in re: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/21/business/21regulate.html?hp
Never have so many people who know so little about finance been so sure about a subject so fiduciary. Now, as a plumber by trade (plumbing the depths of my infinite loneliness on this Blog), I have never used the word "fiduciary" until right now, and had you asked me yesterday what "fiduciary" meant, I would have guessed it referred to some sort of petting zoo for vaginal cleansers. But now that I have been involuntarily drafted into the Main Street army in the war against Wall Street (actually "War against Wall Street II," the first War Against Wall Street being waged by the successful(!) Committee to Nominate Fatal Attraction for Best Picture, 1987), now that I have been mindlessly pitted against the bankers, I sling the Street slang around glancingly, carelessly, just in case somewhere in my nonsensical rabble-rousing and horse-shit-straganza there happens to lie a salient point about the current crisis.
As a member of the Sharks (as the Wall Street team can only be the Jets (e.g. they fly in private ones)), I know three things about all investment bankers:
1. They have fat fingers.
2. They root for the Yankees.
3. They deserve to have the everloving shit taxed out of them.
Point number three is one that everyone seems to agree on, or so it seems to me, from the snippets of commentary I happen to catch while scrolling as fast as my pg dn button can go through the Reader's Recommendation comments on the New York Times website, and from absently watching MSNBC, CNBC, Fox News, Bloomberg News, and CNN simultaneously (hey Toshiba, your new PIPIPIPIP is great!); this is agreed upon by all people who live on Main Street (and for those of you late to the game, all of us non-bank-billionaire regular folk live on Main Street, even though real estate on Main Street is notoriously more expensive than it is on smaller, less desirable thoroughfares).
What good are these salami-necked pinstriped ass-caps doing for our nation that warrants such excessive salaries and exorbitant bonii (and let us not allow our populist anger to damage our grammar)? Shouldn't this invisibly-earned money be going to people who more directly impact our daily lives--teachers, firemen, pornographers, local governments, fetish pornographers, pornographic fetishists, graphopornical fish thiefs, fishological thrift fags? Should penny-pinching homosexual icthyophiles go without basic medical insurance just because their lobby isn't as powerful as the bankers'?
I say no, and everyone else does, too, and not just because we are the Sharks and have a natural affinity for fish-lovers. Sharks are mammals, R-tard, and everyone knows that; and what's more, Goldman Sachs can hold my balls if they think that anyone besides its employees and members of the Reagan Administration would call foul if the bankers' bonii (I know this arcane plural because I didn't major in Finance) were heavily taxed or simply taken away (because, as we learned from Reaganomics, when you tax legally-earned income, socialism therefore Hitler Q.E.D.).
It won't happen, of course. The bankers are too powerful. They always get their way--I think we've all read the first 19 pages of Bonfire of the Vanities (dude was livin' it UP!). It also won't happen because excessive taxation isn't fair, because Hitler, because I suppose it might not be legal, and also, let us not forget another cornerstone of American history, that just because several companies were propped up by taxpayers doesn't mean that a bunch of already well-off men who wouldn't even have jobs any more in the first place don't deserve their bonii that put them 9,000,000% over the poverty line. It wouldn't be fair, Mussolini, so stop suggesting it, Chiang Kai Shek.
The financial overhaul bill passed by the Senate, and the driving force behind this post (beside the titanic rage constantly boiling in my impoverished blood (I would get a pill for it, but I can't afford health insurance)), will probably do little to Robin Hood the everloving shit out of the bankers. The buzzword of the bill is "oversight," and as we all know, the best thing that ever comes out of "oversight" is a peek at a naked lady's boobies through an apartment window visible from the top of the Empire State Building. Yes, I have very little faith in government oversight, given that the government already oversees KFC, which it not only allowed to mass produce the globular calorie Clogzilla known as the Double Down, but that has also has yet to arrest and imprison the creator of this homegrown enemy to the United States.
No, government oversight has not led to the squashing of the Double Down, and now it will more than likely allow the financial double down to continue ad infinitum, or at least until everything explodes again and a fatcat is forcibly dragged from his Box Seats during the afternoon game of a weekend Subway Series, his fat fingers frantically BBMing his desperate Yale summer interns for "hgel[p!!!@!" I hope such an ugly scene at such an ugly ballpark need not take place, that the battle of the Jets versus the Sharks never comes to blows or riots (see: Thailand (This Land Is)), that the war remains one of words and snapping (though we all doubt the Jets' ability to snap, what with those fat sweaty fingers and all); and if I had two wishes, I would also wish that one day the economy will be well enough that I can buy my modest suburban home, at a reasonable interest rate, with no risk of sudden unemployment or foreclosure, and that, on that Saturday afternoon while the fat-fingered Goldman man enjoys his overpaid baseball team from his overpaid baseball seat, I can enjoy a leisurely day off with my kids, with enough disposable income to afford the entrance to the new, State-funded New Jersey Fiduciary and Petting Zoo.