E-Benron Scrooge woke up in the middle of a snore, just before the CNBC midday report. He sat up in his bed and waited for the second ghost to come.


And there it was – the Ghost of Never Ending Banksta Presents. It had a curly brown toupee, sparkling eyes and it wore a simple greenback robe with white fur. Its feet were bare as the theoretical justifications for it's nauseating bloviations. It wore a holy bailout wreath and thick glasses.


The ghost took Scrooge to his former partner Hank Paulsen's house – a not too shabby poor little 12 bedroom penthouse. In the kitchen you could see Mrs Paulsen screaming at the maids preparing Christmas bailout dinner. Her spawn were cheerfully running around playing hide and go swindle. Then the door opened and Hank came in with Tiny Timmah upon his shoulders.

Tiny Timmah was Hank's dumbest protege. The only government salaried employee in the family. He bore a little crutch and had a noose around his neck.

“On our way home, Tiny Timmah told me that he hoped the people saw him in the Harvard Club, because he was a very very very important government employee. It might be pleasant to them to remember on Christmas Day, who made Bankstas rich and stroked that blind fool Obama to sleep.” Hank's voice trembled when he said this.


Then the Christmas bailout dinner was ready, and everyone sat down at the table. As the Paulsen's were very very very very...very poor by Forbes billionaire standards, it was not much they had for Christmas bailout dinner. But still everyone was joyful and you could feel that they all had the Bailout Spirit in their hearts. “A Merry Christmas to all Bankstas my dears! God bless them. Let the rest suck it up and cope!” said Hank.

“God bless Bankstas, each and every one of em!” said Tiny Timmah.


He sat very close to his mentor's side upon his little stool. Hank held his little hand, as if he feared to lose him.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, who felt sorry for the feckless moron, “tell me if Tiny Timmah will keep his job.”

“I see an empty Treasury Secretary seat,” replied the ghost, “and a noose with Timmah's name embroidered on it. If these shadows don’t change in the future, the happy moron will get lynched and hung with his chestnuts roasted over a Main Street open fire.”

This made Scrooge very sad for a nano-moment, but the spirit went on and took Scrooge to His best friend Lloyd Blankfein's penthouse at 15 Central Park West.


Lloyd and his slimy friends had a very cheerful party and played squidilious games like suck the buck, subpenny the client and schtup the Kraut banker. E-Benron Scrooge really enjoyed their celaphopodic party and wanted to stay for another while but in a second it all faded and Scrooge and the spirit were again on their travels.

They visited many homes in fraudclosure: they saw rich Wall Street financiers and Bankstas who were glad to have QE2; PIIGS in foreign lands who were close to bankrupt but saved by the ECB/IMF bailout clock, poor common people whose bank accounts shrunk smaller every day – all because of the spirit of QE2 and Moral Hazard.

Suddenly, E-Benron Scrooge noticed something strange about the ghost. Two children-like figures were at the ghost’s feet – a boy and a girl. But, they looked old and dreadful, like little monsters.

Scrooge was shocked. “Spirit, are they your creatures?” Scrooge asked. “They are Wall Street's creatures,” said the spirit “The boy is Want, The girl is Want More. Cherish them both, but most of all beware this girl” said the spirit.

“Have they no place they can go?” asked Scrooge. “There are no prisons for Bankstas just like there no Chinese workhouses for the unemployed?” the spirit turned on Scrooge with his own words.

The NYSE bell struck the close.

The Ghost of Neverending Banksta Presents disappeared.

And at the last stroke of the bell, Scrooge saw the third ghost coming towards him.

To be con't...