Suze Orman, Subprime Whore

Mr. Feelings feels outrage. Outrage at the subprime mortgage implosion. Outrage that our elected officials and their laissez-faire greed allowed this economic apocalypse to come to fruition. But most importantly, I'm outraged at the one person who could have made a difference, but instead of intervening, she played her metaphoric fiddle while Rome burned.

The following is an open letter to my onetime lover and full time bitch, Suze Orman.

Dear Suze,

I haven't heard from you in a while. Six months to be exact. You know... the night I made you a woman and you told me you loved me and that in the morning you'd go with me to look for an antique fauteuil to go with my collection, but then you left while I was asleep and never called me again. You remember that? Yeah, didn't think you would.

Well, anyway, that's not the reason I'm writing. I'm writing because I'm knee deep in debt, and it's all your fault. Remember how during that magical night we spent exploring each other's bodies, I'd asked you for advice on my variable rate home loan, and you said that I shouldn't rush to refinance and lock in a fixed rate because the fed would probably slash interest real soon? Or did you forget that along with the rest of the passion and ecstasy?

In case you forgot, I'm gonna make like Alanis because I'm here to remind you of the mess you left when you went away. That's right, Suze. You, you, you oughta know. You oughta know how Mr. Feelings is about to be kicked out of his condo because he can no longer afford to make payments. I tried finding another roommate to cover expenses, but the building co-op nixed the idea of cramming a third person in a two bedroom. I'm totally cool with sharing my room, but they say it would lower the value of their units. Elitists jerks.

Suze, I gave you something special. I was there for you in a time of need. I know you felt the connection, and that scared you, but don't hide from me any longer. I need you. I really need you. Just help me consolidate some of this debt. In exchange, I'm willing to sleep with you one more time. I've got massage oils and some candles and shit. It's gonna be good. My roommate is working nights, so he doesn't get back until, like, four in the morning. That's a lot of love making.

Think about it.

Sincerely,
Mr. Feelings