With credit card debt and margin lending on tech stocks spiralling, it is worth contemplating the prospect of getting screwed by one of the banks. AD DENIZEN has contemplated in poetry.
So I tried to call the banker but discovered to my anger That a voice machine had answered and referred me to a queue: “Your inquiry’s number fifty , Mr Clancy’s very busy” So I started going dizzy screaming down the phone: “Fuck you” * * * * * In my wild erratic panic, visions came of things mechanic Programmed highly ultra-manic to devour what I own So the shares continue rising for the holy enterprising For the blessed rich have pleasures that the paupers never know And the bank has staff to meet them and their humble voices greet them In the glimmer of the bunker where they keep the golden bars, And they see the vision splendid of the interest rate extended, And their diamond-coated credit cards are issued free of charge. * * * * * I am sitting in my dingy little bedroom where a stingy Radiator struggles feebly just to keep our faces warm, And the noses that are dribbling of my daughter and her siblings Tells me now there is no quibbling, I must see the bank at dawn. And in place of human prattle I can hear the fiendish rattle Of the automated teller counting money on the street; And the language uninviting of the muggers who are fighting For a share of granny’s pension who is dying at her feet. Inside the queues are daunting, and the pallid faces haunt me As we shoulder one another in our rush and nervous haste For the banker’s fees are greedy and the teller welcomes queries Using exponential theories for the charges that he makes. And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to strangle Clancy, Like to drag him by his testes from a speeding horse and cart, Till he organises finance for a decent heat appliance But I doubt he’d be so tender, Clancy, of The Overdraft. – A.D Denizen