Look, I know a lot of you are complaining about the bonus I'm getting for this diary you're currently reading. And I'm aware that times are tough and people are suffering, but you have to understand that my bonus is structured much like the one described in this New York Times article:
“On Main Street, ‘bonus’ sounds like a gift... but it’s part of the compensation structure of Wall Street. Say I’m a banker and I created $30 million. I should get a part of that.”
See, where Wall Street is credited for creating WEALTH, I'm paid for all the HUMOR I produce, and well:
"WH DEE AFTET THE GREE FERRET GOES TO T POO LOLLIPOP!"
...there was some VERY funny shit in that sentence and therefore I still want full credit for CREATING it even if a lot of the humor was lost in the market collapse.
I mean, seriously folks: SA BLUE A FISH-PAPER TO DE THE UNDERWEAR TOM DASCHLE!
OK, well, see, THAT joke was part of another joke that was tied up in a joke that was being overseen by a sub-prime, double-hung, shorted, no-load, interest and fat-free Citicorp account, but y'know... even if you didn't get to enjoy the punch-line, I still CREATED the humor and so I feel I should get the gold and diamond encrusted hooker as well as the personally engraved jet-ski/lemon zester guaranteed in my contract.
I mean, when a baker CREATES a loaf of bread, should you have to buy and eat it for him to get paid?
OF COURSE NOT.
When a manufacture CREATES a pair of pants, should you have to buy and wear them for him to get paid?
WHAT? IS THIS SOCIALISM?
If every restaurant diner had to actually EAT the lobster before forking over the 37.99 well... then... WE'D BASICALLY BE GERMANY IN THE 1930'S... if you know what I mean.*
(*BTW, the MEANING is currently in foreclosure at Lehman Brothers, so... um... you'll have to guess as to what, exactly, I was getting at.)
And all your bitching seems to overlook that you are now, essentially, an INVESTOR in my comedy and if things go well you'll get these jokes back, along with the INTEREST of two other fantastic jokes... FRE SYS OB STD ICE CREAM IN THE TOE JAM and ASUMP WHO TELE BECA THAT'S NOT MY FINGER in... like... 2023.
See, in the end this is absolutely a good deal for YOU, which is why I'm going to be taking home a new gold-plated double-wide trailer and a pile of krugerants the size of this wooly mammoth -->.
DEATH POVERTY MUSTARD GAS WAR SUB-PRIME KATRINA... STARVE TO DEATH
OK, that joke wasn't funny to begin with, and though I may have written it, YOU CHOSE TO READ IT and its not MY fault if YOU can't find a way to MAKE it hilarious, which is why it shouldn't effect my bottom line.
So, take heart my friends. Because we're all in this together and as my grandmama Bertha always said:
(I've just now been informed that Grandmama Bertha was, unfortunately, simply a figment of my Madoff investment account, calling into question both the veracity of her witticism and my very existence.)