At the end-of-year board meeting for ScrooMoCo, Chairman Scrooge delivered the yearly financial projections. “We’ve slashed our workforce and are earning record profits this year!”

A great cheer arose from the board.

Suddenly, the room fell into darkness and the ghostly apparition of an older man in a suit, covered in chains, appeared above the long conference table.

“My God, that’s our dead founding partner, Jacob Marley!” Scrooge cried.

“ScrooMoCo Board members,” the spirit moaned. “You’re all greedy bastards who’ve caused great economic imbalance in the world and caused terrible needless pain to the masses. When you die, you will suffer the same fate as me if you don’t repent and stop your heinous actions now. These are the chains I forged in life and believe me, they freakin’ clash with my Gucci and make getting spa treatments a bitch.”

Several board members gasped.

“You will be visited by three spirits tonight. Heed their warning or you will suffer fashion humiliation for all eternity!”

Marley vanished and the lights returned.

Chairman Scrooge snorted. “Cratchit, call maintenance and get the electrical fixed PRONTO.”

Bob Cratchit, his secretary, winced. “ But we fired the maintenance staff and outsourced the work to India.”

“Then you do it!”

The overhead lights flickered. A great crash of thunder made all the board members jump. Standing on the conference table before them was Bing Crosby.

“Hello Board Members, I’m the spirit of Christmas Past and this number goes out to all you greedy robber barons,” he announced and then broke out singing I’m Dreaming of a Rich, White and Male Christmas.

The board members clapped. “Do Swinging on a Star!”

“No, I’m here to show you how it used to be, before all you mega-corporations took over the Earth. Behold, the past!” Bing pointed to the wall behind the table.

A large movie screen appeared showing black and white footage of American factory workers on assembly lines. A happy family of six eating at a backyard barbecue. A doctor making a house call. Kids walking into shining new schools. A young couple buying their first house. A stay-at-home mother working in her kitchen of gleaming appliances.

“My doctor still makes house calls,” a board member huffed.

“Yes, and my children attend schools just like that one. Nothing has changed.”

Bing shook his head. “That used to be the life for 99% of our population. Not the 1% it is today.”

“It’s their fault for being poor,” sneered a board member.

“I give up. And now, I’d like to introduce that man-about-town, that haunting spirit you’ll all come to know and love, the Ghost of Christmas Present. Take it away, President Barack Obama.”

Bing disappeared and in his place stood Obama.

The board members screamed in fear. “A Democrat!”

“But he’s not dead,” one argued.

“Hey folks, easy does it. I’m just trying to get re-elected and this seemed like a great way to get my message across to you since none of you pay attention to what I say anymore.” He gestured to the back wall. “Behold, the present!”

A succession of film clips depicted gigantic crowds of protesters in Madrid, London, New York and Oakland. A close-up on the signs revealed the messages: We are the 99%. Corporations Must Atone. Tax the 1%. Make Jobs Not War on Middle Class and Working Poor. The images shifted to a school kid reading a torn book and sitting at a broken desk next to a bucket catching a leak in a dingy classroom. Hungry children and mothers standing in long lines at soup kitchens. Thousands of unemployed crowding job fairs. A row of boarded-up houses with brown lawns and foreclosure signs. A homeless encampment under a freeway.

“Glad I’m not poor,” commented a board member.

“Hear, hear.”

“Me, too,” said Obama. “But if we don’t change things and right now, there isn’t going to be any rich people because the poor will rise up and kill us all. Didn’t you guys study history? Remember Marie Antoinette? While you guys sip Cristal with me, people are starving out there. People can’t afford health care, homes or educations. Over the past fifteen years, you bastards have taken ALL the money. You weren’t satisfied with an extra 50% or even 75% more money than your workers, you had to give yourselves 298% raises while they only got 4%. You blew it. And your iPods and Prozac and beer and NFL championships aren’t distracting them anymore. They’re onto our game.”

A board member yawned. “I’m sorry, did you just say something? I wasn’t listening.”

“Forget it. Here’s your final spirit visitor for the day, the Ghost of Christmas Future.”

Obama vanished and a sweet little Mexican girl in pigtails and a pink dress stood on the table.

All the members shrieked in terror. “An illegal immigrant!”

The little girl nodded. “You should be afraid. Shortly, I’m going to be the majority. And you’re totally screwing me over right now. Behold, the future!”

A post-Apocalyptic landscape appeared onscreen. Mansions burned in the background. In the foreground, well-dressed people ran from pitchfork-wielding crowds. The camera panned over a burnt and cracked sign: Town of Atherton.

The board members gasped, horror-struck.

“Act now or soon it will be too late,” the little girl said and vanished.

The screen disappeared and the lights came on.

Scrooge frowned. “Wow. That was frightening.” He rubbed his chin. “So should we pay our fair share of taxes, hire more people, stop outsourcing, help rebuild America’s infrastructure, improve our education system, overhaul our healthcare system and hold big banks accountable for their crimes?”

