As you all know, American universities are run and staffed by Marxists, hippies, beatniks, queers, and Frenchmen. From Sarah Lawrence to MIT, higher education is a hotbed of Blame-America-Firstism, Deleuzian rhizomatics, and quasi-pornographic ruminations on the Lesbian Body.
One American institution, however, has always served as a hard, rigid, jutting bulwark against the feminine softness and decadence of post-rationalist academia: The University of Chicago.
During the interminable anti-capitalist Bacchanalia of the Cold War era, UChi stood out like a gleaming, sanitary thermos in a yurt strewn with handmade wineskins.
No matter how disgustingly carnivalesque other schools became, with their toga parties and their human-rights petitions and their pleas for responsible condom use, UChi wasn’t afraid to “rock the boat” by providing serious, nicely dressed white men with a place to speak authoritatively about money.
And we’re all better for it.
If it hadn’t been for these nonconformist visionaries, and the countless political, industrial, media, and military leaders who worshiped them as gods, Jimmy Carter might well have made Ram Dass chairman of the Fed, and today’s currency values would be based on something totally intangible, like karma.