Who's Your Daddy Now?

The United States of America, unlike many countries, does not have what is referred to on the Street as a Sovereign Fund—a pile of taxpayer cash looking for investment opportunities that will, it is hoped, make some good coin for the country. 

But when our companies get in trouble—particularly those you'd think would never in our lifetime or anyone else's get in serious trouble, ever—they come running to Daddy.

And Daddy, in spite of being laughed at and ridiculed, told to his face, by these very same people, what a pointless, irrelevant, unnecessary albatross he is, and that he should just Leave Them Alone, Get Off Their Back, that the best thing to do with Daddy, one even joked, would be to drown him in a bathtub—comes to their rescue.

But Daddy, to his credit, drives a hard bargain.

In this case, when he lends $85 billion to his tits up son, who, he's come to the painful realization, has his fingers in enough pies that one wouldn't be able to get a decent dessert for years to come if Daddy didn't step in.

So Daddy asks: Where are all your buddies now? Why not ask your wise and plucky laissez-faire chums for a loan. I've got enough problems of my own.

But none of the son's buddies are lending anyone anything. 

So Daddy, after making the son sweat, and after listening to untold numbers of pleas and shrieks, a multitude of tears and plaintive stories about all the son's debts—that there isn't a soul in town he doesn't owe money, and yet every soul in town is counting on him to be there, at the bar on Wednesday, to buy them drinks, before they bet their money on next week's games (it's a complicated mess, he's told, a catastrophe waiting to happen—tells the son, I'll lend you the money.

Oh, thank you thank you thank you, the son, on his knees now, blubbers.

At 8.5% over LIBOR, Daddy adds.

What? the son replies, shocked. I might as well go to a loan shark.

Go to a loan shark, Daddy says. I wish you would.

All right, all right—Jesus! That's over 10%! That's highway robbery!

That's Daddy deciding what the market will bear—certainly you can't begrudge me that. Still, if you're not certain ...

No no no, I'm certain. Jesus!

Just be glad you aren't your brother, says Daddy. He didn't have his finger in quite as many pies, and look what happened to him. $1.75 billion he got from his buddies: 1.5 billion for the house, and a trifling 250 million for his operations. A little over a year ago it was all worth $45 billion. That's life in the fast lane, son. And if I were fair and indiscriminate, I'd leave you to the mercy of your buddies, too. But I won't. Because, to be honest, it would just make my life even more miserable. And I don't need that now, what with all my other troubles.

Daddy gets out his checkbook. How much do you need again?

The son hangs his head, mumbles, 85 billion.

Euros? 

No, no, Jesus—just dollars.

Just dollars. Well thank God for that.

Daddy, in spite of everything said about him, appears to still have his sense of humor, and while he writes the check, adds, By the way, that new fellow you hired to run your life, tell him to find another job.

What? Why? He didn't do anything.

I rest my case.

But he didn't do anything!

Daddy sets his pen down, looks up at the son.

All right, all right. Jesus!

Truth is, I looked around and found a new fellow—an old friend of mine; we used to work together; you're going to love him—to run your life. At least for the next couple of years. Until I get back my 85 billion, plus the 8.5% over LIBOR—

In two years! the son exclaims. You expect me not only to pay you back, but in two years? You must be joking.

Lest I remind you, son, money doesn't grow on trees. Daddy has to print it.

You can't do this! This is bullshit!!

I can do anything. I'm Daddy. And I'm all you got. 

Daddy tears out the check. Here, he says. I'd cash it soon if I were you.

The son reaches for the check, but Daddy pulls it away, points to his pale, wrinkled cheek. How about a little kiss for Daddy, before you go?

The son is aghast. Tries to grab the check, but Daddy is too quick. 

Just a peck on the cheek, son. It'll make Daddy feel good.

The son sighs, gives Daddy his peck on the cheek. Daddy smiles, hands him the check. 

When you see your friends, Daddy tells him as he's leaving, Speak well of me.

Yeah, says the son, crumpling the check from Daddy and stuffing it in his pocket. Sure thing.