorses, and an Aspen ski chalet.
My sole goal became cashing out at a billion dollars, letting the investors hold the bag. Yes, I was soon going to be a billionaire, just like my Aspen neighbor. Like me, he's not a real businessman. Instead, he's the world's greatest political entrepreneur! He's the prayer-cloaked, Kyoto-environmentalist -- Kenny Boy, the king of Enron -- my idol, my hero! ...Emulating him, I began schmoozing with and enriching politicians of both parties.
I wheeled and dealed the investors' money into the most highly-leveraged stock options, margin-loan accounts, and financial derivatives. I reaped millions of dollars, week after week, as the markets soared -- free money by the tens of millions! One night, I even hit Caesar's Palace to play Baccarat at fifty grand a bet. In five hours, I won eight-hundred-thousand dollars. I toked the peon dealers and cocktail waitresses ninety-thousand dollars. I was the biggest of the comped big shots. They called me a whale. I was treated like royalty. I couldn't lose. Money and excitement poured in with my every move. Man, did I feel important.
High on cocaine, I suddenly threw my arms in the air and yelled for all to hear, "Why didn't I become a businessman years ago! Carnegie, Rockefeller, Gates step aside. I'm now the number-one business genius!" My two buxom companions -- twin babes, just like Hugh Hefner has -- snuggled even closer to me. Taking a deep drag on my Cuban cigar, I puffed smoke rings into their laughing faces. That night, I had them along with two showgirls, one of them a transvestite, at my disposal.
What an orgy! God is Great! Thought I was going to die like my favorite Renaissance painter Raphael -- my favorite because he died young after a mega sex orgy. ...I ached and walked funny for three days afterwards.
The next morning, I lost two million dollars. ...So what! But, when my buxom twins left me for another high roller, I tried to tip over the Baccarat table -- like Frank Sinatra once did. Still, I was only joking -- laughing and having fun. You see, I was high on meth mixed with something else. I then began rapping loudly as two security guards escorted me from Caesar's Palace to my waiting limousine.
By the turn of the millennium, I controlled over a hundred-and-forty-million dollars with an IPO scheduled for August 2000. Hello billionaire! I was gonna be richer than any Colombian drug lord. I threw a $130,000 Christmas party for my twenty-two employees. I spent $350,000 for a Y2K New-Years party for my investors and ended up sleeping with two of their wives. I was atop the world. Nothing could stop me!
The Fall
Then came March 2000. The dot.com bubble suddenly, viciously burst. My IPO was never launched. All my leveraged option-and-derivative investments crashed and burned, leaving me with millions in unpaid margin loans, company loans, and derivative-speculation losses. My wife promptly left with my accountant after draining my personal assets and taking my jewelry, including my diamond-studded Rolex, even my saxophone, along with everything else of pawnable value. I was flat broke, stripped of assets, buried under millions in debt. I even bankrupted my parents who then disowned me.
Friendless and destitute, I joined the Libertarian Party seeking hope. When they rejected me, I campaigned as an independent for the Las Vegas City Council, banking on my infamous name recognition. I got twenty-nine votes. ...My closest rival -- an ex brothel madam got 280 votes.
Crushed, I went to a library computer to reconnect to my youthful idealist roots. I joined an Ayn-Rand-cult Internet discussion group to recall my strutting John-Galt days and boost my self-esteem. They ousted me for mentioning Immanuel Kant and Libertarianism in the same sentence without declaring them both as evil.
I then tried to hire myself out as an internet/computer expert. Yet, I often caused more damage than good for my customers. I never cared, had no pride in my work, and accepted no responsibility for my actions. Wanting only to extract maximum money for the least work, I purposely overbilled customers for my careless, often faulty work. Besides, I knew nothing about legitimate business. I could list only three items of experience on my résumé: (1) a 26-year-old college dropout who majored in sociology at Berkeley, (2) a professional antibusiness demonstrator, and (3) an ex-CEO of a major dot.com company, now bankrupt. ... Soon, no one would hire me for anything. My financial frauds kept me from getting a work card to be a casino dealer. I became a standup comic and failed horribly. I got fired from Starbucks because of my seedy appearance. After that, even Burger King wouldn't hire me.
Having over a hundred-million dollars only a few months before, I was now not only bankrupt but I also became a homeless wino. ...After considering becoming a Muslim suicide bomber for glory and then overdosing on Prozac and alcohol, I became a born-again Christian for food.
Trash into Diamonds
Two months later, I was reborn for the third time. This time not as a con artist, not as a groveling born-again, but as an unstoppable wealth creator. How did that miracle happen? It happened on a record-cold, desert morning in January 2001. Rummaging for discarded valuables and salable information in the trashcans of an upscale Las Vegas suburb, red flashes caught my eye. Twenty yards further down the alley rising from a garbage can, beckoning like a Kubrick monolith, was a rectangular package bedecked with fluorescent-red ribbons fluttering in the breeze.
Hypnotically, I was drawn to those flickering signals. When I grabbed the package, another flash caught my eye. A glaring white flash compelled me to look skyward. Atop a flagpole in a walled yard sixty feet from the trashcans was the lens of a video camera glittering in the brilliant sun. I froze, grinned at the camera staring at me, and started returning the beribboned package to the garbage can. Wait a minute, I thought still grinning at the camera. This is discarded trash. It's mine! Abruptly, I turned away. Clutching the package, I ran from the alley. ... For some strange reason, Eddie-Murphy's movie, Trading Places, popped briefly into my head.
