I see one of my fellow bloggers has cast aspersions on me. Hold up, girlfriend. There's a problem with your deconstruction of my lexiwhoozits. I'M NOT REAL. I'm pretty sure I'm a fabrication of the newspaper business, one of several These Tough Economic Times archetypes which help illustrate TTET for the dummies of the world. You know, all those people who still read newspapers. These fakey characters are still in the formation stage but so far we have:
The Sad Businessman/woman
I used to have one of those jobs where I made money off things that weren't real, like pork bellies or housing prices. Now I don't have a job and I'm all pitiful about it and some guy just came to my support group meeting and took all the doughnuts.
The Recessionista
I am one of those ladies who used to buy all the clothes (note: those ladies are also fictitious characters created by Candace Bushnell), and then my rich businessman boyfriend or husband lost his job and became sad, and then the New York Times wrote some article about how me and my girlfriends HAAAYYYY have a support group, and a lot of people got annoyed.
The Human Litter-Haver
I had eight fucking babies. I am mentally ill and have had some bad plastic surgery on my face parts. There is no way I can be a real person.
The Working Class Person
I am the guy/gal actually getting really fucked by these tough economic times. I didn't have much money to begin with, and I didn't make any stupid investments or purchases. The sad businessmen are taking all my janitorial jobs.
Oh wait, the newspapers don't actually write any articles about that guy. His descent from just above the poverty line to way below the poverty line isn't very entertaining. MORE MONSTERS HAVING LITTERS OF HUMANS PLEASE!
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Touche!
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