Okay, Obama has been channeling the city he started his presidential choo-choo ride in: Philadelphia, brotherly love and all that. He’s bent over backwards to play nice-nice with his GOP playmates in the congressional sandbox with playmates who have taken the opportunity to (besides making no end of inane comparisons to the size of the President’s stimulus package measuring how high it would tower if it consisted of stacked $100 bills. Really, GOP Senators? You want to point ‘em to the sky and measure. So tell me just how high a stack would that make Bud Bush’s Ten Trillion dollar debt? How many times would the pallets of C-notes that disappeared into the maw of Iraq stretch around the world? Why don’t the GOP “size-matters” brethren just get prescription to one of the Viagara products that keep their real Bud Rush Limbaugh afloat in ad revenues and let the rest of us get back to discussing how to keep our national economy from sinking into the worst aspects of the 8th century? But I digress.) kick as much political sand back into his newly minted presidential visage as possible. (Count the words in that sentence. Go ahead, count ‘em. 169, baby. Take that MS Word Grammar checker. Try and tell me my sentences are too long…)
So last night the Hope in Chief continues his attempts at parting the partisan waters, refusing to use his national bully pulpit to remind Republicans that, while he might be too nice to turn the economic realities of the moment into a political big stick to beat some fiscal sense into those who would consign America of 2009 to the economic conditions of 1929 (and 1930, 1931, 1932…) the American people won’t be. And that, come 2010 (or, more importantly, 2012 and the first Congressional elections post-census and redistricting) GOP congressmen who want to act like political dinosaurs will find themselves likewise politically extinct.
No, Barack “Kumbaya” Obama remains above the partisan fray, more power to him. At some point either the “culture of Washington” has got to change or he will, coming down off his President-of-all-the-people cloud to administer a good ‘ol fashion woopin to the legions of the lackadaisical who constitute the Grand Obstructionist Party of today. And man, when he does – can you imagine a tongue lashing administered by Obama would be like? Coming from a President’s who tongue is not actually his foot, as with the previous denizen of the Oval Office but is, rather, the Nadia Comaneci of Presidential linguistics? That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
Then today new Secretary of Forgot-to-pay-my-taxes-to-the-Treasury Timothy Geithner unveils his “All Is Forgiven, No-One Is Grounded and Everyone Gets Parfait” Banking Bailout Bill (known officially within the Beltway by the acronym W.E.A.R.E.S.O.S.C.R.E.W.E.D) . The plan promises to take banks who have sat on the last billions pushed to them by the government rather than loaning the money to lowlifes like you, me and General Motors and push billions more to them to sit on. My favorite part of the plan is where the government will guarantee the purchase of “toxic” debt from distressed banks by private investors (presumably investing with whatever money they have left over after putting money into building a new housing development on the Love Canal). Can’t we just cut out the middleman and have the government simply buy those toxic assets directly (as that’s what’s ultimately going to happen until and unless real steps are taken to shore up the underlying securities’ assets, namely, home mortgages in America)? Then we could take these toxic assets and drop them on Iran, North Korea and Pakistan, saving the banks and poisoning the axis of dweebles at the same time. Meanwhile no sticks will be used to beat any sense—or even propriety—into the heads of the best and the brightest of the banking world.
So here’s my little suggested addenda to the Geithner Gala banking plan:
- All Americans losing their homes to foreclosure due to the predatory lending practices the big banks benefited from will be housed, henceforth, in the guest houses and guest wings of the bankers’ Hampton’s summer places. (And NO, bankers, you will not be allowed to ask the recently made members of mendicantness to do light housekeeping and/or gardening for their board.)
- The menus at 540 Park, The Four Seasons, Pastis and Jean Georges will, until further notice, only be allowed to consist of whatever is on the hot lunch menu at NYC PS154. (The meatloaf will be to die for. Literally.)
- All senior executives at all Wall Street banks participating in the bailout will, in perpetuity, wear a “kick me” sign on their Brooks Brother’s clad posteriors. And, periodically, they will be required to run around the Merrill-Lynch Bull singing the Monty Python “I am a Lumberjack” song while groups of young school children laugh and throw things at them.
- If the Bankers refuse to start lending again, even with the new monies being squeezed into them by treasury, one banker every other hour will be taken and flogged in the middle of Central Park.
- One banker every other hour will be taken and flogged in the middle of Central Park.
- And, finally, by random lottery four senior Bank executives will be selected and hung from lamp posts at the corner of Wall Street and Broad, their corpses left to be fed upon by the pigeons and crows as a warning to their brethren about the consequences of screwing with the American peoples’ money. There’s nothing like the threat of hanging to focus the mind, after all….