My Extremely Reliable Anonymous Source, Lumpy the Mongoose, is back  after a short recovery from a chicken-related illness. Lumpy has discovered that the so-called Market Fundamentalists are taking capitalism to a whole new level. Lumpy?

Thanks Pesky. Yep, it’s amazing what a few beers and box of stale doughnuts will do to the editorial staff at the Wall Street Journal these days. The Journal editors, along with half of George W. Bush’s senior staff, convened a meeting to evaluate general performance of God, and to determine whether or not God’s management skills are up to snuff.  God was invited to defend his performance, and to show his return on investment (ROI). The panel members then judged God on various criteria, such as whether He is a “team player” and demonstrates appropriate company loyalty.  The interview went like this:

Panel: All right, God,  we’ve got some serious concerns about your performance over the last year.
God: (sound of  thunder and trumpets playing “Ode to Joy”)
Panel: That is really not the kind of answer we’re looking for, God. You see, that’s part of the problem. You’re hard to understand. You don’t communicate well.
God: I am the light and the earth and the air. I encompass all things. I am the alpha and the omega.
Panel: Sure you are. But here’s the thing. You’re a big spender, God, you really are. All those damned trees must cost a fortune. You’re waaaaaay over budget. And you know that we don’t like it when you go over budget.
God:  I am the budget. I am infinity.
Panel: And infinity has a hell of a lot of overhead. We just can’t afford it any more. You’re going to have to make some serious cuts. You can’t just keep fully oxygenating this entire planet. You’re going to have  to make some choices. Now, we’ve drawn you a map of countries that should get oxygen, and other, good-for-nothing, unprofitable countries that don’t get oxygen.
God:  No.
Panel: What?
God: NO. (sound of thunder and the theme from Jaws)
Panel: Well, you can’t just say no. We’re economists. We know how things work. This is just the way it’s going to be.
God: Your testicles are now the size of garbonzo beans. Leave me alone.

And as the members of the panel desperately shoved their hands down their pants, God exited the room and took a week’s vacation in Maui. The downsized market fundamentalists vowed to replace God as soon as possible.

The fundamentalists searched high and low, but mostly low, and found God’s replacement: an impoverished Irish diety who had been out of work since the Catholics took over centuries ago.  He agreed to work for animal sacrifices, considered a bargain compared to the current God’s excessive demands for  virtuous behavior.  The God’s name was Cinniuint.

Cinnuint’s first day was uneventful. No major changes. But then, on the second day, Cinnuint gave all the giraffes an extra head. Still, most humans didn’t notice. On the third day, Cinnuint removed the Amazon rain forest and replaced it with a series of factories, including one to manufacture Lisa Marie Presley’s album and promotional materials. On the fourth day, Cinnuint made all the cathedrals into strip malls. On the fifth day, Cinnuint put a sixteen story pickle inside Dodger Stadium. On the sixth day, Cinnuint accepted animal sacrifices in exchange for certain anotomical enhancements.

On the seventh day, Cinnuint slept in late and watched monster truck rallies on television.

The Market Fundamentalists weren’t completey pleased with Cinnuint’s performance—the pickle seemed especially wasteful—but they were mollified with the sweet sounds of Lisa Marie, and agreed to give him more time.

God, meanwhile, was just finishing up his vacation in Maui, when He began receiving double prayers from Giraffes. Instead of just one repitition of, “please, God, make my neck a little longer” he now got two from each giraffe.  God switched to Omnipotent Mode and suddenly, He knew all.

The market fundamentalists woke up the next morning and discovered they were no longer editors of the Wall Street Journal or advisors to the Bush white house. They were theme park mascots at “Strawberry Shortcake World” working for $5 an hour.

Cinnuint, meanwhile, fled back to Galway and hid in a bog.

Wow, Lumpy, that’s extraordinary. That’s a hell of a story. However, as far as I know, the Wall Street Journal editors haven’t gone anywhere. Are you sure you’ve got your facts straight?

Excuse me, Pesky, but you don’t pay me to get the facts straight. You pay me by the word.

So I do. Thanks for your hard work, Lumpy. And the rest of you remember: when you see a Strawberry Shortcake theme park mascot, kick the crap out of it.

7:51:46 AM