Yeah! You probably didn't hear it here first. But you are hearing it now with added mystical juice. With fire and shit! Yes! The German bank Commerzbank, Commerzzzzzzzzzzzzbank! Man, it needs those zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz! It does!
O Master, you are like some jazzed-up motherfucker. Riding those astral waves of financial news as they swirl around inside your head.
Fuckin' A!
And if the squares don't like it?
Oh man, O my child, WE ALL KNOW WHAT THE SQUARES CAN DO IF THEY DON'T LIKE IT.
But what about Commerzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzbank, man?!
NEXT YEAR the bank will make some money! Yippee!
And the chief executive of this bank (I ain't doing the zzzzzzzzzzzzz again), Martin Blessing, has told some newspaper: 'I don't want to be over-optimistic. Germans are not known for singing and dancing on the table.'
But that's not what he told you, is it, boss? You got the real juicy shit.
Yes, I did. Martin spoke in my mind. This wasn't some telephone conversation. HE SPOKE IN MY MIND!!!
And what did the crazy cat say?
HE SPAKE UNTO ME: 'Mikey, I couldn't tell some newspaper I was going to be burning in the desert like some kinda mentalist mystic mutha who had lost all contact with 'normal' reality and spun off into a world where there is no loss, only profit. How could I tell them that, man?'
O Master, he couldn't tell them that!
Of course he couldn't.
