The way of the warrior
We're being stupid.
No, really, we are. The solution is right in front of us, as plain as writing on the wall, assuming, of course, that you're the type who writes on your walls, or, you know, you have toddlers with access to crayons hanging around, or something.
All this panty waisted limp wristed pussy footing we're doing about the financial crisis. Stimulus Bills with this many millions in them for this idiotic program right here and this many billions for that moronic initiative over there. TARP programs with all these foolish conditions and stipulations. I swear. It's just dumb.
President Obama's about halfway there with this new idea he's got for hiring on as economic advisors all the CEOs who got us into this so called mess in the first place. He's got the right idea. Absolutely. These people are experts. They're powerful, brilliant, savagely knowledgeable in the fields of high finance. They know the situation, they drew the frickin' map of the territory. Their eyes flash lightning, their voices resound like thunder, the shimmering sheen of their thousand dollar raw silk suits and perfectly polished hundred dollar shoes shines like a million billion supernovas. They float like butterflies and sting like bees. They are financial wizards, fiscal superheroes, pecuniary deities. Like the gladiators of old, they stride the Earth with the swagger of veritable gods, sending ripples and surges of sheer raw power through the very ether of existence with the merest flex of their vastly puissant economic muscles.
They --
TOTALLY --
ROCK.
Volcker. Wolf. Geithner. Summers. These legendary names... nay, these veritable titans of high finance... if these mighty warriors of the account books cannot save us, no one can.
Not Superman. Not Underdog.
No one.
But we're being half assed about it. We're punking out. Why bother with stupid, silly stimulus bills and feeble, half witted TARP payments? It's nonsense. It's... doodie. It's not what we need, it's not The Way Things Ought To Be.
What should we be doing? What is the answer to all our prayers, the sweet sweet salve that will bind up all our wounds? Wait. Does salve bind up wounds? No, I think bandages bind up wounds. Salve does something else. Well, you know what I mean. What is the solution, the resolution, the panacea, the quick fix that will instantly get us back to the Golden Age of the 90s, when the markets were roaring, money was falling from the sky like soup from God's own leaky kettle, the dollar was beating the bloody jesus out of every foreign currency and every decent American's pockets were stuffed with bales and bales of crisp, crackling currency?
It's simple, and we're already doing it, in a really dumb, spastic, uncoordinated, dimwitted way -- we just have to give the banks and corporations all our money.
Right NOW.
No conditions. No stipulations. No limits. The American taxpayer needs to step up to the window and fork it all over. ALL of it. Every cent in taxes that we will pay, that our children will pay, that our grandchildren and great grandchildren, every last bit of it, we have to turn over to the tycoons and high finance mavens, those puissant pecuniary lords of all creation and masters of the universe. We need to ante up and kick in, and we need to do it eagerly, happily, cheerfully, with a song in our hearts and a gleam in our eye. Because these are the people who will save us. Yes, yes, they are.
Some will quibble, some will waffle, some will twitter and moan. "Oh, Doc Nebula," I hear these weak sisters and limp wristed pansies sobbing and whimpering even now, "but these are the men who got us into this fix in the first place. Their failed policies, their unbridled avarice, their insanely psychotic short term thinking, their greedy self indulgence... how can you urge us to just give them everything we have? How can we ever trust them again?"
To such twaddle I say only this -- Feh. And feh again. This is no time for the weak and the whiners. This is a crisis. There is no time for hesitation, for vacillation, for oscillation or equivocation. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!
We must take action, and that action must be forthright, bold, undaunted, and audacious. We MUST turn all our money over to these mighty, mighty men, these titans of influence, these scions of corruption, these towering titans of business, these awesome avatars of cunning commerce. We have to do it. We mustn't shilly shally. They NEED our money.
And it will save us, it will. Even if all they do is use our hard earned tax dollars to pay themselves ridiculous billion dollar bonuses, we must not shrink from the task at hand. They'll SPEND that money. It will jump start the economy. They'll buy yachts and estates and big houses in foreign countries and all this will create jobs for millions of us, or at least hundreds, as deck scrubbers and towel boys and gardeners and drivers and concubines. We'll make hundreds of dollars each selling off our cute children into domestic service, and when we run out of cute children, we can lease the ugly ones out to the factories and plantations. We can sell our blood, our skin, our organs, our orifi.
If we just give all our money to the really really rich, really really powerful people who already own and run nearly everything, they will take care of us. They will fix things up. They will... SAVE the DAY.
