Wall Street has become a zone of fascination at Cobb Manor, because I presume that somewhere within that $700 (or is it $900) billion taxpayer bailout, there will be enough crumbs to dissolve the mortgage at Cobb Manor. Certainly if the Wall Street crooks manage to spend $400,000 on a binge-trip after the taxpayers bailed them out, the least they could do is make life a little easier at The Cobb.
Where do I sign?
I am so old that I can remember when a million dollars was a lot of money. Was it Everett Dirksen who said, “A billion here. a billion there. That adds up to serious money”? Now everything is measured in billions. Except for the Iraq war, which is now measured in trillions. I was with the House Republicans who first rejected the bill as economically unfeasible. They didn’t vote for it until a few billion more was added for various “pork” projects. Who are these guys?
Relatively speaking, my measly mortgage wasn’t much to begin with, being a Farmers Home Administration repossession and all, but I managed to refinance whenever I could,
just like the Wall Street boys. I believe that I am every bit as irresponsible as the Wall Street sharks and I should be justly compensated. Then of course Florida Mark talked me into jumping on the real estate explosion in the Sunshine State. I got on board just in time for the collapse as any good Twomey should.
My mother was a Twomey from Ballyvourney, Ireland, and the family lore holds that we are all cursed because some family member tortured a leprechaun for his pot of gold, then lost it all in a bad land deal in Killarney. Only the curse remains. I doubled my mortgage in order to buy a measly half-acre in Royal Highlands, Fla. Since real estate was doubling every two years (honest to God, it was), I figured I would hold on to the land just long enough to pay off the Cobb Manor mortgage. Gary Fowlie, the richest Democrat I know, endorsed the plan. “Can’t lose,” he said after buying a few Florida parcels himself.
Now, the subdivisions have hit the fan and I am left high and dry. My grandchildren might get some use out of that Florida land, but I now know that I never will. Since they (and their grandchildren) will be paying for this scandalous Wall Street bailout, they should get something out of it.
I am assuming that the nationalization of the banking industry will include the eradication of my measly mortgage and I will live rent-free for the rest of my life. Certainly the government considers me just as important as the thieves who have looted the Treasury, then gone on a $400,000 orgy.
Billions for Wall Street, but not a dime for Cobb Manor. You watch.
There is only one way out now. No, not suicide. The lottery. I will double my purchases for Powerball, Megabucks and Paycheck every week. I know that the odds do not change appreciably whether you buy a ticket or not. But so what? It could happen.
Naturally I would prefer the hundred-million-dollar Powerball jackpot. But I can live with Paycheck or even the TriState Megabucks prize. Let’s say it’s $600,000 and of course half will go to taxes, to bail out more Wall Street billionaires. That will leave me with $300,000, enough to pay off the mortgage with a few dollars to spare.
I will buy a Mini Cooper (turbocharged, naturally) with a great big Union Jack on the roof. I will put a (small) house and pool on the Florida land, which will be all paid for. Then I will get visitors. I will add a pool at Cobb Manor, to get even more visitors. I will buy a “small” sailboat, probably a 30-foot Catalina — used, naturally.
And of course I will pay off any mortgages on the houses of my three daughters, so they will be forced to take me in when I spend every last red cent of the lottery money.
Just like the Wall Street billionaires.
Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at email@example.com.