I bet Paul Krugman gets laid all the time

As it sits right now, the Dow is up 158 points on the day, to 7,908.07. That number has changed 12 times since I put the period at the end of that sentence, and it will fluctuate roughly 36 million more times before I finish typing this.

It’s up. It’s down. You see, the stock market is like a woman, and a very fickle one, at that. She’s up one minute, paying dividends, smiling and making sandwiches. The next minute, she’s down. Ruining your life. Squandering your fortune. Not smiling or making sandwiches.

But it’s not totally like a woman. You don’t fuck the stock market; the stock market fucks you.

Lately, though, after it dipped below 7,000, the market has been rallying — and, like me, doing a lot less fucking these days. I keep hearing that this gain is due to the more positive news we’ve been hearing lately. The truth is, nobody can tell for sure.

The economy is weird. I don’t completely understand it — again, like a woman. I know it has certain parts, and those parts interact with each other in some mysterious way. But I don’t have a goddamn clue as to how those interactions create noticeable, outward reactions.

For me, the current stock market surge is like the female orgasm. Something caused it. It may have been something we did. It may have just been an accident. Or there may be divinity at work. The one thing we can be sure of is that the way we caused this one, definitely won’t work next time.

The only real thing I understand about the economy is that consumer confidence is huge. It’s flowers, chocolates and diamonds all rolled into one.

If we believe the economy is doing well, then it its. It’s the placebo effect. I believe this shitty male enhancement pill works, so it works. That might not be the best pharmaceutical example, actually. But the underlying philosophy is accurate.

I wish more things in my life worked like consumer confidence and the economy. I think I should be having sex with Scarlett Johansson, so I’m actually having sex with Scarlett Johansson. I think I really should be six inches taller, so I grow six inches. I think I should have enough hair to finally make paying $15 for a haircut actually seem like a sensible thing to do, and, voila, my hair starts growing again.

All of that stuff may just be a collection of pipe dreams, but there is one case where something in my life mimics the relationship between consumer confidence and the economy. And, again, it’s the female orgasm. I may not understand them, but when I think I gave a girl an orgasm, I gave a girl an orgasm. And that’s the truth — as long as you don’t ask her opinion on the matter.

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St. Patrick is rolling over in his grave

Creep uses St. Patty’s Day to inappropriately touch coworkers

DENVER — Picking up on an elementary school tradition, 46-year-old IT manager Michael Smith pinched every person in his office building that wasn’t wearing green today.

“He was pinching women and men, managers and secretaries, everyone,” Susan Green, a secretary at Smith’s office, said. “It was really inappropriate. Like, it wasn’t even really pinching sometimes. It was almost like Mike just wanted to touch people.”

Green said she was one of well over a hundred coworkers to be “pretty much groped” by Smith under the guise of the childish St. Patrick’s Day tradition.

“I told him I don’t have to wear green, because my name is Green,” she said. “He didn’t buy it, and sort of pinched, sort of caressed, my upper arm.”

Smith, who is not even Irish at all, claims he was just protecting the sacred holiday of St. Patrick’s Day.

“OH! Looks like you aren’t wearing green,” he said. “I’ve gotta pinch ya. Stay still, or I’ll pinch ya twice.”

Jim Powell — a coworker of Smith’s for the last four years and a victim of today’s touching spree — said this year’s incident is just the latest in a long line of inappropriate holiday behaviors Smith has exhibited over the six years since his wife divorced him.

“It’s not just the pinching on St. Patrick’s Day,” Powell said. “Mike goes around on Christmas with a mistletoe hat, trying to solicit kisses from all the women in the office. He even hopped around the office wearing bunny ears for Easter. At least he didn’t molest anyone that day — I don’t think he did, anyway.”

Green and Powell said they have no explanation for why Smith hasn’t been fired for sexual harassment yet.


Millions of fake Irish ignore tradition, look forward to getting hammered

BOSTON — Green. Shamrocks. Shitty, fake Irish accents. Leprechauns. The luck of the Irish.

They’re all associated with St. Patrick’s Day. But it isn’t any of those things that turn most Americans Irish on March 17.

It’s the drinking.

Several million Americans will become fake Irishmen today as an excuse to get drunk on a weeknight and puke rivers of regurgitated green beer into toilets all across the US.

“Woohoo! Let’s get drunk,” Jean LaPierre said. “Green beer. Irish Car Bombs. Let’s do it!”

LaPierre, a 22-year-old college student of French descent, says he and some friends are planning to “get shitfaced on Guinness” before going to the party at his local pub.

This kind of celebration is commonplace, especially among those who are self-identified heavy drinkers. And there is no ancestrial background that seems immune.

Abraham Meinkewitz, a 29-year-old Jewish sales rep from Queens, said he and his friends were going to drink Jameson’s “until we see leprechauns.”

“I’m probably just going to listen to some Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly while I drink some green beer,” said Ben Washington, a 24-year-old Black graduate student at Brown University. “Who knows, I may even watch The Departed, or just try to get into a drunken brawl.”

Although most Irish Americans seem to not care much about all the fake Irish people running around, some are annoyed by the fact that a lot of their non-Irish neighbors don’t understand the holiday.

“It started out as a religious feast,” Mick O’Sullivan said. “Now, all these morons do is go around pinching each other on the ass, drinkin’ too much and pukin’. The goddamn lightweights are sullying our sacred day.”

O’Sullivan said he isn’t too happy that people get to choose when to be Irish.

“No one wants to deal with the red hair,” O’Sullivan said. “And nobody wanted to be Irish when there was a potato famine. But now that being Irish is synonymous with being drunk as hell, well, now everyone’s on board.”

He said he’s not angry, but O’Sullivan does have a St. Patrick’s Day message for the fake Irish out there.

“Don’t be comin’ ‘round and talkin’ to me in a fake Irish accent,” he said. “And the next one of you goddamn fake Irishman that says ‘Top o’ the mornin’ to ya’ or calls me a ‘lad’ is gonna get his ass beat.”