John Cryan is leaving UBS (to pursue other interests outside of normal reality)

I think we all know what that means, don't we, dear reader(s)? Mr Cryan, chief financial officer extraordinaire, is heading for the physical/astral desert of our love. Where the money always burns, and the moons always shine - if you have your astral eyes in. Where you can touch the sky! You can get as high as an eagle. So it's gonna be astral more than physical. It's gonna be crazy rather than thoroughly sane and dull. And Mr Cryan will be multicoloured, oh, not the usual grey. Because he's had enough! He's nearly fifty and he ain't lived yet. Who can blame him for yearning after the delights of the desert? No doubt he has heard stories (my stories!) about the trunk of Ganesh, and he wants a taste of it, the good life, the wild life, a life that is so close to death (we are nearly there) that we tremble with anticipation. But we don't want to die! We are not insane. We want to live forever. And we will. Believe me, my mystic lovers, all above board, you will live forever - especially if you are one of the fortunate ones mentioned within these bloggy pages (are they pages? no, I refuse to live in the past). I know what I'm doing. I'm taking you all with me. It's gonna be a gas. Like Jim Jones. No, that was a drink. I get confused. It's the peyote, (wo)man, whatever you are. Don't touch that dial! You're not going away, leaving me all lonesome in a wilderness of my own making. We're gonna have a party for John. He won't be leaving for months. Oh God, what's the delay?! Why do they always do this, these executives? 'I'm leaving, leaving on a midnight wave of ecstasy to the desert.' Then what? We have to wait. Three months! Six months! A year! These bankers must think we have the patience of saints. No! We want Johnny here, and we want him NOW! Come on, Johnny, take massive action. Be decisive! Be a man! You can remember what it feels like to be a man, a free man, can't ya? Before the corporate world broke your spirit, dragged you through the dirt of mundane life, a little crying child in rags, well, a suit, let's not tell lies, you already have everyone's sympathy, I'm sure, but, oh, you could be anything in our reality. We will dress you up. No expense will be spared, as long as you're paying. What's your credit card number? Never mind. That can come later.