Made off.

Made off.

Oh come on.

Come on.


At a time of gigantic economic meltdown, a world-revered investment banker has taken unexpected extra billions from the banks through spectacularly simple swindling… and his name is Bernard MADOFF?

What is this, Dickens?

How bad is it all gonna get?

“Roit, mista Neerly-Madoff, heavens to goodness, the Peelers are roit on me tail to meet out some timely come-uppance. But only in fair response to some very hundreds of tiresome, tightly-type-set pages of detailed human reality and suffering, so it is. I so wish I’d thought abaaht the human condition sooner, so I do, and chosen to value me nearest and dearest over the fleeting fancies and phantom charms of the devil’s jingle in me purse. Run, sir.”

Well, you need a bit of Dickens at Christmas, after all.

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