Going to my cardboard shack beneath a freeway bridge, I ripped off the ribbons and tore open the block-like package. "Maybe it's stuffed with hundred-dollar bills," I rasped as my body shivered in the chilly wind. I then cussed bitterly on seeing nothing but a photocopy of a thick, black-covered manuscript from a strangely-named Illuminati Society. As I started to chuck it into the oil-drum fire of my homeless buddies, the title caught my eye: Escape Crash Hell -- Enter Prosperity Heaven. My hand grasping the tome suddenly pulled it snug to my chest. Retreating several paces and sitting on a tipped-over shopping cart, I began reading. It was written in plain English, easy to read. Yet, I soon sensed that beneath those words was another language -- perhaps a coded language embedded throughout -- a language unknown on Earth. And, what about that other-worldly packaging with its hypnotically-fluttering ribbons? What about that video camera glittering in the sun? And, now, this exotic manuscript?
After a few minutes, my eyes were reading the words in an entirely different way. I was no longer reading in a normal, smooth-flowing analog manner. With words and phrases whizzing past me, I was reading in a digital manner. Then, as if composing on a harp my own concerto of riches, I began plucking golden nuggets from here and there on each page.
As the energy of my mind rushed across and reorganized countless bits of information into entirely new patterns -- a new life form began emerging -- a future-predicting life form was emerging that wove my mind throughout this world and then across space and time. I felt as if I were entering a secret society that ruled the cosmos.
Soon hip-hop, rap-like bullets began blitzing my mind. They seemed like ten-second miracles. Unanswerable, those miracles were changing the very organization of my mind to yield entirely different views of the past, present, and future. They were shattering the life-long corruptions embedded throughout my mind, body, and soul. On mentally assembling that matrix, my head filled with new knowledge -- never-before-glimpsed knowledge of the future. ...Why was I thinking about Einstein and Eminem? What was that video camera about?
A stunning thought electrified my mind: Is all written, spoken, and visual information throughout history up to this moment twisted into some bizarre non-reality? Does no one really know what he or she thinks, writes, or talks about? Is all human information twisted into losing illusions until read, heard, or seen through this different mind organization? Was Socrates right after all? Was he really the wisest person in Ancient Greece by realizing that he and everyone else on Earth actually knew nothing?
Why am I suddenly thinking like this? Why am I suddenly thinking that most Earthlings today are simply blowhards, never really knowing what they are talking about? ...Hey, I just realized that!
Whoa, had I stepped through a diaphanous membrane into that secret society hidden in an all-knowing parallel universe? Had I now surpassed Socrates and everyone else? For once in my life, I was taking my mind seriously -- very seriously. For the first time, I felt genuine power -- incredible, omnipotent power. Goose bumps rippled up and down my spine as that new force took control of my eyes in connecting seemingly random words and phrases with the future. Bits and pieces of future reality rushed into my brain, ripping apart the cobwebs that had atrophied my mind since childhood. Vivid pictures of the future began replacing hazy clouds of the past. ...Within hours, I began seeing new-color snapshots that uncannily predicted the future.
What was happening here? My closed circles of mystical thinking that yielded only the awful defeats of dishonesty and irrationality began disintegrating. Each bullet, each miracle yielded strange new information that connected into an open-ended matrix -- an ever-expanding matrix yielding and an ever-more-predictable future.
Ten-Second Miracles
Today, eighteen months later, I can hardly believe what has happened to me. Honesty, power, and profits flooded into my new life. First, I retrieved my wife. Under my new-mind aura, she transformed into an even-more-beautiful woman. As she read that manuscript, the same wealth, power, and love flowed to her. We became interlocked in an indescribably-rapturous romance. With our spreading sexual powers, we knew each could have as many romantic partners as we wanted, whenever we wanted. But, we chose each other. And, together, we grew increasingly rich and in love. ... The power, wealth, and happiness we gained -- awesome!
I was thinking in ways that I could never before imagine. Did the Wachowski brothers evolve their movie, The Matrix, from the same manuscript I had read? Had I taken the Red Pill for honesty? To whom do I owe this tremendous gift?
Tapping our arsenal of ten-second miracles, my wife and I soon became millionaires again -- this time permanent, earned millionaires. All this only months after I sat on that tipped-over shopping cart reading that manuscript. All this even as the stockmarket and the economy continued falling. ... How did this good fortune happen so quickly? It happened through rapid-fire, ten-second miracles streaming from that manuscript as silver bullets. Now, today, I can beckon those miracles and fire those bullets whenever needed, for whatever desired.
Sixteen months earlier, even with my hundred-plus-million dollars of unearned wealth, I was a doomed loser. Now, today, I'm a guaranteed winner. At first, I was stunned, not realizing what really happened to me. Now, I understand the rapid escalation of profitable predictions flowing from that trashcan. Still, why was a fraudulent loser like me chosen to receive this secret Illuminati-like power? ... I kept thinking about that video camera.
Was it amazing grace? Or was it like when mythical God chose murderer-and-rapist King David for some great Earthly task? ... If a loser like me can soar into a life of riches and romance, then any conscious person can do the same upon accessing and firing those ten-second-miracle bullets -- silver bullets of profits, power, and love -- all delivered through that other-world manuscript.
Discovering a Field of Diamonds
Who will discover that manuscript next? Who will seize his or her field of diamonds? I do not know those answers. Yet, I do know that whoever discovers that manuscript must, as I did, seize that opportunity with all his or her alacrity and might to reap clean-sweep riches -- to experience the ecstasy of transfiguring from a miserable loser into an unbeatable winner experiencing forever-young romance.
***
Thus, as Al's story ends, a new story begins for Earthlings. Confucius bowed deeply, Socrates laughed knowingly, Jesus wept joyously, and Muhammad raged violently.
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