Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Just Say "No," Washington ... PLEASE!!!

Like that festering forehead herpe that just will not go away, GMAC is up on Capitol Hill begging for more of our tax dollars to bail their venereal asses out yet again.

No, that $12.5 billion we've already given them apparently was not enough. Of course, how could it have been? GMAC is the only financial institution that has the dubious distinction of failing Geithner's bullshit pass/pass "stress test." The private sector will not touch their toxic asses and give them the capital needed to stay afloat. Yet, they expect--probably in private quarters, demand--that we give them more money to keep them going--so they can ask for more money--so we can bail them out again--so they can ask for more money--so we can ...

Any family who has ever had to deal with an addict knows this cycle well. And no, the folks at GMAC, on all of Wall Street, for that matter, are not the paragons of society they proclaim to be. They're not the "Masters of the Universe," or the savvy businessmen that have "made America great." No, they are addicts. They are crackheads!

Think about it.

These Great American Business Leaders have taken the American family's trust, the same family that gave them all the advantages in the world, who has raised them since they were mere pups, fed them and clothed them, educated and loved them. We believed in them and sent them out in the world to carve their own paths. We seldom regulated their behavior, which was, perhaps, our fault, thinking them responsible adults. We just knew they would do the right thing. We raised them right, after all. They knew that their prosperity was supposed to be our prosperity, too.

So, we forgave them their transgressions and their excesses. We turned a blind eye to much of what they were doing. Only to find that they were getting high off our hog the whole time, robbing us blind while we had our back turned. And now we've lost our homes and our jobs and they've cleaned out our bank accounts.

What we have found out is that these "financiers" are nothing but the greatest junkies America has ever seen--bring the entire American family--and a bunch of our European cousins--down with their addiction to quick riches and their total, criminal disregard for personal responsibility. For they know that Uncle will bail them out if they ever get in over their heads. And he won't even give them a hassle over it--blithely giving them a brand new Hummer when they've gone and fucked up the Porsche.

It's Uncle's fault, of course. They whined and pouted for more responsibility so in 1980, he deregulated their savings and loans. Not seeing the good time they were having, he even decided to no longer restrict their investment opportunities in '82. Cocaine was king, and they lost their minds. And Uncle bailed had to bail them out in '87. That was when they knew they had him. They knew they could get high as a kite, "borrow" all the money they wanted, and never have to pay it back.

Even with Uncle's "War on Drugs," he decided to take it easy on these crackheads. The "gangbangers" got the list of drug offenses expanded, mandatory minimum sentences, and Three Strikes legislation. But for his fam, Uncle repealed the Glass-Steagall Act and said, "Do whatever you want with the money! We love you, son!!!" And when Auntie Brooksley Born tried to regulate their drug use and their "over-the-counter derivatives," Uncle brought down the hammer of God and fired her ass.

And look where all this indulgence has gotten us? Totally, utterly, and royally screwed. And these crackhead capitalists know it. But just like Samuel L. in Jungle Fever, they know that if they just did their little "Happy Dance," Uncle will dutifuly play Ruby D. and pony up the cash--even though the cupboards are dry and she's borrowing milk and sugar from her Chinese neighbor.

But these crackheads ain't your momma's crackheads. Those crackheads had humility. They'd beg you for money. They'd get out their squeegees and clean (well, dirty, really) your windows and earn the chump change you gave them to feed their habits.

No. They ain't Sammy L. in Jungle Fever. They ain't even Halle Berry or that ashy-skinned, crusty-lipped dope fiend in Menace II Society begging to fellate you so they could get their eyes. No. Those crackheads understood the value of a dollar, knew how hard you had to work to get that dollar, and were willing to get their knees dirty and put the work in to get that dollar from you.

No. These fools ain't got a humble bone in their bodies. They are not the down-on-their-luck, end-of-the-road dope fiend we knew in the '90s. These fools are Superfly, Ron O'Neal pimp-shit crackheads. They're all decked out in their gold-plated platform shoes, mink coats, and fur-lined fedoras. They ain't begging for that dollar. They're smashing bottles over Uncle's head, screaming, "Where my money at, bitch?!"

They ain't offering to suck nobody's dick. And you don't want them to, either, cause that $100,000 gold-and-diamond-encrusted grill they're sporting is razor-sharp, ready to turn you castrato singing their tune:

"Ay, Papi, please don't go
Don't you know we love you so
Ay, Papi!"

Just listen to the way Geithner, Congress, and Obama talk about these fools. Balls are missin', people!

Balls ... are ... missin'!

But it's not too late, yall. Congress, find your inner Warren G. and regulate. Tell GMAC, "Hell to the No!" If you have to, go all O-Dog on 'em (minus the blatant psychosis and homophobia, of course)--or better yet, give them some of that Ossie Davis, "wrath of God" tough love shit. While they're busy doing that Happy Dance before your eyes, pull out your whistle and put in some work. Lord knows, letting GMAC go down and a couple of bullets--named Glass and Steagall--in their asses should have thse fools in AA (Assholes Anonymous) in no time flat.

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