"Anything you can do I can do better!" Trichet said into the phone. He had gotten Bernanke's Treehouse Answering machine. Bernanke had walked in the door during the last line, he took off his trench coat and let the taped monolougue continue.
"Ve Vill do some quantitatife eazink too."
The tape stopped. Bernanke breezed back into into the living room, where Timmah was strapped into his 8 bit Nintendo PPT video game.
"Timmah, time to go back into the market. Get daddy some LULU today. Don't tire yourself out either," he said while pouring a glass of Captin' and Malibu. "Make that new Algo do the work for you."
Timmah was sick of getting so much blame. He was leaving. No more would he be dictated to by BS Bernanke.
"Benneh Bernanke." He smirked to him self. He went outside into the Clubhouse garage and got a can of gasoline. He pured it at the base of the Treehouse just in time for BS to come outside.
"What are you doing Timmah!" No!!!"
But it was too late. Timmah had lit the match and thrown it; the Treehouse was in flames.
BS ran to his printer, "I must save the printer!" He picked up the inkjet 5000 laser printer and threw it out the window. The smoke was getting thick and he was about to pass out. He fell to the floor.
Then out of nowhere, like a flash of lightening, someone picked him up and took him out of his office, and down the blazing tree. He was tossed onto the ground, and he coughed and coughed. When he looked up, he saw Trichet.
"Why? Why did you save me?"
"I can't print alone. Both printers are needed to keep the fiat ponzi gooing."
Bernanke's eyes spun in his head, and he passed out again. Trichet left him there, slumped over his printer.