Silence fell over the room.

One board member held up his hand. “How about we give ourselves big raises and take the rest of the money now while we still can?”

Scrooge’s eyes lit up. “All those in favor?”

“Aye!” the board members replied in unison.

Bob Cratchit muttered under his breath, “Goosed again.”

©2011, Janet Periat

If you haven’t noticed by now, America, and California especially, are in a steep decline. The systematic decimation of public education, rampant unemployment, and the continued government fatwa on the middle class have changed our lives. Most of us are scared. Many of us have lost our homes and savings. Luckily, however, we are still alive. And despite the hell, we want to have a good time. And as I have discovered, you don’t need a lot of money to have fun. Below find some helpful suggestions on how to make the most out of the end times.

Number One: Go off-roading—right outside your door. You don’t need to find open spaces in the country anymore. Most of our highways and city streets provide enough rough terrain to satisfy the most avid daredevil. Those bus-sized potholes provide perfect jumps for dirt bikers. Hit them fast enough and you can leap cars instead of splitting lanes. Not into motorcycles? Take your Jeep out onto the highway and go crazy. Hint: don’t forget your neck brace.

Number Two: Create collages and artwork with your collection notices and mortgage default papers. Express your outrage and enrich the world at the same time. Make a Statue of Liberty out of your old property tax bills. For those in warmer climes, build a paper snowman at Christmas from your court documents. Or if you want to earn some money, fashion a Virgin Mary out of your unemployment check stubs, then call up The Enquirer and report that the stubs assembled themselves overnight after you prayed for a job that actually paid enough to feed your family. Then set up a viewing in your living room. Ka-ching!

Number Three: Watch your neighbor’s TV. With the advent of the new giant flatscreen TVs, this is easier than it used to be. All you need to do is walk around at night and find a neighbor who watches the programs you enjoy. And one who likes to keep their drapes open. Best choice is an older neighbor or one who is in a rock band—preferably both—people who are hearing impaired and must turn up the volume of the TV to deafening levels. Bring a folding chair, a cooler of cheap beer and a big bag of popcorn, then stake out a nice place on their lawn and you’re set. The neighbor pays for the electricity, the cable, and the pay-per-views. Hint: buy a universal remote control. When your neighbor leaves to retrieve more snacks, surf away. Important: remember the station they were watching or you might blow your cover.

Number Four: Hang out in comfy air-conditioned bank waiting areas. Banking institutions were the ones who took your house away from you. They owe you. Normally, they have TVs and water coolers. Many serve coffee. One bank I know serves espresso and cookies on the last Friday of the month. Bring your book, let the kids make forts out of the chairs and have a nice day. When they ask why you’re there, tell them you’re waiting for someone. Which is the truth. You’ve been waiting for someone in the banking industry to wake up and stop foreclosing on hardworking people’s homes. Hint: make sure to rotate banks so the bank employees don’t become too suspicious. Unless you want to make a statement. Then bring your tent and put up a sign that says: Camp Foreclosure. They may throw you in jail, but at least you’d have a solid roof over your head and guaranteed food.

Number Five: Use public spaces as your new parkland. Since many of the state and city parks have closed, we must be creative. We can all learn a lot from the homeless. Landscaped medians on thoroughfares, courthouse employee picnic areas, lawns in front of city hall, there are many areas open to the public that can serve as a great place to get outside and enjoy the sunshine. Hint: if you dress nicely, you can hang out anywhere.

Number Six: Get advice from your kids on creating new family games. After all, this is the generation that plays games at school like: Throw The Deflated Ball From The 70s Through The Broken Window, Name That Mold Strain, and Dodge The Falling Ceiling Tiles.

Number Seven: Go to a place with lots of employees and pretend you work there. This shouldn’t be too hard because everyone at large businesses is pretending to work. The trick is getting inside the buildings. Attach your picture to a white plastic card, add some generic text above it, laminate the whole thing, and secure it to your coat. When you approach the door, simply follow people inside. Then hang out in the break room or around the water cooler and strike up conversations. Drink the coffee, eat the doughnuts and surf the net in empty cubicles. Watch movies in conference rooms. Scavenge for lunch meeting leftovers. Lounge on the nicely manicured lawns in the outside picnic areas. Warning: at some point, people may notice you never do anything and you may be mistaken for a manager. Be prepared to say things like: “Just gotta push through the end of the quarter.” “Put that on the agenda for the afternoon meeting.” “I’ll take that to the higher ups.” You could do this for months and no one would catch on. Hint: to be invisible, men should wear khakis and a light blue button-down shirt. For women, a dark skirt or pants and a white top.

Number Eight: Discover creative new ways to work out. Just because you can’t afford your gym membership, and all the recreation areas are closed, doesn’t mean you can’t get some great exercise. Try the 5K Run From The Debt Collector. Or play Hide and Seek with the Process Server. How about Chase the American Dream? That game will ensure you a long run with no end in sight.

©2011, Janet Periat