Monday, March 16, 2009

The Devil’s in the Details (DS)

We had a dream……and in that dream we saw Bernie (see definition below) stretched out on his bunk after suiting up in the standard issue baggy brown uniform of his new Metropolitan Correctional Center home. His arms were folded beneath his head as he stared blankly at the empty mattress resting on the bunk above him, barely two feet from his face. He was waiting for the cell doors to release for the Center's pre-dawn breakfast call, and the start of a new day on the inside.

Unquestionably Bernie’s current situation was a far cry indeed from the $7 million Upper East Side penthouse apartment he’d been accustomed to. Lifestyle adjustments needed to be made, especially since his new home work detail assigned him to Biffy Patrol.

In our dream we could see confusion ripple across Bernie’s face when the prison Custodial Super slapped a large rolling mop bucket and toilet brush into his hands. Without expression, Bernie walked into the janitor’s closet to collect whatever else he thought he might need to properly clean something he’d never cleaned before in his life.

Bernie was clearly ignorant to the world of cleaning products, and before anyone would even suspect what he was unwittingly capable of that day in the janitor’s closet, he’d whipped up a chlorine bleach-ammonia cleaning concoction which rapidly created a noxious gas that overpowered and expeditiously knocked him to the floor, thus ending his life here on Earth.

Bernie briefly lay unconscious before the ethereal lights began to flicker as his life force separated from the 70 year old body with finality. Out of no where appeared Charles Ponzi, Bernie’s personal escort and Angel of Death, with outstretched hand.

Ponzi ushered Bernie through a misty elevator door and pressed the button going “down”. Bernie would now be answering to a new overlord, the Prince of Darkness, in a personal hell of his own creation. Mr. D (as the Prince liked to be called) had a friendly chat with Bernie as they walked down a deep corridor lined with doors on both sides. Every door they passed was numbered “666”.

When Mr. D finally stopped at the door numbered “666” belonging to Bernie, he opened it and extended his arm in a welcoming gesture of entry. Bernie’s mind swirled with déjà vu’ as he found himself walking right back into the very 7-1/2’ x 8’ janitor’s closet he’d just died in. His new work detail would keep him busy for an eternity, for he was to count out $65 billion dollars, one penny at a time.

And then we woke up and realized that the IRS has collected tax revenue for decades from Bernie’s investor clients based upon illusionary gains reported for investments they never even had. We suspect hell will need to freeze over before the IRS gives any of that revenue back.

But what we really want to know is which one of Bernie’s little helpers will be the next to follow his lead?

For more on Bernie’s life behind bars, see our ‘Dream Sequence’ February 2, 2009 posting “Camp Fed Takes The Triple".

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This is where our backseat drivers can give a shout out from the back of the bus.