Comment: Helicopter Pilot: Lower cargo door... It is time Uncle Ben.

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Helicopter Pilot: Lower cargo door... It is time Uncle Ben.

Printer-That-Be (PTB): Uncle Ben, wake up! The pilot is calling for you. Its time. Ben! Wake up. Its time.

Helicopter pilot: Hovering over Central Park, New York now. Opening rear cargo door. Uncle Ben, it is time. Will you do the honors?

Uncle Ben: [Rub eyes.] Here? In the middle of Central Park? .... [Scan skyline.] I was thinking over there. Wall Street. The banks will know what to do with the money. Get it invested. Fractional reserved. Hypotecated.

Pilot: I am on a military salary. My friends are waiting down there... Central Park... Get your glasses on... See the tents.

Uncle Ben: Can't we drop your friends a line-of-credit? Vouchers?

Pilot: We drop your cash right here! Right here. Right now!

[Unbundled cash flutters down. Partial eclipse of the Sun. Time goes by. Landscape magically turns to green.]

PTB: Don't cry Ben. Don't worry about us... It's you & me.... We'll print more. I promise.
[Close green curtain. Use torches to light the procession's way out of the theatre. Electric out. Total eclipse of the Sun. Procession marches toward Central Park. Join other torch processions along the path.]

Disclaimer: Mark Twain (1835-1910-To be continued) is unlicensed. His river pilot's license went delinquent in 1862. Caution advised. Daily Paul