No, no, no. I'm not having this. Hedge fund managers are not 'an opaque bunch of spivs', as one Liberal Democrat MP called them yesterday. Hedge fund managers are beautiful people. Maybe the only true capitalists we have left.
O hedge fund managers, may you burn with money in the desert of your dreams! You are my mystical children. And I love you, even if no one else does. Well, no one in 'square' society. But Big Herb loves you. Ganesh loves you. The ghosts of the dead financiers love you.
When you die, O my dreamy hedge fund managers, where will you go? Will you go to hell with the communists? Will you suffer on the lower levels of the astral plane? No, my children, you will live and burn on the higher levels! And do not fear the burning! It is not a hellish burning, the sort of burning that comes to MPs, BBC reporters or union officials. No, it is a heavenly burning. A burning of money that never ceases. You must believe in this burning. Never give in to the communists! Or I will disown you. I shall scream at you: Yesterday my morning of light, now my night of endless darkness! O hedgies, don't make me use those words.
Oh yes, when you die, if you are rich enough, the ghosts of the dead financiers will welcome you with cold, ghostly arms. You could become one of them! Yes, become a dead financier. Live forever! O my beautiful children, my brothers, my sisters, my men and women of the big money, you will live forever!
This money, this big money, they call it obscene. The sick ones. The evil ones. The envious ones. The shallow ones. The self-righteous ones. They call it obscene. But they are obscene. We spit on them. Let's throw them into the pit! And beautiful ones, when you are the dead ones, the desert masters, the astral lords of all the cash, you shall haunt them. Yes! Torment them! Make them suffer for not loving the money. For not burning.
Burning, burning, burning …
O my children, there is a voice.
O Master, what does the voice say?
O my children, there is a way.
O Master, where is the way?
O my children, there is a reason.
O Master, what is the reason?
O my children, there is a meaning.
O Master, what is the meaning?
Yes. Yes. Yes. The voice is in my head. A desert voice. An old voice. Speaking of the way. Speaking of the reason. Showing me the meaning. The truth. The truth is a burning for me, and for you. Yes. O my children …
BURN! BURN! BURN!
