Let me start by saying this: nothing says “America” like businesses salivating over policies before they’re even written. You’ve got CEOs clicking their heels like Dorothy in Oz because they think the wizard—sorry, Trump—is going to hand them a bag of golden bricks. If there’s a red carpet to greed, corporate America is rolling it out, baby.
Pro-business rules! What a lovely phrase. It’s like saying, “Here’s a buffet for billionaires, and guess what? You’re not invited!” Do you know what pro-business really means? It’s code for: Let’s make regulations disappear faster than my patience at an airport security line.
First up: deregulation. Oh, what a treat. Nothing screams “sensible governance” like stripping away protections that keep businesses from turning into a real-life version of Monopoly—where one guy owns everything, and the rest of us are stuck mortgaging Baltic Avenue. Regulations exist because, believe it or not, people with too much power tend to use it… poorly. Giving corporations free rein is like handing toddlers flamethrowers and saying, “Play nice!”
And let’s talk about those “pro-growth” incentives. Tax breaks, subsidies, loopholes so big you could drive a yacht through them—it’s a party for the rich, and the rest of us are just the unpaid caterers. Meanwhile, infrastructure’s falling apart, public schools look like ancient ruins, and healthcare is basically a subscription to “Good Luck.” But sure, let’s pour more money into CEO bonus pools. That’ll fix everything!
Next, the stock market. Oh, the stock market loves this. It’s buzzing harder than your uncle after his third eggnog. But here’s the dirty little secret: the stock market isn’t the economy. It’s a casino for people who wear suits to brunch. When the market goes up, it doesn’t mean you’ll suddenly be able to afford both rent and groceries this month. It means the people who were already winning the game just got a new yacht. Or a third mansion. Or, who knows, maybe a solid gold pogo stick. Whatever rich people are buying these days.
And then there’s the jobs argument. Oh, yes. The magic words: jobs will trickle down. You hear this every time big business gets a perk. Jobs will rain down like manna from heaven. Except they don’t. They trickle down like molasses on a cold day—slowly, painfully, and not nearly enough to matter. Meanwhile, wages stay flatter than a pancake in Kansas, and the cost of living skyrockets. But hey, at least the shareholders are happy.
Let’s not forget the environmental angle. Because nothing screams pro-business like pumping more smog into the air and pretending climate change is a bedtime story. Deregulation is basically a free pass for corporations to turn the planet into a giant trash heap. Oceans? Who needs them! Clean air? Overrated! It’s like watching someone burn down your house and then selling you a brochure for a tent.
Now, here’s the kicker: the optimism. Oh, the optimism. Business leaders are practically giddy. They think they’ve won the lottery, but let me tell you, the ticket’s fake, and the only prize is a bigger mess for the rest of us. They’re cheering for policies that prioritize profits over people, short-term gains over long-term stability, and, most importantly, themselves over everyone else.
So where does that leave us? Sitting in the cheap seats, watching the greatest show on earth—the Corporate Circus. Starring CEOs as tightrope walkers, politicians like Trump acting as clowns, and the rest of us as the poor saps cleaning up after the elephants. And make no mistake, there’s a lot of elephant dung to deal with.
But hey, who am I to complain? Maybe I should be optimistic too. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe deregulation won’t lead to another financial meltdown. Maybe trickle-down economics will finally work. And maybe pigs will fly, hell will freeze over, and I’ll get through a day without yelling at the news.
So here’s my advice: buckle up. Because when the pro-business train comes roaring through, it’s not stopping for anyone. And if you’re not a CEO or a shareholder, you’re not riding first class. You’re the coal they’re burning to keep it moving.
