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:

1. 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.
2. 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?
3. 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.

I racked my brain for two days trying to think of something that might make for interesting reading in regards to the New Year and how it might be made brighter than the dank cave that was 2008. But every time I thought I was reaching a decision, the very weight of the subject matter would become so heavy and dense that my neck would ache.

The options:

• The worldwide misconception that the moderately great nation America is fit to lead a global financial revolution, when its own government cannot even spot a 50 BILLION DOLLAR theft right from under its exceedingly dull nose—even though several people tried to point it out for nearly a decade.
• The dreary outlook for American workers as their pay remains stagnant (at best) yet their healthcare costs are set to soar 9%.
• The unemployment rate is nearly 7% and shows no real signs of stopping—not to mention the fact that this figure doesn’t even include all the poor bastards so dry from despair that they don’t care to look anymore.
• Hamas are without a doubt a bunch of monsters, yet this alone surely cannot justify the deaths of so many children can it? Really? What is the cost of politics and alliances? If you cannot tell the truth to your friends, then to whom can you tell it? I mean, for the love of our dear, absent Christ, look at this.
• The Kennedy aristocracy once again gilding the ass of one of their own in preparation for the anointment to a super-duper high government position that they didn’t really want, or indeed, work for.
• Chicago politics rages even more brightly than they did in the age of Capone, so now we have the crappy, welter-weight bout of the US Senate vs Roland Burris to look forward to, so good luck thinking any of the above problems will be attended to anytime soon. What a bunch of assholes. Get your priorities straight!
• So many people are in trouble yet I’m still too lazy to take my old clothes to the Goodwill. Ahhh well. My old clothes are crap anyway.
• I am a terrible person. I do not foresee myself becoming a better person in 2009.

So well, you know, what the hell is a person supposed to say about any of these things? The world is a cesspool, and the newspaper is proof. That’s all.

But I DO have a wish, I suppose. It’s small, but if it came true, I would be so happy. It’s this: A little while ago I came up with a simple doodle of an overweight woman made from the shape of a penis, and I’d like for it to become a popular, standard doodle for notebooks around the world. It’s very easy to draw—see for yourself:

Nice, right? The balls are the boobs, the shaft becomes the neck, the little ring serves as ears, and the head is, well, the head. I thought about re-drawing it to make it better, but I think it would lose some of its majestic purity if I did.

Try it out for yourself, and send me the results. I’d love to see what people come up with. Draw it during a meeting or in math class. Spread a smile. We all need it.

The storm raged late into the evening. Gail had already drunk more chi tea than she cared to admit, but she knew sleep was nowhere in her future. Too many worries, too many bills…would the indoor composter catch fire today? Will the historical society clear her petition to save the old flour mill out on Rutters Avenue? Putting her feet on the floor and turning off the radio in the middle of her favorite Rachmaninoff symphony may have been the hardest thing she did all day. Reaching her bedroom, Gail unrolled her spotlessly clean linen mat, folded her legs tightly underneath herself, and began to meditate. She thought of her husband Peter and his fluid, poetic soul, and her mind quieted a little. She had first thought she might enjoy having solitude in the bedroom, but since Peter had moved his bed into the drawing room

downstairs three years prior, she had to admit she missed the sound of flipping pages as he read Rimbaud each night before bed. Oh well. For herself, she had the complete works of Christopher Marlow to keep her warm at night, and you can believe that Faust’s dealings with the devil was enough to keep anyone company!

When her lids finally felt sufficiently heavy, she dimmed the lights and pulled her satin night mask down over her placid eyes, and, as the sound of heavy rain drowsily continued the rhythms of classical music into the night, she slipped into slumber.

But then: pitter patter pitter patter… “Mommy?”

“Janie? What happened honey? Did the thunder frighten you?”

“No, but the lightening is really bright, mommy. I can’t sleep.”

“Do you want to crawl into bed with me?”

“Okay.” Pitter patter pitter patter…rustle rustle…

“Are you good, Janie hon?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Love you, Janie Wanie.”

“Love you, mommy.”

“You’re okay?”

“I think so.” And so the minutes ticked by. Now Gail was awake again, fully. Her mind began to race over the little events in her life, present and future. She had to host this month’s book club meeting. She thought she would have it in the garden. The baby blue eyes should be in bloom, not yet killed by the torturous summer heat. A little white wine and some cucumber sandwiches would be perfect. It should be darling, as long as Lilly finds it in her heart to keep her goddamned eyes in her head and off Gail’s cleavage. Honestly. It was a privilege to have a lesbian in the group—in fact it was a social goldmine—but was it worth it to be ogled in that manner? Still, Lilly IS a very beautiful and strong woman. Sometimes Gail would catch her mind wandering about her…Peter never thanked her for the nutritious meal she had prepared tonight. Gail knew that sprouts and bean curd was not his favorite dish, but she had worked very hard on the cream fennel sauce—he could have said SOMETHING. Gail thought she could hear him breathing, even all the way downstairs.

Wide awake now. Shit. She nudged Janie with her foot. Janie moaned, half asleep. Gail nudged her again, harder. “Janie, honey, are you awake?”

“No.”

“You must be excited for your classmate’s birthday party Saturday. Is she going to be nine years old now? Already?”

“Mommy, I’m sleepy.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

Gail knew there was nothing for it. If she was going to rest, she was going to have to put Janie to work. She’s old enough to pay her keep now, thought Gail, so she can help me sleep. “Do you want to nurse, honey?”

“Okay, mommy. Yummy.”

And as Janie rolled into her mother’s breast and curled into the fetal position, ready to suckle, Gail could already feel peace overtake her. Darkness overtook her mind.

At that moment, the incredibly intelligent race of aliens parked on the far side of Saturn blew up the entire planet Earth, having finally grown weary of the experiment they had begun so many billions of years ago. The whole thing was fucked anyway.