Arnold
CibbuanoWall Street Executives receiving bailout money
February 11th 2009 22:38
If you had asked me eight years ago what profession you should enter, I would have breathlessly replied "Wall Street Broker" and advised you to work hard to climb the ranks.
I would have encouraged you to take the huge bonuses, commissions on massive deals, selling securities backed by risky mortgages.
"But Cibbuano," you'd protest, "this is just paper value. I'm not really making any real money, nor am I producing anything of value."
I would have soothed your complaints away with $500 bottles of cognac and nights at the strip club. You would have bought an expensive apartment in Manhattan, gotten yourself a stable of clothes by unpronounceable designers.
I would have suggested that you work tirelessly, fueling your body with cocaine and/or crystal meth, burning the midnight oil just to get promoted again and again.
Your bonuses would get bigger and bigger every year, until your end-of-year paycheck was so huge that you couldn't even really comprehend the value.
You'd have evolved the financial desks to chase more lucrative money, putting the firm's money in credit-default schemes and other lunatic investments.
"But Cibbuano," you'd protest again, "this is even more insubstantial money. We're hedged in on this huge pyramid of derivatives and underwriting schemes. If one player collapses, we all go down."
I'd laugh away your protests and point to your rare sports car and your oversized luxury yacht.
Several years later, the mortgages would start falling apart and all these schemes would untangle, leaving nothing but losses on the balance sheets. For years, you collected paper profits and now you've got paper losses on things that don't even exist or have any tangible value.
"Cibbuano," you'd state firmly, "I told you. I TOLD you, you jerk. You arrogant, smug bastard. You deceptive, evil manipulator of lives. It's all crumbled down. It's all gone. We're broke and in debt."
I'd put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, then laugh it off. You'd wipe tears away, upset at the end result of things. I'd laugh once more, lean in and say:
"Don't worry, little Wall Street executive. It'll all be ok."
"How do you know? What will we do?"
"Have you ever heard," I'd reply slowly, "of a little thing called the US Government?"
Excessive Wall Street pay in light of federal bailout money
Another bottle of Cristal, please. We're going to work as a top executive for an irresponsible investment firm.
I would have encouraged you to take the huge bonuses, commissions on massive deals, selling securities backed by risky mortgages.
"But Cibbuano," you'd protest, "this is just paper value. I'm not really making any real money, nor am I producing anything of value."
I would have soothed your complaints away with $500 bottles of cognac and nights at the strip club. You would have bought an expensive apartment in Manhattan, gotten yourself a stable of clothes by unpronounceable designers.
I would have suggested that you work tirelessly, fueling your body with cocaine and/or crystal meth, burning the midnight oil just to get promoted again and again.
Your bonuses would get bigger and bigger every year, until your end-of-year paycheck was so huge that you couldn't even really comprehend the value.
You'd have evolved the financial desks to chase more lucrative money, putting the firm's money in credit-default schemes and other lunatic investments.
"But Cibbuano," you'd protest again, "this is even more insubstantial money. We're hedged in on this huge pyramid of derivatives and underwriting schemes. If one player collapses, we all go down."
I'd laugh away your protests and point to your rare sports car and your oversized luxury yacht.
Several years later, the mortgages would start falling apart and all these schemes would untangle, leaving nothing but losses on the balance sheets. For years, you collected paper profits and now you've got paper losses on things that don't even exist or have any tangible value.
"Cibbuano," you'd state firmly, "I told you. I TOLD you, you jerk. You arrogant, smug bastard. You deceptive, evil manipulator of lives. It's all crumbled down. It's all gone. We're broke and in debt."
I'd put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, then laugh it off. You'd wipe tears away, upset at the end result of things. I'd laugh once more, lean in and say:
"Don't worry, little Wall Street executive. It'll all be ok."
"How do you know? What will we do?"
"Have you ever heard," I'd reply slowly, "of a little thing called the US Government?"
Excessive Wall Street pay in light of federal bailout money
"“For top executives to award themselves these kinds of compensation packages in the midst of this economic crisis is not only in bad taste, it’s a bad strategy, and I will not tolerate it as president,” Mr. Obama said. He said such pay is “exactly the kind of disregard for the costs and consequences of their actions that brought about this crisis — a culture of narrow self-interest and short-term gain at the expense of everything else..."
"A recent study by Equilar, a compensation research firm, found that the chief executives of the 10 largest financial services firms in a survey of 200 companies with revenue of at least $6.5 billion were awarded a total of $320 million last year, even though the companies had mortgage-related losses of $55 billion."
"A recent study by Equilar, a compensation research firm, found that the chief executives of the 10 largest financial services firms in a survey of 200 companies with revenue of at least $6.5 billion were awarded a total of $320 million last year, even though the companies had mortgage-related losses of $55 billion."
Another bottle of Cristal, please. We're going to work as a top executive for an irresponsible investment firm.
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