Shortly after agreeing to pay $15 million in penalties for overseeing fraudulent transactions at A.I.G., Maurice (Hank) Greenberg issued a defiant statement saying he bore "no responsibility" for fraud at the company, which he ran for four decades.--The Times
You're damn right I'm angry. Fifteen million isn't chump change. You know how long it took me to earn that? Never mind. You want some iced tea? I can turn up the air-conditioning. You want hot tea? I'll turn down the air-conditioning. It's a very responsive system.
Since you didn't bring a photographer, I'll show you my tattoos. Let's start out at the top and work our way down. This one here at the base of my neck is "Zeus." No, not the god; what ails you? A dog, for Chrissakes. Right, god spelled backwards. I hit my neighbor's mutt with my Bentley. Naming your dog after a god: and they say I have chutzpah.
That one there's for a squirrel. Unnamed. The Bentley again? I can't remember. I'm 84 years old. Am I supposed to remember every goddamned thing I've said or done for the past forty years? Yeah, well tell that to Andrew Cuomo. Bastard's got a civil suit against me.
This tattoo commemorates my honorary degrees from Brown and Middlebury. There's only one because it's on my bicep. It's a painful zone so I put "Middlebury" in brown ink: two birds with one stone.
No, I like to keep mine below my collar. Never did go in for facial work. That's more of a Maori thing. True: Mike Tyson also. Yeah, he may well be the only other tri-state resident to have earned a $34 million annual salary. But that was 2004; I worked my ass off that year.
Now this one over my heart is special: "Hank & Hank." No one calls me "Maurice"; I'm Hank to my friends. And one of my dear friends is Dr. Henry Kissinger. Yeah, I'm both a social acquaintance and a client: of his. He likes it that way: two birds with one stone.
This one here is a shell. Are you deaf? Not a shill, a shell. They say I formed a shell company in Barbados and dumped my losses there. You know what's in Barbados? Shells, not shell companies. You got your shell companies in the Cayman Islands, Turks and Caicos. Barbados is classy. I been: stayed at the Sandy Lane.
This is a chart of the highs and lows in the market. Right here's a sweet spot: when the Dow hit 14,000 in 2007. It's like an EKG reading stamped across my chest. Or a big, jagged scar. I've been scarred by the market. That's what people don't understand. When I hear them say A.I.G.'s the bad guy, I want to spit. Just let the saliva well up and let it fly. Like this! Sorry. I'll have the girl bring a napkin.
Now wait just a goddamned minute, there's nothing on my chest that says P.I.G. That's A.I.G. You're deaf and blind. I don't care if it looks like a "P," it's not a "P." It's an "A": an old letter that got worn down.
This on my belly's a $100,000 Bar. My favorite candy. I know, now it's called One Hundred Grand. Probably renamed by some meathead who thinks a hundred thousand is really grand. You know what a hundred thousand buys? Half a Bentley. Right: a squirrel.
Here's a quote from Frost: "Good fences make good neighbors." A touch of the poet. Specifically, it refers to the sons of bitches who live to either side of me and kept me from building an indoor swimming pool. They reported to the Historic District Commission. So I didn't report to the Commission and erected an obelisk on my lawn: 82 feet, solid concrete, ugliest damn thing you've ever seen. That'll teach 'em.
Let me roll up my pants. These four letters mean a lot. My left knee reads T.A. and my right reads R.P. When I press them together (which generally only happens at ballgames or when I'm on the can) you get T.A.R.P. Yep, that Troubled Asset Relief Program saved our bacon. Then they turned around and ate it. Well, A.I.G.'s nearly 80% government owned. If that's not a big bite, I don't know what is.
I pay a $15 million fine and Andrew Cuomo's still accusing me of doctoring financial statements. Let me drop my shorts and show you my latest. No, I want to. It would be my pleasure. I don't consider myself a bossy person, but it's a direct command to New York's attorney general. Let's call it an invitation. That's right, no fading here. I had it done Tuesday: "Kiss My Ass." That bastard wants to rumble with Hank Greenberg? I hope he likes concrete.
