I was the Bernie Madoff of speculative baby trading until my prize infant died

In days of old, before mankind had conquered—perhaps destroyed—the natural world, we would attribute the vicissitudes of fate to the will of the gods. We have no need for gods these days. Now we have Wall Street, whose distant and inscrutable machinations ravage towns, take children, and blight crops.

We no longer have need for Apollo and Dionysus. Now we have Brad and his MBA. SWBTS is divided into a set of campaigns. Each one features a guy—you—of dubious morals and limited seed capital, who has a goal to raise X amount of money in Y number of days. You start out as Pixem, a disgruntled teacher whose life dream is to own (not use, just own) a boat and who has decided to give himself four days in which to achieve that.

The baby-betting screen jostles with potential advisors who will tell you precious baby secrets in return for a cut of your takings. Is it worth 8% of your take-home to know which two poles a baby's average price will veer between?

United States, New York

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