Mister Corporate Big Shot, the Brute!

Last week I wrote: "This is what it's come to. Fast-buck Freddie corporations that can move jobs, invest capital, buy politicians and stash trillions in profits anywhere in the world telling the country that provided them essential political stability, a worldwide military shield, endless opportunities, billions in tax subsidies, a highly educated workforce and a superb infrastructure to go to hell!"

Oh America, Mr. Corporate Big Shot used to love you alright when you were young and naive. When he could get his hands on your bountiful natural resources in the backseat; before you got all prickly about product safety and living wages before you'd let him get to first base.

But girlfriend show a few age lines and a little extra thigh and daddy goes cruising off-shore for chicks; tossing aside faithful factory towns whenever a tasty Asian morsel makes her play.

He's like, com'on, what player wants to hear the little woman go on and on about household chores like caring for the environment and the infrastructure when he could be catin' around with that Latin dolly with the big profit bazooms. Nag, nag-nag, nag, nag. Duh!

Mr. Big Manufacturing has seen his paycheck skyrocket but has he raised your allowance? Noooo. Now, he's even welching on that pension he promised for sticking by him.

Mr. Big Banking says he'll straighten up and fly right but, hey, there are just way too many cows in the global pasture to milk instead of investing in the neighborhood like he promised you.

Oh, and Mr. Big Pharma! Mr. Big Pharma would rather spend millions on trinkets for some marketing floozy than on R&D like an adult. Then he won't even let you go up the street to Canada-Mart to shop for cheaper prescriptions.

Sure, America's worth keeping around for a quickie, but Mr. Big Insurance prefers a foxy half trillion dollar reserve on his arm that he woos by raising rates, canceling policies and denying coverage.

And yeah, Mr. Big Oil's all "don't you worry sweetheart, I've got a blowout preventer" until he despoils your Gulf of Mexico.

But let me tell you none are worse than Mr. Big Defense Contractor, all day, tinkering in the garage, blowing the household budget on one boondoggle after another while little Jimmy goes without shoes and Mary needs braces.

Their only love is profit, America, not you. It's time to dump 'em and move on, sister. Discover that soul mate who will cherish you for more than what you do for his bottom line. He's out there, but you'll never find him if you keep buying into that unregulated free market bull Mr. Corporate Big Shot keeps shoveling.

And honey, when you find him, don't let this one out of your sight.