The Germans know a thing or two about making a public spectacle, World War II aside.  This fall plans are in place to symbollically recreate the fall of the Berlin wall to commemorate the 20th anniversary of its destruction.  One-thousand Styrofoam dominoes, 8-feet high and 3-feet wide, will topple on the historical day when, twenty years prior, Germans declared their love for Big Macs and the Gap and ripped into the concrete divider to the soaring strains of Herr Hasselhoff.  The dominoes will be decorated in different themes and styles by grade school children, commemorating the fall of communism and the continuation of global warming in the destruction of 1,000 Styrofoam dominoes.

But enviro-terrorism and the luring of the Hoff out of pop music retirement not withstanding, these wacky Germans have unknowingly given us a new and even more satisfying way to shake our collective fists at the inequities and injustices consuming the American financial industry: knocking shit down.  It’s that simple. Sorry mid-western tea baggers, you know who you are: the faithful lemmings of Faux err Fox News, making your wagon-trail way to state capitals to boldly fling (pinkies extended everyone..on three..) your tiny netted bags of defiance, your kind of peaceful assembly is so eighteenth century.  Economically frustrated times call for some package stimulation in the form of knocking shit down!

People went nuts when Saddam Hussein’s concrete body took a dirt dive into the Iraqi sand.  When the rebel army in Star Wars brought those big, tin dinosaur beasts crashing to their knees with the ole cable-foot-tangle-tango, the whole movie theatre lost its collective 1985 shit.  What rube worth his welfare check doesn’t leave his spam sandwich on his tv tray to run out and watch some morons knock over a cow in the middle of the night?

I say, hitch up the trailer and move that dunk tank that you and your buddies lifted from the church carnival last fall in a drunken haze to the capital’s steps, dig a mannequin out of the dumpster and slap a smug-looking Madoff mug shot on it, and invite folks to give Bernie a bath.  Rig up some AIG pinatas and make a Cinqo de Money-o party of it; have the neighbors come over to drink margaritas,take a swing, and indulge in some public lewd behavior.  Build a bowling lane on the sidewalks of Wall St. and each day roll a different corporate giant’s ball at some pins painted in little pin-striped suits with pink slips wrapped around their necks.  Doesn’t that feel good? Doesn’t neandrathalic superiority make you want to scratch yourself and jump around like the chimps at the beginning of Kubrick’s 2001?

You won’t get your money or your job back, but it sure will give you a reason to smile; and if you do this right, you just might get Hasselhoff to come out of retirement.

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