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Is he Thwackum? Or is he Square?

By Owen Paine on Monday December 29, 2008 03:59 PM

"Today, many experts believe that unemployment could reach 10 percent by the end of next year and our economy could fall $1 trillion short of its full capacity."
That's Obama's head econ-con Lawrence Summers, lowballing the gathering tempest.
"The Obama plan represents not new public works but, rather, investments that will work for the American public. Investments to build the classrooms, laboratories and libraries our children need to meet 21st-century educational challenges. Investments to help reduce U.S. dependence on foreign oil by spurring renewable energy initiatives (many of which are on hold because of the credit crunch). Investments to put millions of Americans back to work rebuilding our roads, bridges and public transit systems. Investments to modernize our health-care system..."
Reading Larry the Swine's hortatory squealfest, my mind ran off towards those two great advisors to Squire Allworthy, Mr Square and Parson Thwackum...

... grappling with the age-old question "Can any honour exist independent of religion?"

Whilst we numberless orphans of the storm are blown from pillar to post, we're to be comforted by thoughts of Obama's econ-con dream team fashioning a squared-circle rescue (albeit behind the great veil of discretion) -- a plan that preserves all our tiny souls' civic virtue and yet extends to us a generous secular grace.

"Some argue that instead of attempting to both create jobs and invest in our long-run growth, we should focus exclusively on short-term policies that generate consumer spending. But that approach led to some of the challenges we face today -- and it is that approach that we must reject if we are going to strengthen our middle class and our economy over the long run..."
Stuff of that sanctimonious type, coming from the likes of dear Larry, and his Thwackum-ish counterpart Parson Paul Volcker, evokes a pretty clear picture of 20 million bounced-out Toms and Mollys, empty bags in hand, each on their own winding sorry road to an indifferently cold and wanton patch of London town.

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