Gunther

This creditcrunch (tm) is like a sprawling toxic oil slick which needs to be amputated like an infected engine running on empty.

We need Gunther. Has Gunther taken control yet? Is he in charge?

Somebody better a get a grip if it's not Gunther because I've got screenburn on my visual cortex. All I can do is stare straight ahead with slack-jawed impotence through semi-transparent images of gurning celebrities I've never heard of, menacing post-ironic pornographic shockdocs and twittering newsdroids spouting voided doubledrivel. They've burned in to my cerebellum and appear like a technicolour heads-up display over the slightly less brightly hued, slower moving shadow of reality beyond.

Gunther, get Gunther. Get him with chalky alacrity.

We need Gunther to take control and fix the mess of mixed metaphors.

So construed, we could face unjaded the gaping anal turpitudes.

Maybe there'll be new furniture - Guntherstuehle. Will there be a buffed-up bench? Will there be a polished office? Will there be shiny bankslabs rubbed up supernuts with frantic diligence and waxy Gunthersputa? I hear that Gunthersputa is the finest there is. Smooth-running and ambiguously opaque. No acidic burp-ups in that stuff, no sir.

I sometimes think that acidy belches have become society's 'forgotten reflex'.

Listen, word of warning. Gunther could face strong opposition. Those at the top of the pile can get accustomed to the social perks, don't you know. I remember way back. I was in the toilets when I bumped into the top man. "Power?" he said, "you want to see power?" and he immediately lobbed his knob over the side of a basin and started pissing in the sink - his arms thrust into the air like a celebrating footballer and he bellowing out dark opera with a deep tenor voice that echoed round the cubicles. Then he told me to get him a hen.

That was the place with the big scandal a couple of years back. Yeah - one of the directors was demanding uncompromising fellation from a loose-limbed intern who noticed he was heavily chafed with featherburn from finchfocking a ripe goose. You know - he thought he'd evaded the enraged mob by hiding in a big vat of glaze but bobbed to the surface and found them all waiting patiently arrayed around the rim.

The Microsoft paperclip is telling me to kill.