I was once of the opinion that the gargantuan bailout to wall street was a necessary evil in order to save the jobs of so many innocent slobs slugging it out in the trenches of middle management; not to mention all the folks out there shining shoes, spraying tans, waxing BMWs, and cobbling high-heels. And to a certain extent, I still do. However, it is now painfully clear that the egomaniacs running these companies should have been disposed of properly before the companies ever received a freaking dime.
These guys care nothing for the normal people naively plugging away down here at street level. For them, we are fools to be disregarded. We are the inconvenient speed bump. We are the ignorant peasant stooped low over the till laboring in the shadow of the castle’s towers. They are the lords of the land, anointed by god to rule in luxury, appointed by the forces of the universe to distribute the wealth as disproportionately as they see fit.
I know I sound angry, but don’t you feel the same? We, out of the goodness of our hearts and out of a true desire to do what is best for the collective, even at the expense of self, gave these (mostly) men nearly a trillion dollars of our own money in the belief that we could help them mend the very wounds they themselves inflicted. And they are mocking us for it. We have thus far proven ourselves to to be every bit the fools they have always believed us to be.
Here is an example of what they have accomplished thus far: even after everything that has happened, Wall Street doled out over 18 billion dollars in bonuses. They will soon be called in front of Senator Christopher Dodd’s Banking Committee to find out whether or not any of the pay outs come from tax-payer money. Funny how easy it is to get a bonus on wall street. Evidently, there’s no need to perform your job well, or indeed, within the guidelines of the law. Out of curiosity, what was YOUR bonus this year?
Another tasty tidbit: Citigroup, which has received billions in government aid, placed an 50 million dollar order for a brand new, foreign-built jet recently, and only canceled the delivery of the sumptuous plane after being smacked around by lawmakers on the hill.
So what now? It’s obvious these men are sociopaths. They live the lives of a hundred normal men and only want more, and they are willing to steal to get it. So it must all be taken away from them. From now on out, we should demand that any new monies be given to the board of directors of any given company if and ONLY if they agree to throw out the old company directors first. And then, upon the exit of this sullied leadership, these miserable larcinists must pick from a list of options their new futures. I briefly considered exile, but in this NEW GLOBAL ECONOMY, I’m sure they would only fuck things up from afar.
The choices available to the new millennium scum, as devised by yours truly:
- Something we’ve always wanted. The proverbial human hunt, mixed with the gritty immediacy which is reality television. Every week, we see a newly unemployed wall street banker run for his life through heavily monitored forests, trailed by hounds and some of the best turkey hunters America has to offer. Just to spice things up, I suggest making them run this gauntlet in Target brand sweat pants and Payless Shoe Source sneakers. Oh, the humiliation borne of middle class fashions. If they can make it to a specified location alive, they will be allowed to live, but only on Swanson’s Hungry Man dinners until their (hopefully) untimely deaths from heart related issues. Oh wait. They don’t have hearts. Scrap that last part.
- Remember when the editorial department here at Jose el Retardo suggested medical testing on prisoners? Well, now we have the perfect criminals. Objectively speaking, these CEOs and their ilk have had far more of a negative impact on a far larger swath of the community than any poor college kid selling pot to buy books, so don’t they deserve a worse fate? We have no problem testing on innocent monkeys, so why not test on these awful, putrid, nasty monkeys?
- In all reality, in a community as toothless as ours, there is no easy solution to the imense problem of Catholic priests molesting innocent children. Until now. Call it a new spin on the old idea of the confessional booth, mixed with the old school satisfaction of the glory hole. I think you know where I’m headed with this, so let me leave it at that. After a few priests have had a go at whatever banker is chained inside, we sink the banker to the bottom of the sea. From down there, he is given a chioce of levers to pull. One distributes food, another floods the bell with sea water. Which lever does what is changed on a regular basis. This is, of course, all televised.
Truly, I have had it. These men are criminals and they laugh in the face of our turmoil. They care nothing for the child who will go hungry as they thoughtlessly swill away another thousand pensions.
That is all.
Don’t listen to what the media tries to tell you. For the most part, punk is pretty much dead. I’d love to see it come back, but you know. There’s a lot of things I’d like to see happen that never will. In my opinion, one of the very last great punk records is, oddly enough, 
The Meaning of Rock
Anyone who seriously loves rock music would agree that, although theories abound, there is no one way to define the soul of the genre. From the somber crunch of Black Sabbath, to the endless wisdom of Dylan, to the all-encompassing everything which is Zeppelin, the spirit behind rock music is as endlessly complicated as the prog output of the Mars Volta. Many will say that this is bullshit, that the message is as straightforward as a middle finger shoved up the ass of a high school principal, but are we really comfortable placing the Cars or Traci Chapman in this category?
Yes, I can hear the din: “Traci Chapman?! Are you fucking kidding me? That’s not ROCK!” These dissenting voices may in fact have a point, but plenty of others would disagree, and this ambiguity is exactly what I am talking about. The depressive moan of Chapman’s folk may be a far cry from Chuck Berry’s initial gift to us all, but is the mathematical holocaust of Pantera any closer?
It’s impossible to say. Rock is ubiquitous. But truly, for me, it all begins right here, with this group of unnamed heroes, reminding me that rock is for every man, woman, and child. It is the one thing joining all of modern culture. Embraced by the masses and attainable to anyone brave enough to pick up a guitar, microphone, or a drumstick. See for yourself:
I would like to bring everyone’s attention to the 2 minute mark of this clip, where you will experience, quite possibly, the most mind melting breakdown in rock history. I only point it out because you were in all likelihood mesmerized by the glorious vocals, and may have overlooked it. And the keyboards…that sound may very well be one of the most common voices in all of western culture. So immediately recognizable.
If anyone knows the name of this group of courageous souls, please forward it along.