Hofstra University senior Miles Franklin has spent the last 3 years studying finance, economics, business, and management, an ambitious undertaking which Franklin himself admits he had little choice in making. “It always seemed like the pragmatic thing to do,” Franklin said, in between a Winter-session seminar on Keynesian policy and a meeting with academic advisement. “It seemed like the only reasonable choice, considering how shitty they make being poor look on TV.”
Franklin, a Long Island native, has more recently expressed thoughts of regret about pursuing his undergraduate education at Hofstra’s Zarb School of Business, noting that there are “far more revolutionary leftists on this campus than I could have ever imagined,” and that his “persistent attempts to Red Pill fence-sitters using the Facebook meme group” have led all of them to now know his face and name. “It also doesn’t help,” he added, “that most of them grew up in my neighborhood.”
Franklin has always been excited by the idea of contributing, both directly and indirectly, to the perpetuity of class disparity, a fact largely made evident by his love of Diplo, as well as by his face.
“It never really mattered to me who was getting left behind or outright crushed” he said. “Prison inmates, the working poor, immigrants, women, anyone I could use as a pawn in the game of life. I don’t hate any of these groups; I just really love the markets. And if there’s one thing the markets have taught me, it’s that women love money. Probably because of some of the stuff I mentioned earlier. The wage gap or whatever.”
Franklin’s primary concern has shifted, though. Where life was once something of a competition between himself and his friends to see who could successfully trade Bitcoin for something more than handsex, the frightening reality of what’s soon to come has forced Franklin to acknowledge the rather charmed nature of his existence up until now.
“The oppressed are slowly but surely realizing that violence will soon be the only answer left in combatting some of the sweet shit I have going on. And who can really blame them? I’m not an idiot -- I mean, clearly: I’m co-chair of the second largest business frat on campus. You’d have to be in Beta Alpha Psi to not realize that when the streets inevitably run red with the blood of bankers, it will be me and my family who are torn from our homes and hung for our greed. It’s plain as day. Still a bummer, though, obviously.”
Despite much of the doom and gloom rhetoric that's been making its way through the bureaucratic channels of his family’s estate, Franklin is courageously still able to find humor in a time when he should almost surely be hiding in some kind of underground bunker.
“The ironic thing about all this, is that the same semi-automatic rifles AntiFa will be using to execute us in their Wall Street/Oak Street firing squads, are the ones my father lobbied for years to have readily available to the public. Of course, that was back when we sorta figured we’d have all the guns for ourselves; though we probably should have known the tide was turning when those snowflakes started bludgeoning skinheads with bricks and barbed-wire bats.” As Franklin bid farewell to us, a too-large briefcase in one hand and an electrified longboard in the other, he was sure to make no qualms about the impending class-war to come.
“When the time comes that the name of the game is simply ‘kill or be killed’,” he said, “I won’t feel one ounce of guilt about gunning down Zumiez employees from atop daddy’s turret. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in business school, it’s that we’re never really the ones pulling the trigger. We are, at best, enacting the will of something far greater. The invisible hand of the market. Fuckin’ Adam Smith, dude.”