My Resignation Letter to AIG

Dear Mr. Liddy:

It is with deep regret that I submit my resignation from AIG and its fine financial services division. Like Jake DeSantis, the author of the resignation letter recently published in the New York Times, I wish to offer some context as to the nature of my decision.

I am proud of everything I've done to help bring capitalism to the brink of collapse. But I want you to know I do not accept responsibility for the loss of trillions of dollars invested 401K plans and retirement accounts. Which isn't to say I was not to blame, but merely to say I accept no responsibility.

Nonetheless I feel betrayed by AIG, slandered by the media, and unfairly persecuted by government officials. I can no longer perform my duties in a dysfunctional environment where the odds of skimming a massive return off the savings of millions of hard-working Americans have dwindled to practically zero.

We've never met so I thought you should know a little bit about me. Mine is a truly an American success story. I was raised by carnies who worked the midway in a broken-down circus run by Russian mobsters. We lived on borscht and stale popcorn. On Christmas morning our big treat was being allowed to lick the inside of an empty bag of barbecued pork rinds.

Yet I persevered. Thanks to a summer job selling Everglades real estate and a scholarship from the Charles S. Ponzi foundation, I put myself through MIT, earning a degree in Applied Mathematics as it Relates to Improbable Investment Opportunities.

In 1998 I got a job on Wall Street. I spent years devising investment instruments based on algorithms so complicated even I don't understand how they work. All I remember is you take the national debt of Bolivia, fold in the accounts receivables from Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles franchises, divide by Pi, and collect 12.5 percent off the top in service fees.

I worked 10, 12, 14 hours a day, seven days a week, making AIG the economic powerhouse it is today. The sacrifices were enormous. Sometimes I went months without seeing my mistress.

Just as you did, Mr. Liddy, I agreed to take on the job of dismantling my division, working for a pitiable salary of just $1 a year and the promise of a multi-million-dollar payout at the end of my contract. After salting away $5 to $10 million a year for the past decade, you must admit that's quite a hefty pay cut.

I know that because of my hard work I have benefited more than most during the economic boom and that my family is unlikely to suffer devastating losses during the current bust. It's true that my suits cost more than the average monthly income of 87 percent of Americans and what I spend on lattes alone could feed a third-world nation. What can I say? It's great to be me.

As I feel I have done nothing wrong – certainly nothing that anyone else making money by the assload on Wall Street would consider to be wrong – I am not motivated to surrender my earnings. None of us should be cheated out of our payments any more than a plumber should be cheated after he has repaired the toilet only to find out that the other plumbers have stolen all the copper pipes and the electrician has gotten whacked after the general contractor found him screwing his wife. Wait, sorry, that was a Soprano's episode. I get these things confused sometimes.

However, my intent is to keep none of the money myself. Instead, I have decided to donate 100 percent of the effective after-tax proceeds to those who are suffering the most from the global economic downturn. I am speaking of course of the hard working girls at Madame Wong's House of Happy Endings, in whose company I have spent many happy hours in a state of extreme lubrication.

Hey, I didn't give jumbo mortgages to crack ho's and meth heads. I just built multi-billion dollar investment vehicles out of them. Don't blame me because your pension fund invested in it.

I wish you luck Mr. Liddy in your continuing efforts to return the money so generously extended by American taxpayers and in whittling our once proud company down to a nub. But after what's happened over the past two weeks I can no longer be a part of this effort.

I've already obtained a fake passport, had face-altering plastic surgery, and at this moment am jetting off to an undisclosed island with several million dollars in gold bullion and my man-servant Rudolfo. Catch me if you can, motherfuckers.

Sincerely,

Dan Tynan