Even though we don't know each other personally, I feel strongly that I can call you Ben. I hear that the federal government is bailing out struggling businesses, and as a sole proprietor, I would like to make a personal appeal for your help. I hope this isn't awkward with George who I know is miffed with me because I donated my tax rebate money to Hillary's campaign but you know, in fairness, he spends a lot of my tax dollars on things I don't approve of either.
So Ben, I've been looking for a sugar daddy for years and never really thought of you in that way. (Not that you aren't cute or anything, I actually think you're just one of those serious buttoned up types who probably lets loose in a bubble bath.) I mean you were my hero to lower interest rates which for a girl in debt is better than Belgian chocolate and a foot rub, but I didn't really think of you as a source of emergency support if my personal and professional stock started to plummet.
Times are tough. You should see the pathetic state of my pedicure. My office stinks because we're all eating tuna out of cans for lunch. (Speaking of which, treating me to a nice lunch including fresh greens could be one of your first moves.) For many of my working compatriots IRA is just a nice man who did those great musicals and our only health insurance is large doses of Vitamin C.
I don't know how well you sleep at night (for all I know Mrs. Bernanke snores) but my fear about money keeps me awake, and then I end up watching Rock of Love reruns all night which almost makes me lose my will to live. I know you have a hard job to deal with toxic debt, but believe me it can't be any harder than dealing with toxic bachelors.
In many ways bailing me out is far easier than bailing out an investment bank. My idea of a year end bonus is buying the entire box set of Sex and the City, and I'm certain that a bank detox has got to cost a lot more than a lymphatic massage and wheat grass juice diet for me. Also I can assure you the only short selling in my life is the mini skirt which was on sale at TJ Maxx.
I admit that I have made some bad investments myself, including long term relationships with false promises of love and support, the tarot card reading business which didn't work out, and those expensive shoes I spent a fortune on that never really fit right. But think how much more fun oversight with me would be. Instead of pouring over accounting figures you could pop into Bloomies, and before I invest in the expensive dress, tell me whether I look cute in it.
Even though you and Secretary Paulson don't exactly strike me as warm and fuzzy types, I can't believe that you would be blind to my and the average citizen's plight. Despite our struggles we are still paying our mortgages and credit card bills on time with what seems like usurious interest. Why is it that you will infuse all this money into these banks and mortgage companies to keep them going because they say they can't pay their bills, but if I'm one day late, my credit rating is ruined and I'm charged even higher interest?
So sweetie, Benny baby, what do I have to do to get a little of that billion dollar pay-out pie? Stalk you at Starbucks? Don't make me be that girl. Come on, who would your rather have rubbing your cute little bald spot, some hairy old guy CEO... or me?