Fred Reed has a bug up his ass about people with a surfeit of money running things, including the rest of us. As usual, when Fred has a bug up his ass, he expresses it rather well:
A rich friend once invited me to his house in the West End of Richmond, Virginia. At supper when you wanted the mashed potatoes, you didn’t say, “Pass the potatoes, please.” No. You rang a little bell and a black guy came out and held the bowl while you scooped potatoes. It was hugely embarrassing. I suspect that he felt like a fool. I know I did. I wanted to scream, “What’s wrong with these people?” and go have a beer with the black guy.Posted by Craig Ceely at January 3, 2007 11:51 AM
It doesn’t matter whether an investment banker has seen a barracks or a pair of work gloves. It bothers me to have policy made, and wars started, by those who have never seen the country they rule, or the world they play with, who have never had to make a living, to carry a rifle or worry about snipers, who have never run the back alleys of Taipei or anywhere else and, god help us, can’t serve their own potatoes.