Maybe it’s an outgrowth of the ’80s psychobabble that told us “I’m OK, you’re OK,” when in fact we’re both psychically mangled beyond recognition. And it’s definitely an extension of the current school of parenting that tells the little darlings that they can be, accomplish, achieve anything: ballerina, astronaut, cowboy, president, rock star. These are the same parents who reward the slightest indication of brain activity with endless gold stars and vapid affirmations (“Good job, Bobby, you flushed!”).

The newest manifestation of low-bar, all-American narcissism: the new-age entrepreneur. Greed-stoked by bona fide wunderkinder like Steve Jobs and Richard Branson, hypnotized by toothy giants like Tony Robbins and other “life coaches,” and just plain dumbified by decades of Oprah telling us to dream big (then look under your seat for your prize), our sinking economy is lousy with self-described entrepreneurs. Of course, no one else will hire them, but that’s beside the point.

The new entrepreneurs are smarter than you. They are smarter than their last boss (that’s why they got fired). And they have paid their dues, brother. Never mind that they may only be 23 years old. No more suiting up and showing up for them – that’s strictly for saps. They need to make their own hours so the big ideas can flow.

The drill goes something like this: Janet gets fired from her esthetician gig at a local beauty salon because she’s an idiot. Her response: getting fired is a sign from the universe that she should open her own salon. Lenders won’t extend a small-business loan since she has no background in business, but luckily her mother is still living, so the loan is made. A year later, when Janet’s salon goes under, her conclusion is that she simply didn’t dream big enough.

Not that I’m bitter. I’m actually blessed in that I make my living – modest though it may be – as a freelance writer. Los Angeles teems with my kind, my fellow sweatpant warriors.

Cupcake bakeries, inspired by Sprinkles, were the big startup craze in Los Angeles maybe five years ago. But foodies tell me that trend has gone stale, because cake-pops are newer. Who knew?

Gourmet food trucks were a more recent trend for Angeleno-treneurs that now seems to be running on empty (although the trucks still queue up along mid-Wilshire Boulevard around noon on weekdays). The latest word on the boulevard of broken dreams: Because our city is so vast, the 9-to-5 employees, ironically the trucks’ primary lunch-hour customers, could never be sure where to locate their favorite lentil salad or sweet potato fries-on-wheels.

So, what about you? Think you’ve got what it takes to set the world on fire? Think you’re way too awesome for the commute, the suit, and life in a cube? Take the quiz, but do me a favor – don’t quit your day job if you’re inexplicably lucky enough to have one.

SO YOU THINK YOU’RE AN ENTREPRENEUR?

Answer each question “Yes” or “No”:

You were fired from your last job.

You have a source of income that is not the result of your own work (i.e., trust fund, loans from family or friends, disability, unemployment benefits, partner has a job).

You see the world differently than other people do, because you’re just a whole lot smarter.

In fact, Steve Jobs had people like you in mind when he challenged the world to “Think different.”

When you have been employed by someone else, your bosses have always felt threatened by you, because you have so many radically good ideas.

You’re all about the big picture, the vision. The nitty-gritty operational details of implementation are for someone else to worry about – someone you can hire later on down the line.

At least once a week, you start a sentence with these words: “I just had a great idea for a new business!”

OK, hot stuff:

You answered one question “Yes” – You’re a bit cocky, but there’s still hope.

You answered two questions “Yes” – You’re dangerously full of it. Start stocking up on Top Ramen now.

You answered three or more questions “Yes” – Basically, you’re delusional and you’re a parasite on society who may have been lucky so far. The world does not need your idiotic book, bicycle accessory or whatever else you’re hallucinating your future to include. Marry well while you still look good naked.

Victoria Thomas is a freelance writer who’s otherwise unemployed. She lives in Los Angeles.