A hedge fund manager in Tokyo sent this Blakean verse to econ blogger Barry Ritholtz. Tiger, Tiger bonking bright
in the fleshpots of the night
what immortal eye or hand
could restore your tarnished brand?
On what porn star’s breasts and thighs,
burnt the fire of your eyes
on what course did your ball run
as you sunk a hole in one?
You always looked so squeaky clean
as you strode across the green
what a relief for other men
to know deep down you’re just like them
All the endorsements down the drain
in what place was kept your brain
how deep the bunker, how long the grass
how costly all the tits and ass
Why did you keep your clubs so handy
why did you marry a fearsome scandie
at golf you’ll always be a winner
at cheating you’re a rank beginner
Tiger, Tiger bonking bright
in the fleshpots of the night
what immortal eye or hand
could restore your tarnished brand?
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