Every few years, the collective consciousness of the human race decides to pretend that gravity is a suggestion and that basic arithmetic is a form of hate speech. We call these periods 'economic booms,' but they are, in reality, nothing more than mass delusions fueled by cheap credit and the desperate, pathetic hope that we can all become millionaires without ever producing anything of value. Eventually, the bill comes due. The bubble doesn’t just leak; it ruptures with the grace of a bloated carcass in the midday sun. And while the so-called 'experts'—those over-caffeinated gargoyles on financial news networks—scramble to look at 'valuations' and 'price-to-earnings ratios,' they are missing the obvious. If you want to know when the party is over, stop looking at the spreadsheets and start looking at the stupidity of the crowd.

The real indicators of a bursting bubble have nothing to do with math and everything to do with the frantic, sweat-palmed behavior of the average idiot. When Google searches for 'how to buy [insert worthless digital asset here]' are replaced by 'how to file for bankruptcy' or 'is a kidney worth more than a tech stock,' you know the end is nigh. We have reached a point where the common man, an individual who likely struggled to pass high school geometry, suddenly believes he has discovered a secret loophole in the laws of reality. When your Uber driver starts giving you advice on leveraged derivatives, it isn't a sign of an inclusive economy; it’s a sign that the cliff is approaching and everyone is stepping on the gas. The search engine is the ultimate confessional of the modern fool. It tracks the exact moment the greed-induced dopamine hit wears off and the cold, shivering withdrawal of reality begins.

Then there are the fund managers—those perfumed parasites who spend their lives moving other people’s money around like a high-stakes game of Three-Card Monte. These are the high priests of our secular religion of growth. They tell us that 'this time is different' while charging a two-percent management fee to lead the herd off a precipice. But watch closely when the firings start. When the giants of Wall Street and the City of London begin tossing their portfolio managers into the street like moldy bread, it’s not an act of fiscal responsibility. It is a sacrifice to the gods of the market. It’s an admission that the lie has become too expensive to maintain. They aren't firing these people because they were wrong—everyone was wrong—they’re firing them to distract the shareholders from the fact that the entire building is on fire. It is the corporate equivalent of throwing a virgin into a volcano, hoping the lava will stop rising. It won't, but it makes for a great press release.

The political response to these cycles is, as always, a masterclass in performative idiocy. The Left will emerge from their ivory towers to decry the 'unregulated greed' of the system, conveniently ignoring the fact that they were perfectly happy to watch their pension funds swell during the mania. They want the gains of the gambling den with the morality of a monastery, a contradiction that only a sociology major could find coherent. On the other side, the Right will mumble some nonsense about 'market corrections' and 'the invisible hand,' as if the hand isn't currently reaching into the taxpayer’s pocket to fund the next inevitable bailout. They worship the market until it decides they are losers, at which point they become the most enthusiastic socialists you’ve ever met. Both sides are fundamentally the same: terrified children masquerading as leaders, hoping the voters won't notice that the Emperor isn't just naked, he’s also bankrupt.

We have seen this play before. From the tulip bulbs of the 17th century to the dot-com trash of the 90s, the script never changes because the actors are the same. We are a species of gambling addicts who have convinced ourselves we are 'investors.' We mistake luck for genius and volatility for opportunity. The 'valuation' of a company or an asset is a fiction we all agree to believe in until someone blinks. When the search terms change and the suits start getting their pink slips, it’s just the universe reasserting the fact that you cannot conjure something from nothing. The bubble doesn't burst because of a policy shift or a central bank pivot; it bursts because we finally run out of bigger fools to sell to. And looking at the current state of the world, that is a very finite resource indeed. Enjoy the descent. It’s the only part of this cycle that’s actually honest.