World Economy Saved!

Ed Zachary (né Zacharini) contributed this eyewitness report from the floor of the New York Stock Exchange on the basis that you’re not drunk if you can still hold on to a horizontal surface. Ed graduated from Fort Wayne Junior College with an AA degree in (Home) Economics, went on to break big stories for the Berkeley Barb, Screw Magazine, The Escondido Daily Times-Advocate, Redbook, Watchtower and The Pattaya News before becoming The Journal’s Senior International Economics Correspondent in direct competition with Christine Jorgensen, his counterpart at CNN, except for his serving in this capacity without benefit of parachute or a huge chest and a bigger mouth. In the editorial section of the Mens’ Shitter at the Bumfuck Holiday Inn, Ed is affectionately known to one and all as the ‘Credit Derivative Wop.’


I came to when the CBS floor correspondent kicked me in the balls (intentionally?) as the House's Wall Street Bailout just went over the top to save the World Economy.

The reaction was immediate as several traders lost control of their lower intestinal tracts and filled their pants in relief. The smell was terrific from my unique position trying to lift myself off the ticker-tape strewn floor, even though ticker tape no longer exists. Dragging myself to my feet, I spotted that bitch from Bloomberg--fine ass but no jugs at all, a pirate's dream--and immediately approached her, flashing my Press Pass.

"I have two questions: one, do you think the bail out will actually trickle down to Main Street; and two, you got any aspirin on you? Gallo Tokay really packs a punch but what with the credit crunch, there's no alter--"

"Get the fuck outta the shot, shitbreath, I'm just going on-air."

"Oh yeah? Wanna interview me?"

"The only person who wants to interview you is Andy Warhol. Now get out."

Wandering through the crowd of relieved traders and media experts in search of Andy Warhol, I looked up at the board and couldn't help noticing the Dow heading straight south like a bad taco through a Tijuana tourist. Buy on the rumor, sell on the news, I thought to myself.

When the President made the announcement congratulating the House of Representatives and Sarah Palin for managing the rescue of the economy for future generations of hedge fund investors, a trader standing next to me let loose with a digestive emission that flattened the NBC correspondent whose hair pin caught the corner of a Credit Derivative trader's mouth on the way down, tearing half his face off. The S&P 500 made an attempt at a rally, then stalled and resumed its descent.

The dollar was making a big move on the basis that the US Dollar is the safe haven of last resort. I managed to interview a financial futures analyst who had reported for work that morning at the wrong exchange.

"Oh yes. The dollar is where you run to when you panic. There are two reasons for this. One, the US Treasury and Federal Reserve are true experts in monetary and fiscal policy. Two, the alternative is to invest it with a bunch of filthy wogs who will steal your money when you go to the bathroom."

Speaking of which, I needed a drink badly and could not believe my luck when I ran into Hank Paulson in the Women's Bathroom skolling a magnum of 1959 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild in one of the booths. I heard the familiar gurgling noise and banged on the door.

"You're not taking a shit, you phony!"

Hank opened the door and said, "You're right. You're always right, Ed. Have a pull. I can't believe what they did to my 3 page precis granting me total discretion over the world economy. That never would have happened at Goldman! These assholes in Congress, look what they've done! If I didn't have 650 million stashed under my mattress in Aspen, I'd be pretty upset. Have a drink."

Carefully wiping the top of the magnum off, I partook of the '59 Chateau Mouton which immediately recalled the familiar hint of Catherine Deneuve with an unusual insolence associated with the haunting scent of the girls' playground at the parochial school in Valence.

"Thanks, Hank. I needed that. Good luck."

"You don't have any crack cocaine on you by any chance--" Hank ejaculated as I headed for the door, but I was already back on the exchange floor in search of Andy Warhol and a quick sildenafil citrate ingestion for the date I had with Maria Bartiromo that same evening.

Unlike me, the Dow was well and truly back in the shitter as I emerged onto the trading floor. It ended the day down 162.84.

Maria Bartiromo stood me up. She was appearing on CNBC with the most intelligent man in financial broadcasting, Larry Kudlow.

I never did find Andy Warhol.

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