Henry Paulson came on the TV this morning. You know, the Secretary of the Treasury. Henry Paulson, of the Park Avenue Paulsons. The Palm Peach Paulsons. The Barrington Hills Paulsons. Who went to Princeton and Harvard Business School. Who, over the course of his career, worked his way up, from very near the top, to the top, at investment banker Goldman Sachs.
Anyway, Henry was pissed at the idea that Americans would walk away from mortgages that they could afford to pay, simply because said mortgages, had all turned ass over tea kettle. Damn speculators, he called them, in disgust.
Well ya know. Fair enough, I guess. But he didn't say a damn thing about guys like Big Tony the Tan Mozillo, over at CountryWide, who'd give a jumbo loan to a road kill possum, as long as it had a post Office box and he gets his 3% off the top. He didn't say nothing about his buddies over at Goldman, who take the crap loans that Big Tony shovels over to them and claim to be able to perform some kind of Rumplestiltskinian magic on 'em, converting them into triple A rated, gilt edged, derivatives.
I have a hard time believing that the countrie's economic problems were caused because some Guatemalan room cleaner, down at the Marriott, was a little too eager to get her slice of the American Dream and won't make good when the dream goes South.
What the hell is a speculator, anyway? I thought it was one of those shoe horn lookin' things doctors use to look up twats.
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