Are we surprised?

I could not be more thrilled that those flying yellow tin cans have officially been grounded. When I saw the news that Spirit Airlines was shutting down operations, I was elated knowing my G650 would no longer have to share the skies with that airborne foreclosure property.

Those morons weren’t even hedging fuel costs. What exactly did they think was going to happen charging $11 to fly from LaGuardia to Fort Lauderdale? It was always going to shit the bed eventually. And thank the heavens it finally did.

Frankly, Spirit wasn’t an airline. It was a flying municipal bus system with worse lighting.

Now maybe — just maybe — we can restore some decorum to air travel. No more fist fights at the gate between two ladies in booty shorts and Mickey Mouse hoodies.

I want sport coats back. Penny loafers. A little class. My GrandPaPa used to fly Pan Am in a blazer and order a martini at cruising altitude while reading the Wall Street Journal. Now people are raw dogging four-hour flights to Orlando in SpongeBob pajama pants and open-toed sandals while eating Taco Bell before takeoff.

No more gate lice. No more public screaming matches over overhead bin space. No more emotional support ferrets.

Let’s bring back dignity to the skies.

*Note: This does not affect me one way or another as I will likely never have to fly commercial again. Due To My Role.

Normies are upset again…

PE Private equity continues to prove that there is alpha everywhere if you’re disciplined enough to see it. While others saw freezing cold hockey rinks filled with screaming children and emotionally unstable parents spending $11 on stale pretzels, my dear friend Murry Gunty saw infrastructure. He saw recurring revenue. He saw a fragmented market desperate for consolidation.

That’s called vision.

Now, I did hear there’s been some blowback because parents are upset it costs money to attend games and that youth sports are becoming “too expensive.” To that I simply say: maybe you have an income problem.

Nobody complains when Four Seasons charges $38 for a turkey club or when Aspen ski passes hit five figures for a family of four. But the second someone applies institutional discipline and operational excellence to youth hockey, suddenly everyone loses their minds.

Youth sports were always expensive. The difference now is someone intelligent finally monetized the ecosystem correctly.

Here’s what went down:

A lot of people have asked why Wifey was unable to attend the Kentucky Derby this year. It goes back to Derby 2025.

Wifey had just polished off her 11th mint julep when I saw that look in her eyes. The one she gets where it appears half her brain is asleep and the other half is preparing for a felony.

Next thing I know she’s climbed the rail and is sprinting alongside the horses.

And I’ll say this — for a woman in a Zimmerman dress and Chanel wedges — she was MOVING. Honestly one of the more impressive displays of lateral quickness I’ve seen in recent memory.

Things escalated quickly from there.

At one point she slipped in the mud, attempted to “mount” what I believe was a security golf cart, then fully passed out face down on the track while screaming “I OWN A HORSE.”

Security dragged her off the grounds by the ankles while several hedge fund managers recorded the entire incident.

We were spoken to quite sternly afterward.

Churchill Downs ultimately issued Wifey a full one-calendar-year ban from the property.

Obviously not ideal from a networking standpoint, but proud to report she’s doing much better now and has transitioned almost exclusively to espresso martinis.