Mr. Peep Responds to "The Gaslighter's Economy"

"We're the 99%, our lives are not for you to spend

We're the 99%, and we resent this exploitation.

There's more to life than war and greed

Imagine what the world could be, without financial slavery,

and 99% agree!"

Every now and then, a kernel of wisdom comes along, one that makes you think, “Aha, you've really nailed it here!” That's my immediate reaction to a recent post by Peep, via the Five Hundred Pound Peep blog (“The Gaslighter's Economy”), while looking up resources for posts of my own – an executive summary here, an in-depth analysis over there, that sort of thing, the usual stuff that you're seeking to help whatever case you're making.

Initially, I'd thought about folding Peep's post into one of my own, on a related subject. After reading it more closely, I'm going to focus on it, front and center, there's a lot to unpack here, so I'm not going to try and address all of it – you can read the whole thing for yourself, right here:

https://fivehundredpoundpeeps.blogspot.com/2025/05/the-gaslighters-economy.html

But Peep's post is notable for several reasons, starting with the simple question that's raised, about three-quarters of the way down: “There is so much gaslighting. Why can't Americans and America be honest about how widespread the poverty and suffering are getting out there? If you don't admit a problem it never will be fixed.”

Bingo! If you a glimpse into why the Democrats botched the Trump-slaying assignment in 2024, there it is. I can remember banging my head against the wall in frustration – figuratively speaking, of course – at how long Team Biden dragged out any acknowledgment of the suffering that so many millions of Americans were going through (and continue to go through). “Hey, look at these graphs,” the President and his advisers said, over and over. “Isn't it just great? Unemployment's never been lower!"

To which I'd cite the joke making the rounds – “Yes, Mr. President. I'm glad that you've created so many new jobs. I have three of them. And I still can't afford the food on my table.” Ba-boomp! But seriously, folks, I just flew in from my third job at the gas station, and boy, are my arms – and feet – tired. You know the drill, you know the rest.

Still, if the donkey party wants to get back into contention, it'll have to jettison the C-suite narrative – the one that's traditionally focused on C-suite narratives of how the rich are doing. As long as the stock market's roaring, everyone still has those three crappy jobs, and spending an appropriate level of cash – not because they want to, mind you – then all's well and good in the world, even when common sense should tell us otherwise.

After all, there's nothing like the voice of experience, right? As Peep states, life feels cold and unforgivng when you're struggling with basic needs that so many others take for granted:

 “Surviving as a poor person meant a ton of gaslighting, everyone was out to rip these people off and tell them no and shut the door in their face. I noticed transportation for many of them was a constant problem. It was for me too in past times. I hated big cities because everything was spread out and hard to get to.”

This statement is one of many that strikes a chord with me. Like Peep, I've turned back on big cities for the slower, more sedate life of “the provinces,” as I jokingly call them – because the life that seemed so glittering for the likes of Oprah, for instance, or the Smashing Pumpkins frontman, Billy Corgan – or, “Silly Organ,” as my friends and I called him – would always remain painfully out of reach for me.

“How did you know?” you may ask. Well, my daily grind told what I needed to know, because there were no good jobs – or even decent, or barely tolerable ones, for that matter – they were all way out in the suburbs, where the so-called “best and brightest” lived, where major streets ran interminably for miles in any direction – and few bus lines, if any, ran out there.

That's how the upper crust liked it. As long as the riff-raff – as they saw it – couldn't get to them, life made sense. Then and now, they owned battleship-sized cars to tool around in, that – even in the '90s – cost as much as the down payment on a house. Life was fine for them.

As for me, I wasn't so lucky. I owned a couple of banged-up beaters that filled in my transport gaps for a time – six or so months here, a couple months there – till they inevitably gave up the ghost, forcing me to use the bus.

Nothing triggered more teeth-grinding hatred for me than the time I'd spend – 45 minutes back and forth, every day – after I'd sacrificed another eight-hour day, helping my employers get fatter and richer, while I remained poor as a church mouse, since the endless commute ensured a 10-hour day for me, every day.

At night, I'd crank out freelance magazine articles, which helped somewhat – because I simply couldn't count solely on my pitiful office schlub job to fill all the economic blanks – though, of course, that money disappeared, too. It just took a bit longer.

I had to be content with my schedule, carefully calibrated at 7.5 hours a day – to avoid straining my bosses' ever-bulging budget – and the occasional 50- or 75-cent raise they occasionally thew my way. The jobs didn't pay enough back then, and sure as hell don't pay anywhere nearly enough now – or, as Peep points out, “There is almost an absurdist thing in play now. Where they tell people to pay bills they know will be impossible to them.”

Not only does this include the major bills that get so much attention, like rent, utilities and so on, but all the various scams and side deals characterize so much of big city life – like application fees, another bit of detail in Peep's post that strikes a chord with me. I shelled them out, too, from time to time, and they proved another reminder of my nether existence, like all those never-ending bus rides, to the suburban enclave where I would never live.

These days, the racket seems slicker and shinier than ever, though the outcome is basically the same, as Peep points out: “I noticed since the '90s, now they charge 80-100. Who has that kind of money? One lady described paying out hundreds of dollars, while she got turned down for apartments. The system is designed to make you lose.”

Indeed. Even now, looking back on it all, I find it hard to shake off the surreal stench of my whole experience – going to a job that barely paid the bills, so I could spend what little I made, on food and items that I could barely afford, and the extortionate monthly rent that hoovered up whatever else I had left.

After three years of this grind, I finally came to my senses, re-connected with some of my old media contacts in a fly-over state, and was able to escape back there, though that job would eventually sour, too, of course. A system overseen by control freak psychopaths running dysfunctional entities is hardly fated to produce great results, is it?

Take it from me, any greatness that happens in such environments is purely accidental, which is why it's not difficult for me to relate to this observation from Peep:

“I was able to keep the rent paid on time because of disability. Jobs aren't so stable now, they disappear in a heartbeat and then people lose their homes. I believe the job system in America needs to be changed. Jobs shouldn't be so easy to lose. We need complete changes to the job system. Jobs no longer pay the bills.”

There you have it. No elaborate studies needed, like the $20 million the Democratic Party frantically shelled out during the 2024 campaign, trying to figure out why they weren't connecting with youth – it's the stuff of a Monty Python skit, if John Cleese and friends were still making the rounds, that is. No elaborate statements, no secret handshakes, no unwritten codes left to decipher, as Peep has pretty well nailed it.

Until we get around to the basic point – that, if man is a social animal, which means enforcing some sort of social contract, to work out the best ways of dealing with one another, and therefore, making all of us our brother's keeper – things aren't likely to get much better, in the short term, anyway. How do I know? Because I still bear the scars of all those endless bus rides to prove it, with nothing to show for it. It still makes me shudder, to think about it. – Mr. Peep