Letter From Milo: Gary’s Greatest

September 16th, 2019

This guy, Stiglitz, is starting to piss me off. Just because he won a Nobel Prize in Economics he thinks he’s some kind of Big Shot. If you want to know the truth, the reason he turned to Economics was that he was a complete failure as a bookie in Gary, Indiana. All the good math students in Gary aspired to be bookies. Joe, unfortunately, couldn’t cut the mustard. When Bears and Bulls were mentioned, Stiglitz immediately thought of the stock market. What a huge waste of talent.

Anyway, the reason I’m pissed at Stiglitz is that he snubbed Benny Jay, my good friend and fellow blogger here at The Third City. You see, when we were having a raging debate on this site over who was Gary’s greatest writer, the esteemed Morry Frank, the immortal Monroe Anderson or the well-hung Milo Samardzija, Benny insisted on including Joseph Stiglitz in that distinguished group.

Benny even wrote a piece on the subject, saying that anyone who had been awarded a Nobel Prize should, at the least, be given some consideration for the title of Gary’s greatest scribe. After giving it a great deal of thought, while at the same time consuming a joint and a couple of bottles of wine, I grudgingly agreed.

After writing the piece, Benny decided to forward the article to Stiglitz, thinking that the “great” man would be flattered to be mentioned in the same breath with me, Morry and Monroe – at least that’s what Benny told me. But I know his real motivation. He just wanted to correspond with a Nobel Prize winner so that he could have something to brag about at fancy dinner parties.

“I just got an email from Joseph Stiglitz.”


“Joseph Stiglitz, the Nobel Prize winner in Economics and, arguably, Gary’s greatest writer.”

“You know the fucker?”

“Well, heh, heh, we’re not real close, but we do exchange emails on occasion.”

“What did he send you an email about?

“Nothing important. Just small talk. Mainly, we discussed, ah, the Bears and Bulls.”

Sadly, Stigliz never replied to Benny’s email. All he got was an automated response, saying that Stiglitz was available for personal appearances, speaking engagements, shopping center openings, Bar Mitzvahs, and throwing out opening-day baseballs. Further correspondence should be addressed to his agent.

That’s what you get for fucking around with Nobel Prize winners. Except for Saul Bellow and Mother Teresa, they’re mostly a bunch of elitist bastards with nothing going for them except a freakish sort of Rain Man intelligence.

By the way, did I mention that I hate the Nobel Prize? Well, not the Prize itself, just the man who endowed them, that low-life Swedish cocksucker, Alfred Nobel.

Alfred Nobel made his fortune by inventing dynamite, which, at the time, was the most powerful explosive known to man. Dynamite was responsible for killing untold numbers of human beings on battlefields all over the world. The death toll in World War I was appalling. Millions of people died in the last of Europe’s dynastic wars. And a huge amount of those deaths were directly attributable to Alfred Nobel’s diabolical invention.

I won’t even mention the toll that dynamite has taken on our planet. Check out some areas in Kentucky and West Virginia, where dynamite was used to level mountains and denude native forests in the frenzied search for coal. Some of those coal fields look like especially bleak parts of the moon.

After foisting dynamite on the human race, Alfred Nobel seemingly had an attack of remorse. He established the Nobel Prizes to salve his rotten conscience. And, get this, the most notable of the Prizes is the Nobel Peace Prize. What gall! What fucking nerve!

A peace prize from someone who has the blood of millions on his hands. Why not give Charles Manson a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame while you’re at it.

Just thinking about that damned old dynamiter put me in a terrible frame of mind. I had to talk to someone to calm me down. I called Big Mike, the Barn Boss of this scabby, debt-ridden outfit.

“Hey, Big Mike, it’s me, Milo.”

“Make it quick, asshole. I’ve got a blog to run.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ve got my blog ready for Monday.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s about the Nobel Prize.”

“What! Are you fucking nuts! Why are you writing about the Nobel Prize? Our numbers are down. You should be writing about porn, something that’ll bring our readers back.”

“Okay, I’ll write about porn next week. By the way, have you given any more thought to my request for a raise?”


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