I’m sure that avid readers of my blog will probably have noticed that a couple more compulsory psychiatric evaluations have passed between posts than normal. There has been so much that I want to write about but the scale of the task has seemed just too big.
Having read a quote from today’s Independent on the subject of the ‘occupy’ protests, though, I felt compelled to throw in my two penn’orth – although at the current rate of inflation that could be 10p by the end of the year or in Europe, twenty pfennigs.
So a Wall Street banker, over to renew his wedding vows for his 25th anniversary* was interviewed by the Indy: “They don’t seem to know what they’re protesting about,” Mr Ianetta said, clutching an email with instructions on how to ensure his service could still go ahead. “It’s happening in New York too. They’re protesting against the very things that keep them alive.”1
Er, are they? Is the systematic widening of the wealth gap really necessary for keeping people alive? In that case, why aren’t we paying Wall Street bankers to rob homeless people at knifepoint? That ought to get the economy going again. Look, Ianetta, what use is the economy growing and generating wealth** to anyone if the same five blokes keep all of said wealth. And don’t bleat on about tax when most of it gets squirreled away in the Cayman Islands. Try rejecting corporate dogma and reading around a little. Like this interview with Jeffrey Sachs.
Anyway, if you go along with all that pseudo-Maslow stuff, the money’s mostly just a dick-measuring scale for these tossers anyway, so it strikes me that perhaps we can rally all of the recently laid-off marketing executives to start trying to fix things.
What we need is a better way for all these captain-of-industry, martinet*** types to keep score. Now who’s more vain and insecure than the average blue-chip CEO? Hollywood, of course.
What we need is a really lavish awards ceremony, replete with gaudy trophies, surgically-enhanced glamour-girls and far too much media attention. Really big, with months of media speculation about who’ll win and how many talentless actresses will try to cram his plums into their mouths afterwards… you know, whatever crap Heat magazine usually rattles on about. Once it’s established and a few Alan Sugars have enjoyed the odd media rimjob, you gradually start giving the prizes to the gaffers that have actually done something socially responsible. It’s your basic pavlovian conditioning, without meringues.
At the same time we make it legal for the papers to print the name, address and alarm code of anyone that gets a six figure bonus.
Now, all we need is a better title for the award ceremony than ‘Giant Selfish Prick of the Year’. Any offers?
*And while we’re about it, why do you need to renew wedding vows? Do they wear out? Has he been unfaithful – although as a Wall Street banker, obviously he has been fucking the entire world’s economy, does that class as adultery?
**Yes, I know that’s not really what happens, but that’s what these pricks think happens, so you’ve got to start the debate on their own terms.
*** Of course the pun’s intentional.