i once had a friend whose dad had that real charlie munger energy. you know what i'm talking about, that bondholder swagger. he stood out, often forgetting to put pants on in front of guests, and would get into shouting matches with birds that would nurture a grudge each time that he lost. he resented the television, which he called the devil box, and yet could not free himself from its gravity. any child in the neighborhood could give you the measure of the man from a hundred paces, little eyes keen for one haunted by the mungie dungies.
it is only now, with the benefit of so many years' distance, that i see how these two men have always shared a common soul, aside from the fact that my friend's father never tried to persuade us to thank china for banning whatever he had read about with his breakfast. and so i do not expect that our sweet charlie, that poor mister munge, may never find it within himself to voice the unspeakable longing he feels toward the technology that so arrests him, but neither will i hold it against him, for sure as the graven marbles of praxiteles, TICK TOCK HERE COMES THE NEXT BLOCK
