Pokin’ fun at the usurer suspects...

Happy April Fool’s Day, folks.


I hate practical jokes because I tend to suspend disbelief with alarming ease, particularly when I’m off my meds.

There are so many fools in this world that we definitely need to claim a day all our own, if not an entire week or fortnight.  In that spirit, I present you with this silly post from this weekend that I almost neglected to stick up here.

Following the financial/banking “series” from last week, below are some words to the effect that bankers are wankers.  If you are in the banking industry and you are not a wanker, then please forgive me for these cheap shots.  They are, of course, aimed at your unsavory colleagues, not you.  I’ve thrown in a couple of curiosities and non sequiturs for variety.

And if you are unfamiliar with colorful cockney vernacular (e.g. wanker), maybe try renting a few choice episodes of “Only Fools and Horses” or something.

These nugatory nuggets are presented in vainglorious Comic Sans MS (where installed) for your general irritation and vexation.

“A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining, but wants it back the minute it begins to rain.”

—Anonymous

(often attributed to Mark Twain, probably erroneously)

“Banks have a new image.  Now you have ‘a friend,’ your friendly banker.  If the banks are so friendly, how come they chain down the pens?”

—Alan King  (1927 – 2004),

American comedian

“Bats have no bankers and they do not drink and cannot be arrested and pay no tax and, in general, bats have it made.”

—John Berryman  (1914 – 1972),

American poet

“bank’s closed”:  Slang from the 1920s that meant no kissing or making out was allowed.

great halls of power

just as the most important people in the city
are complete and utter bankers
the most important people in the army
are the absolute highest rankers

—Michael E.  (b. 1967),

British wag

(This guy is likely riffing on British rhyming slang vis-à-vis wankers.)

Bankers Are Just Like Anybody Else, Except Richer

This is a song to celebrate banks,

Because they are full of money and you go into them and all you hear is clinks and clanks,

Or maybe a sound like the wind in the trees on the hills,

Which is the rustling of the thousand dollar bills¹.

Most bankers dwell in marble halls,

Which they get to dwell in because they encourage deposits and discourage withdrawals,

And particularly because they all observe one rule which woe betides the banker who fails to heed it,

Which is you must never lend any money to anybody unless they don’t need it.

I know you, you cautious conservative banks!

If people are worried about their rent it is your duty to deny them the loan of one nickel, yes, even one copper engraving of the martyred son of the late Nancy Hanks²;

Yes, if they request fifty dollars to pay for a baby you must look at them like Tarzan looking at an uppity ape in the jungle,

And tell them what do they think a bank is, anyhow, they had better go get the money from their wife’s aunt or ungle.

But suppose people come in and they have a million and they want another million to pile on top of it,

Why, you brim with the milk of human kindness and you urge them to accept every drop of it,

And you lend them the million so then they have two million and this gives them the idea that they would be better off with four,

So they already have two million as security so you have no hesitation in lending them two more,

And all the vice-presidents nod their heads in rhythm,

And the only question asked is do the borrowers want the money sent or do they want to take it withm.

But don’t think I’m against banks,

Because I think they deserve our appreciation and thanks

for eliminating the jackasses who go around saying that health and happiness are everything and money isn’t essential,

Because as soon as they have to borrow some unimportant money to maintain their health and happiness they starve to death so they can’t go around any more sneering at good old money, which is nothing short of providential.

—Ogden Nash  (1902 – 1971),

American wag

1.  While this line sounds outlandish to us today, thousand dollar bills (with Grover Cleveland’s likeness) were around when Nash penned this poem.  The U.S. Mint ceased issuing larger denominations after World War II and they were retired from circulation entirely in 1969 to help thwart organized crime rackets.

2.  Nancy Hanks was Lincoln’s mother, so “one copper engraving of the martyred son of the late Nancy Hanks” would refer to a penny, naturally.  This might have been more obvious had you grown up way back during the early 20th century like I did.  Truly I am an “old soul.”  Okay, now you know I’m yanking your chain.

* * *

Below you’ll find my stab at an Ogdenashy ode.  Only I take aim at a very 21st Century set of targets.  This is clearly more jeer than jeremiad, inveighing against influential and irresponsible media figures with churlish cheekiness.  However, the underlying target is really their employers, the mainstream media outlets that featured personalities who indulged in chatty cheerleading during the bubble and splenic spluttering during the bust.

Business media personalities are just like anybody else, except they have unusually exorbitant hair & makeup allowances

This is a verse to celebrate every silly talking head,

Who lulls with such fatuous chatter the most easily led.

Most fashion-plate correspondents sit in Herman Miller Aeron chairs

And affect light conversation and smiles that draw willing viewers’ stares,

And particularly because they all observe one rule, and their fans do a great deal to support it,

Which is you must never deliver news or analysis unless it is dumbed down and distorted.

Fiend, you forsook to foresee the financial fiasco, forsooth!

Objectivity: FAIL, you fraudulent Wall Street mouthpiece herald!

If we worry about our savings is it your duty to deny us the reverse of the coin of truth,

Even if it costs us some more numismatic portraits of the martyred son of the late Rose Fitzgerald?!

While your ink-stained betters lose their shirts despite all their toil,

You still prosper while peddling your infotainment snake oil.

But don’t think I’m against air-brushed personalities,

With their packaged presentations and banalities,

Because I think they deserve our full gratitude

for helping to cultivate our dull attitude

Besides which, we'd be hung higher and drier

And find ourselves even more out-of-lucker,

If our culture failed to be a supplier

Of the latest, greatest model of sucker

—Publius Ignominius Stuporis Slumburbius

(two-bit American wag)

Joey ♥ Maria

* * *

Gabba gabba hey...  To make up for that kind of lame Ram0nes song, I feel compelled to include a classic from 1977’s R0cket to Russia  LP.  “Teenage Lobo†omy” keeps up the brain damage theme (albeit sans zombies), complete with Lego stop-motion action.  Hey, these little dudes play air guitar better than I do, and I have the luxury of articulated elbow and wrist joints.