SITE OF THE DAY

buymyshitpile.com

"Use the form below to submit bad assets you'd like the government to take off your hands."

I bought a house a couple of years ago, but I can’t sell it because I can't remember where it is. I think it’s in the West Country somewhere. Ah, fuck it. It’s only money.*


*Motto of the US Treasury.

THE GREAT NOSE JOB FAMINE

The Wall Street Journal looks at the human cost of the financial crisis:

"A nose job in a hospital with a private nurse in attendance had been something of a rite of passage for Joan Asher's children. But when her fourth and last child was ready for her own rhinoplasty recently, Ms. Asher asked her to postpone it. The financial markets were simply more out of whack than her 16-year-old's proboscis."

And there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

The central banks “pumped” $180 billion into the economy last week. If you divide that by 6 billion people in the world, about $30 of that should have been pumped at me, but wasn’t. Who got my share? I’ll tell you who. The whole $180 billion went to about 200 dickheads in New York who will fritter it all away on nose jobs and treasury bills and other vulgarities. Meanwhile I’m living in a Colombian hovel reduced to eating instant noodles to survive.

I wrote to Krugman demanding to know where that $180 billion is now, and why can’t I have some. But he’s being very cagey about it. No doubt he got his share.

It really gets my goat.

CREDIT CRISIS LATEST

The dollar has been abolished. All money is now worthless.

Since the credit crisis started I have been cramming my face with cheeseburgers. Now that I weigh 300lb the Federal Reserve will consider me Too Big To Fail.

Once again I have outwitted them.

DRESSAGE "AS DULL AS GOLF ITSELF"

"Hong Kong's horse racing-mad population appear to have found the first day of Olympic equestrian competition a turn-off. Many of the initial 10,400 spectators fell asleep during the dressage events.

One of them told the city's Sunday Morning Post newspaper she was 'deeply bored.' 'The horses just walked from one side of the arena to the other and then back again,' she said.

‘I really don't think Hong Kong people will be interested in this.'

As the stands emptied, another spectator said: 'I expected to see horse racing. I have to say this is the most boring thing I've ever seen in my life.'"

Via Hemlock



Don't worry, horsey. The fat idiot will be getting off in a minute.

An email arrives from the desk of Mr Usman Adama, accounts manager of an African bank. He says he recently came across a huge sum of money belonging to a deceased person who died in plane crash.

Yeah, yeah, you are thinking. Heard that one before. But hold your horses. What if this guy is on the level?

The tragedy is that these fraudsters are giving a bad name to all the honest Nigerians who need to use your bank account to deposit $80 million. No one will give them a fair hearing.

I think I’m going to give this guy the benefit of the doubt.

SCRIPT

An airport. Man on a business trip waiting in line to go through metal detector. A plain clothes man approaches him, shows him some ID, and says, please, sir, come this way.

They sit in an office. Plain clothes guy explains that he is Colonel Cathcart, in charge of tightening up airport security. Can you help us? Do your bit in the War On Terror?

“What do you want?” says the man.

Plain clothes says, “We’re looking for civilians like you to try to get weapons on to planes, see if our people are awake. We want you to try to take this grenade through security. Hide it in your undies, let’s see if they find it. Relax, it’s not even a real grenade. I’ll be watching behind the two-way mirror. If they don’t find it, they’re going to get a real dressing down in my report for the Congressional Inquiry. Heads will roll.”

Man says, um, sure.

Man strolls through the metal detector, is wrestled to the floor and tasered.

“I’m part of the Congressional Inquiry. Ask Colonel Cathcart,” screams the man.

Cathcart appears. "I have never seen this man before in my life," he says.

Cell door slams shut. Man lies on the floor in an orange jump suit, weeping.

I was thinking of entering this as a short for the Slamdance festival. If any of you are American millionaires or Kuwaitis or whatever, could you get in touch? I reckon we can shoot the whole thing for less than it cost to make Terminator. Investors will get 50% of the profits or a bag of crisps, whichever is greater.

I expect I'll get Samuel L Jackson to play the Colonel. Do any of you happen to have his number? He cool.