Sub-Prime,the Horrific.

A play in one part.

Hero: I’d like to apply for a mortgage; to purchase a home of my own with your help.
Bank: (cheerfully) That’s terrific sir! Here; Please! (hands Hero some paperwork)
Hero: I’m afraid my credit isn’t perfect. Those blissful College years I’m afraid (audience sighs)
Bank: (smiling & laughing) That’s not a problem, sir. (takes forms)

Research,Mechanics,& Economics is Done.

Bank: I’m sorry,sir,I’m afraid we* cannot extend you a line of credit at This Time.
Hero: (Stares)
Bank: Your credit will not support a mortgage from our bank.
Hero: (Notices the Bank Teller’s large, swollen breasts)
Bank: You see,the "Marketplace" is going to wait for your return to the genuine game.

The Hero goes through Recognition.

Hero: I see.

So,the Republicans invest in Marketplace Strategies – Play the Park of that Enlightened Hand of Capitalism forecast over the Mortgage Market
as it Blossoms into a beautiful young 15-year-old with sweet young skin; a fresh clean smell to her bosom… An untouched sterile odor to her
uncut vagina,ripe for the Investment of an under-sold Put call. The Economists watched intently as the flesh rose & fell at the thrusts of
the Intellectuals – those who Knew Better – those who could Sell – those who held Property – that same single bold American Dream as it
was once held by Horatio Algiers… the Nasdaq stands erect with his pills at the notion.

Hero: Well,what part did I play in this epic scheme of my dream?
Bank: You dreamt of it.
Hero: I only want the simplest of life’s offerings – to own your own home – to take part in that dream of Second Amendment Privacy!
Bank: Here (points to late payment),and also here (points to poor decision),and here…

Hero watches as Bank points out terrible indiscretions done to the Corporate Wold for the total sum of $3000 American Dollars.
The Administration bails out Bank from the cold hard marketplace.

Hero: There was one a place where I could o,when I watched those kindergarden shows… Seasame Street… a place where truth
held Kindgom,a place that would reign in such a place as Iraq?
Bank: (closes the Good Book) indeed,those are the dreams of men as told by Mothers,Women,and in Childhood. Those are
our the food of the Poor,the Occupation.

Audience pauses to vomit.

Hero: So,I’m declined for a mortgage? A place to live?
Bank: Yes,sir.
Hero: Sure,I agree that my credit is abysmal. Terrifying. But. what does it Mean?
Bank: You’re a Risk!
Hero: That I won’t pay back the loan? The Lean? Against a Property? A Physical Asset?
Bank: Yes.
Hero: I make more money than I know what to do with! I drink cheap beer! Write cheap music! Visual cheap art!
Bank: I hear nothing.
Hero: I see. I see nothing.
Bank: Would you like to open a Savings Account at .26%?

Government walks in,stage left.
Government: Oh,Bank,bank bank… You’ve done what you could! Oh,Nobility! Oh,Enlightenment! Oh,Capitalism!

Bank: (eyes tear up,fill lungs with the air of Hope,bra strap falls to the side) Oh Administration! Sweet Love!
Government: Dear,dear,loved Sir!
Hero: …
Government: Utopia is upon us! Look upon this wretched breast!
Bank: pulls aside tunic to expose her full breasts and ripe nipples; erect.
Government: Oh,sweet sweet liability (licks lips).
Hero: (as tears well up in Hero’s eyes) sweet Jesus.
Bank: Jesus fills me with Hope!
Government: I hand thee this pentinence of redemption,for your (gropes Bank’s bare nipples with his drenched tongue) participation.
I care not for your Income. I care about your Investment Potential ™,your contribution to the Greater Good! This Utopia!
Bank: Amen!

Hero: (To the Audience) And here I stand, capable,wicked,ill,sick,responsible. A witness to your Corruption of this so-called Marketplace.

For if This is the Marketplace,we find an industry building skyscrapers upon Castles of Sand of those Capitalists: Investments in those
Enlightened Hands of American Dollars beautiful skies – We Forsake Emperical Evidence. Houses. Liquidity. Assets. Foresake them for
Jesus. There is None for You, Truth.

Bank: You are None.
Hero: You are not what you say you are. You are not the Capitalist. You are not the Righteous. You are not the Benefit.
Bank: I am the unnamed. I am the blood that runs in your veins.
Government: (Hums with his silent majority) I am your elder. I am your savior. I am Right. This is what is Good for you,
Hero: (Looks at audience) You see the lies here. You see the epiphany. (Towards the Father)d You see the pale afternoon’s Doom.
What happened to this all? The hopeful,wishful ideals? The Dangers? The Oppressed? The Opportunists,the Freelancers,those Niggers?
Government: We’ve erased this all in our utopia! Our Goal,our Diversion!

The Hero notices that the heart,that Aorta ruptures at which a velocity equivalent of a wicked,Satanic,foreign large-caliber lead-slug nearing
the speed of Sound explodes.

The enlightened hand falls flatly on the table in front of Hero; pale and limp,quivers desperately with dead nerves grasping at the Truth just out of reach
again.

No Jesus,no Doctor,no Dreams,no Coming of any sort of palpable spirits engrossed in the Marketplace of our lives.

Government: Bank,kill me a son.
Bank: Man,you must puttin’ me on.
Government: no.
Bank: What?
Government: You can do what you want,Bank,but uh… Next time you see me comin’,you better run.
Bank: Well,where you want this killin’ done?
Government: Down on Highway 35W.

Lights.
Curtain.
Close.