The Crash

In Bartholomew Finkle, Promo by Bartholomew Finkle

Bartholomew Finkle stares out the window of his office on the campus of Cornell University.  Behind him, two men from The Nerd Squad are giving his computer an exam that would make a prostate doctor proud.  The device hadn’t worked since Rise of the Spartan and the ransomware attack.  He couldn’t trust the institution’s in-house IT team because of the information he had stored on the computer, hence the presence of The Nerd Squad.


The message had bugged him more than he would like to admit, but he pushed the three polarizing words to the back of his mind as he has other matters to worry about.

His first match with Old School Wrestling is around the corner and the excitement ripped through his nervous system, increasing his heart rate.  This was the moment he had been waiting for since he was knee high to a grasshopper.  The moment to unleash his inner being and set himself free.

Finkle backs away from the window and exits his office, leaving the two men to continue with their version of a rectal exam.  He couldn’t help but think about how his upcoming lecture for tomorrow’s class correlates with his first wrestling match.  Luckily for him, it was a lecture he had given in previous semesters, so he didn’t need his computer to aid him.


The Arcadian housing market crash ten years ago left the economy in shambles, the banks snatching up family homes like they were skittles.  Women and their children packed the welfare lines while the husband was out looking for a place to lay their heads at night.  It was truly a sight to behold and there was a time when an economic rebound seemed unlikely.

As replays his lecture notes through his brain, a constant thought keeps infiltrating.


“Dhalia Black…your life’s arc is eerily similar to the economic catastrophe that was the housing market crash,” Finkle loosens his bowtie as he walks the hallowed hallway.

“You started at the bottom of the totem pole in the journey of life.  Yet, you made it to the top by finding a benefactor that liked pretty women with a nice body.  Much like the fine folks of Arcadia that started at the bottom, but wanted better for themselves and the greedy banks were their conduit to a better life.

Yet, like people eventually realized they couldn’t afford their homes and the bank was nothing more than a greedy snake slithering in the grass, you soon realized your husband didn’t really want the best for you.  He just wanted to get his rocks off.  You were no longer the supply he demanded.”

Finkle stops at a bulletin board where some lifeless poster is hanging on for dear life, “You snapped, you lost your shit…you CRASHED!  However, instead of the soup kitchen, you found yourself locked in a cell.  Look at the bright you side, you get three meals a day and a roof over your head.”