I truly believe this.
No, really, we are. The solution is right in front of us, as plain as writing on the wall, assuming, of course, that you're the type who writes on your walls, or, you know, you have toddlers with access to crayons hanging around, or something.
All this panty waisted limp wristed pussy footing we're doing about the financial crisis. Stimulus Bills with this many millions in them for this idiotic program right here and this many billions for that moronic initiative over there. TARP programs with all these foolish conditions and stipulations. I swear. It's just dumb.
President Obama's about halfway there with this new idea he's got for hiring on as economic advisors all the CEOs who got us into this so called mess in the first place. He's got the right idea. Absolutely. These people are experts. They're powerful, brilliant, savagely knowledgeable in the fields of high finance. They know the situation, they drew the frickin' map of the territory. Their eyes flash lightning, their voices resound like thunder, the shimmering sheen of their thousand dollar raw silk suits and perfectly polished hundred dollar shoes shines like a million billion supernovas. They float like butterflies and sting like bees. They are financial wizards, fiscal superheroes, pecuniary deities. Like the gladiators of old, they stride the Earth with the swagger of veritable gods, sending ripples and surges of sheer raw power through the very ether of existence with the merest flex of their vastly puissant economic muscles.
They --
TOTALLY --
ROCK.
Volcker. Wolf. Geithner. Summers. These legendary names... nay, these veritable titans of high finance... if these mighty warriors of the account books cannot save us, no one can.
Not Superman. Not Underdog.
No one.
But we're being half assed about it. We're punking out. Why bother with stupid, silly stimulus bills and feeble, half witted TARP payments? It's nonsense. It's... doodie. It's not what we need, it's not The Way Things Ought To Be.
What should we be doing? What is the answer to all our prayers, the sweet sweet salve that will bind up all our wounds? Wait. Does salve bind up wounds? No, I think bandages bind up wounds. Salve does something else. Well, you know what I mean. What is the solution, the resolution, the panacea, the quick fix that will instantly get us back to the Golden Age of the 90s, when the markets were roaring, money was falling from the sky like soup from God's own leaky kettle, the dollar was beating the bloody jesus out of every foreign currency and every decent American's pockets were stuffed with bales and bales of crisp, crackling currency?
It's simple, and we're already doing it, in a really dumb, spastic, uncoordinated, dimwitted way -- we just have to give the banks and corporations all our money.
Right NOW.
No conditions. No stipulations. No limits. The American taxpayer needs to step up to the window and fork it all over. ALL of it. Every cent in taxes that we will pay, that our children will pay, that our grandchildren and great grandchildren, every last bit of it, we have to turn over to the tycoons and high finance mavens, those puissant pecuniary lords of all creation and masters of the universe. We need to ante up and kick in, and we need to do it eagerly, happily, cheerfully, with a song in our hearts and a gleam in our eye. Because these are the people who will save us. Yes, yes, they are.
Some will quibble, some will waffle, some will twitter and moan. "Oh, Doc Nebula," I hear these weak sisters and limp wristed pansies sobbing and whimpering even now, "but these are the men who got us into this fix in the first place. Their failed policies, their unbridled avarice, their insanely psychotic short term thinking, their greedy self indulgence... how can you urge us to just give them everything we have? How can we ever trust them again?"
To such twaddle I say only this -- Feh. And feh again. This is no time for the weak and the whiners. This is a crisis. There is no time for hesitation, for vacillation, for oscillation or equivocation. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!
We must take action, and that action must be forthright, bold, undaunted, and audacious. We MUST turn all our money over to these mighty, mighty men, these titans of influence, these scions of corruption, these towering titans of business, these awesome avatars of cunning commerce. We have to do it. We mustn't shilly shally. They NEED our money.
And it will save us, it will. Even if all they do is use our hard earned tax dollars to pay themselves ridiculous billion dollar bonuses, we must not shrink from the task at hand. They'll SPEND that money. It will jump start the economy. They'll buy yachts and estates and big houses in foreign countries and all this will create jobs for millions of us, or at least hundreds, as deck scrubbers and towel boys and gardeners and drivers and concubines. We'll make hundreds of dollars each selling off our cute children into domestic service, and when we run out of cute children, we can lease the ugly ones out to the factories and plantations. We can sell our blood, our skin, our organs, our orifi.
If we just give all our money to the really really rich, really really powerful people who already own and run nearly everything, they will take care of us. They will fix things up. They will... SAVE the DAY.
I truly believe this.
