We at GefilteBacon believe that learning from one's mistakes is a virtue of man and nation alike. Even we have learned from our mistakes: when we posted that Big Macs are made from baby seal meat, we retracted it the minute McDonald's threatened legal action against us.*
So three years ago, when moribund regulation of the financial industry almost caused the global economy to melt faster than a Sno-Cone on a hot sidewalk, we assumed that there would be some serious soul-searching by advocates of less regulation.
Look, we at GefilteBacon support capitalism (please click on the links on the right - we get money when you do!). Open and fair competition is the way to go, but only if the referees have the tools they need to knock some heads around if need be. And the economic meltdown should have taught everyone the lesson that effective government oversight of 20-year old Russian computer whizzes inventing exotic financial instruments while snorting coke from the bosoms of New York hookers might be something we all could agree upon.
Man were we wrong!
Not only has the small government crowd declined to re-think its priorities, it has actually
doubled down on the "no regulation is good for America" line. They furiously block even the most meager attempt to give the referees a working whistle and accuse their opponents of being socialists. And so far it seems to be working: Wall Street is as strong as ever, and government spending (including, we assume, for financial oversight) is being slashed.
So if doubling down on a bad idea works for policymakers, does it work in all aspects of life?
This brings is to Bob, our head of accounts receivable. Bob and his wife hosted her family for a Fourth of July cookout a few weeks back. Bob fancies himself quite the barbecue king, and so, as he does every Independence Day, he sauntered out to the deck, doused the briquettes with lighter fluid, and lit up the coals.
Now Bob's wife, whom he lovingly refers to as the "Harpie" (at least we think it's loving), always hated the charcoal grill, because she feared that it would set their wood deck on fire. "Can't you buy a propane grill like everyone else on the block?" she'd always say. But Bob was adamant that charcoal was the way.
This particular Independence Day was quite dry and windy, and so Bob's wife was more - shall we say? - insistent than ever. She begged Bob not to light the coals; he told her to go away. She ordered their 15-year old son to stand guard over the barbecue and call 911 if anything looked amiss; Bob said he was in control, and that the boy should go back to playing his X-Box or getting high or whatever the hell that no-good punk did in his spare time. I can watch the grill myself, Bob said.
At this point, Bob was on his fifth hard lemonade of the afternoon and was busy arguing sports with his wife's brother, and so he failed to notice when the wind picked up and blew the flames into the wood railing.
Long story short: the deck burned to the ground, taking with it the barbecue, Bob's wife's prized geraniums and both of Bob's mother-in-law's eyebrows.
At this point, the obvious response from Bob should probably have been complete and utter contrition, and perhaps a re-thinking of his pro-charcoal ideology. But Bob thought about how conservatives had doubled down on their anti-regulation schtick and were getting away with it.
So the next day, when his wife suggested that maybe he should consider giving up grilling and stick to the kitchen, Bob laid into her. He called her an anti-barbecue extremist. He questioned loudly why his wife was trying to undermine the quality of the food they served to family and friends. He labeled her ideas as taste-killing reforms. He cited numerous studies he found on the web about how cooking food in a kitchen increases the risk of carbon monoxide poisoning and ant infestation. He dryly pointed out that perhaps oven-roasted meat was fine for Europe, but that's not how we do things in America.
With that, Bob marched out to the front porch, fired up the brand new barbecue his parents had bought for him, and triumphantly downed half a case of Sam Adams.
Then the front porch caught on fire and the entire house burned down. Bob's wife and kids are now staying at her sister's. Bob is sleeping on the GefilteBacon communal couch, taking showers in the men's room.
What are the lessons to be learned? First, don't barbecue on a wooden deck when the wind is blowing and your mother-in-law's waxed eyebrows are in close proximity.
And second, and perhaps more important, doubling down only seems to work if you're married to a Democrat.
* GefilteBacon wishes to state voluntarily, unequivocally and without condition or reservation that McDonald's hamburgers, including but not limited to the Big Mac, are not now, nor have they ever been in the past, nor will they ever be, nor has McDonald's, its affiliates, or franchisees in the United States and all other nations, ever so much as considered, nor will the aforementioned ever consider at any point or under any circumstances, known or unknown, in the future, made, processed with, transported, cooked, served or photographed for advertisements or displays of a digital or print nature, in whole or in part from the meat, tissues, blood, organs, skin, hair follicles, or other physical body parts, of baby seals or other aquatic mammals.
