Chicken Little had so charmed me during the first interview, I felt compelled to track her down and continue our conversation. She'd been in favor of the bailout on Wall Street, not enthusiastically, but still…I had to find out what her thoughts were now.

After several days of diligent hunting, I discovered she was in Puerto Vallarta, and this suited me fine, there's nothing quite like a work-vacation. Buoyant that I'd managed to convince my editor that Chicken Little was the soothsayer of our times, I packed my bags and headed to the airport.

I was soon happily ensconced in my hotel, the tropical breeze wafting in through the sliding doors, soothing and melting my icy northern soul. A quick walk to the beach and within moments I spied Chicken Little sprawled out on a lounge chair sizzling under the burning rays, a shade over her eyes, steam rising up from her downy feathers.

I poked her ever so gently and she woke up enraged.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I'd never heard a chicken snarl, and I didn't like it much.

"I wanted to ask you some questions. About, you know, the bailout and stuff."

"Ever heard of email?" She put the shade back over her eyes.

"I don't have your email," I snarled back. "So I was wondering, since the economy's still in the shitter, have you changed your mind about the bailout?" I was ready to listen to every cluck with rapt attention.

"I couldn't give a rat's ass about the bailout." She sat up and grabbed a beer out of her cooler, guzzling it back like a thirsty trucker. "You want one?"

I laid out my towel and got comfy. Chicken Little adjusted her bikini top and launched into a tirade.

"I'm not going to say I was wrong, because what I said was that the bankers had us by the balls. As it was, European leaders were jumping up and down and screaming that the U.S. government should have bailed out Lehman Brothers at the first whiff of trouble rather than let it sink; there's a lot of blame directed at the U.S. for the economic debacles overseas. I also said there needs to be oversight and firm regulations. It's not like I'm in control, you know, I'm just a goddamn chicken that no one listens too, anyway." Her breast heaved, her beak shiny and tremulous. She lit up a smoke, took a big drag, and settled back in her lounge.

I felt a little nervous, but pressed on.

"I suppose you heard about AIG and the execs enjoying retreats and seminars."

"Bunch of self-entitled pricks. Of course I heard. A golf and spa retreat at a resort in California, an executive hunting trip in England, and then a seminar for 150 members of the independent AIG Advisors Group at a resort in Phoenix. All to the tune of 800,000 bucks. They must be bent over double laughing; 150 billion of tax payers coin and they think they can act like royalty. They need re-education Mao style, that's what they need." She flicked her ashes with disdain, "re-education camp, a bit of hard labour, a month or so of digging in the dirt and eating grubs. That'll teach 'em."

"What about the bailout for the Big 3: GM, Chrysler and Ford?"

"I guess they figured they would make like Wall Street and go begging in Washington. The first time they went they arrived in corporate jets! Can you believe the audacity? There's little stomach for handouts after the Wall Street bailout, so there will be a lot more rules: getting rid of the jets for starters, no dividends for shareholders or bonuses to execs till after the loans are paid back, and they'll have to notify Washington about any transactions over 25 million, and submit to audits by the Government Accountability Office. Congress plans to shell out 14 billion in 'loans', not the 34 billion they asked for, about 10 to GM and 4 or 5 to Chrysler. Ford can carry on for the moment and just wants a line of credit. But all three will be demanding far more billions later in 2009; it'll add up to much more than the initially proposed 34 billion."

"Do you think the Big 3 deserve government aid?"

"I don't think they deserve a dime, no one does; they're using the auto-workers to ply for sympathy. They haven't been building fuel efficient cars and the CEO's have been earning between 15-21 million a year to mismanage the companies, so it does seem like failure, once again, is being amply rewarded. And really, considering how much more money the Big 3 will need to stay afloat, there's no guarantee they can pay back the so-called loans." She paused to crack open another beer. "Oh, I forgot, one of the conditions is that the auto-makers have to drop their lawsuits against states that are demanding low-emission standards. They're a bunch of self-entitled pricks just like the guys on Wall Street."

"It doesn't seem fair to small business owners who could use a bailout."

"It's not. Worse than that, there are shelters all over the U.S. turning away families who have no where to live, where's their bailout? The whole thing sickens me." I thought I heard her gagging, but she was cooing with excitement and peering down the beach.

"Here comes my hottie…" a studly rooster sporting a crisp sombrero waved hello. She was suddenly a different chicken entirely, oozing nothing but warmth and sensuality. Shifting more deeply into her lounge, she thrust out her chest, sucked in her gut, and preened carefully for his arrival.

I picked up my towel and stared down at this favorite chicken of mine. "If you could make a recommendation to the Senate, what would it be? There seems to be a deadlock, should they go ahead and pass the legislation?"

"I think they should figure out how far 34 billion would go to house homeless families, and think about taking the loans for the auto industry out of the 700 billion set aside for the financial bailout. I think it's time to stop giving to massive corporations and ignoring the poor." She looked up at me and winked: "It just might be time to storm the Bastille."

COMMENTS:

I'm sorry but that photo of Chicken Little storming the Bastille is gorgeous.
Maggie Fraser
Dec. 12