I'm the president of show biz, my name is Charlie
I'm a cocksucking asshole, that's what they call me
Here in my Hollywood tower I rule
I'm a lying motherfucker, the chainsaw's my tool!
I'm the tin man! I never had a heart!
I'm the tin man! But I'll make you a star!
I'm a cocksucking asshole, that's what they call me
Here in my Hollywood tower I rule
I'm a lying motherfucker, the chainsaw's my tool!
I'm the tin man! I never had a heart!
I'm the tin man! But I'll make you a star!
— W.A.S.P. - "Chainsaw Charlie"
Corporation, n. An ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual responsibility.
Dick Washburn, known forever as Dickwash, is a type D pencilneck: a sassy wannabe paymaster with vestigial humanity. This makes him vastly less evil than a type B pencilneck (heartless bureaucratic machine, pro-class tennis) and somewhat less evil than a type C pencilneck (chortling lackey of the dehumanizing system, ambient golf) but unquestionably more evil than pencilneck types M through E (real human screaming to escape a soul-devouring professional persona, varying degrees of desperation). No one I know has ever met the type A pencilneck, in much the same way that no one ever reports their own fatal accident; a type A pencilneck would be a person so consumed by the mechanism in which he or she is employed that they had ceased to exist as a separate entity. They would be odorless, faceless and undetectable, without ambition or restraint, and would take decisions entirely unfettered by human concerns, make choices for the company, of the company. A type A pencilneck would be the kind of person to sign off on torture and push the nuclear button for no more pressing reason than that it was his job - or her job - and it seemed the next logical step.
"Saints don't live on Park Avenue."
—Cynthia Baum, The Big Short
