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Sometime around 2008, when the equity in my home went subterranean, my retirement plan became: prison. Three hots and a cot. More amenities than the dwindling Social Security may afford me by the time I retire, less pricey than my diminished 401(k) promises to cover. Plus: Health care. Dental. Exercise facilities. Skype, or some kind of video visitation that seems like Skype. Maybe even a window.
I would imagine I’m not alone in this ingenious plan; and probably not the only one whose crime will be the felonious but unarmed threatening of the credit-card company that continues to charge ungodly fees and fiddle with my interest rate and send me balance-transfer checks riddled with fine print.
America already has one of the highest incarceration rates, I know. And prisons aren’t cheap for taxpayers, either. But, hey, they’re being affordably farmed out to private companies, too. Let the free market save us.
