New Year Rhymes for a New Depression

by S.J. Masty
by S.J. Masty

DIGG THIS

Should auld expenses be forgot
An' never brought tae mind?
Should former bailouts be forgot
An' chits the bankers signed?
          (Chorus)
          For auld lang syne, my dear,
          It's oot o' sight an' mind,
          Let's aw' forget tha' massive debt
          An' ignore tha' bottom line.

When came tha' day they said they'd pay,
They formed a lengthie line,
Where each did joke that 'e was broke
An' needed much more time.

Our leaders, daft, will issue drafts
When 'ere a rich man whines,
While you, poor sot, will pay the lot
Until the end o' time.
          (Robert 'Third Degree' Burns)

When Congresspersons mention 'bailout'
The plutocrat gets the pail out
For he knows – everything goes.
          The money you
          Tucked away
          For a rainy day
          Tomorrow goes
          To some CEOs
          Who compound the joke,
          Blow it all on coke,
          And pricey, uptown hos.
They're on the beach,
We met their deadline
As you, freezing in the breadline,
Pick your nose – everything goes.
          ('Bituminous Coal' Porter)

José, can you see
By the dawn's early light,
We made it to Texas
By tunneling all night.
          (Francis Scott Off-Key)

Once I built a hedge-fund
Then it failed out-
Right. Bloomberg called me a swine.
But a pal in Congress
Got me bailed out.
Buddy, I got your last dime.

Once I was a broker,
Had it all, son –
Steaks were never sub-prime.
Thank God for a joker,
Name of Paulson:
Buddy, I got your last dime.
          (J.P.M. Organ-Chase)

Half a point, half a point,
Half a point downward,
Into the jaws of death,
Rode the S&P 500;

Set aside sense and dread,
Hail to the noble Fed!
Hear what Bernanke said – Nothing's been plundered.

Slash interest rates and get
Deeper than deepest debt,
Spend ever more, but yet
Prices get sundered.

Then start the printing press
Just to inflate the mess
Worse than you feared to guess,
Our days are numbered.

Hail to the Fed Brigade!
Decades-long mess it made,
And turned to marmalade,
The S&P 500.
          (Alfred, Lord Elevenson)

S. J. Masty is a communication advisor based in London. His Time Machine column runs in The Washington Examiner each Wednesday.

Reprinted from The Washington Examiner with permission.

December 31, 2008

S.J. Masty [send him mail] is a communications advisor based in London. His column runs in The Washington Examiner each Wednesday.

Copyright © 2008 S.J. Masty