“It’s just like, you know, part of the title” said one trader confidently. “Another way of saying ‘badass’ fund or ‘rockstar’ fund.” “My Range Rover is hedge,” he insisted, as if to corroborate. Other responses were equally absurd, ranging from “a Greek word” to “some Jewish dude’s last name.”

When told that hedging involved systematically eliminating risk, most subjects just stared ahead blankly. Others checked the time. Several respondents were able to eventually grasp the concept, but they found it quite novel. “Ohhh…you mean that…” said the portfolio manager of a $500M fund, as if a light bulb had gone off inside his head. He then added: “Yeah, we didn’t do that shit at all.”

“Sloppy…” said Emmanuel, shaking his head in disgust as he inspected a stack of Congratulations cards sent to his office by a class of local schoolchildren. “This is what’s wrong with America,” insisted Rahmbo, as he’s been nicknamed for his tenacity. He pointed to a flag drawn crudely with crayon, containing only 12 stripes. “Right here,” he explained, before methodically ripping the card in half.

Emmanuel has also reportedly taken a red marker to many government documents, underlining, crossing out, and writing “are you fucking kidding me?!” all over various propositions, memos, and existing statutes. He is already looking to create a national font, somewhere between Bill of Rights and Helvetica, and an associated palette and template to be used for all “books,” as he has begun referring to legal codes.

“It starts with the details” is his ethos, obviously ingrained into him from his stint in finance. And he has a plan to correct these issues—several times a day, he can be heard in his office screaming: “Could somebody get me a fucking Analyst in here?”

The package, which amounts to approximately 10% of Ghana’s GDP, will focus on increasing consumer spending but also target infrastructure through tax breaks, primarily on purchases of donkeys for transportation, as well as shovels, plows, and other equipment on the cutting edge of Ghanaian farming technology.

“This is a bold move,” said Kwame Armah-Attoh, a locally-based economist at Citigroup, referring to the sheer magnitude of the stimulus package vs. the present size of the economy. “Very aggressive,” he added, swatting away a swarm of flies from his face.

“We are set on keeping The Ghanaian Dream alive,” said President John Kufuor, likening his project to the New Deal. Kufuor was confident that the $14, less than a vodka-soda at The Gansevoort Hotel, would breathe life into his country’s economy and catapult it into G20: “From the dust,” he insisted grandly and without irony, “Ghana will emerge an economic powerhouse.”

“We just really felt everyone had to be acknowledged,” said Richard Melville, Editorial Director at American Banker. “This massive clusterfuck could not have happened without each and every banker out there.”

Melville’s middle finger to Wall Street, however, has been somewhat misinterpreted by the award’s recipients.

“I’m so happy!” said Goldman analyst Melissa Chang, holding up the magazine like an Oscar. Giddy, she fanned herself with her free hand and added: “I’d like to thank The Academy: my associate, my VP, and most of all, my MD…” Emotion overwhelmed her, but Melissa stammered out: “It just feels good to be noticed…”

“Most Valuable Banker, bitch!” screamed another young Asian girl from over Melissa’s shoulder.

Many industry experts, however, did not take kindly to the act and felt that in these tough conditions, more traditional candidates such as Ken Lewis and Jaime Dimon merited recognition for their efforts.

But Melville stood by his decision. The editor, whose own 30 year long career of financial journalism has been seriously threatened by market conditions, was sardonic as he responded: “I guess I just wanted to say ‘thanks.’” And then he coughed out: “Assholes.”

“I’d walk him around here on his Hermes collar and leash, and girls would bite their lips and then just take off all their clothes when I told them what his name was,” he recounted nostalgically. But now Bonus sulked at his feet in a PetSmart collar, skeletal, still refusing to eat anything besides Del Frisco’s steaks.

“Look at this skinny little bitch,” said Mr. Goldstein, kicking Bonus in the side and forcing out a pathetic whimper. Women still walked by, but their clothes remained on. And they didn’t respond to Bonus with awe; rather, they offered concern and said: “Aww, he’s so tiny!”

“The day I got laid off, my mom same-day aired me an MCAT book,” recounted Manan Desai, a 25 year old investment banker turned medical student. Seated next to his mother in their New Jersey living room, he continued: “She threw in a stethoscope, a pair of scrubs, and a note that said: ‘Stop embarrassing me.’”

Manan looked down sadly at the ill-fitting blue scrubs his mother now forced him to wear constantly, and his eyes told how deeply he yearned to be back in his crisp, Wall Street attire. “My loafers look terrible with these pants,” he said miserably, pulling at the legs of the scrubs to uncloak his Ferragamos. Manan slung the stethoscope around his neck like a noose, let his head hang to the side, and croaked out: “This is worse than death.”

Mrs. Desai, a portly woman dressed in a sari, traditional Indian garb, seemed vindicated. “At least now Manan can become a surgeon, no more of this stupid stock business.” Able to freely mold his broken spirit, she pointed authoritatively at her dejected son and added: “No more white girls, either.”

Ricky, of the costume store Ricky’s NYC told us: “You wouldn’t believe the requests I’m getting—Ben Bernanke, Hank Paulson—how the fuck do you make a costume for a generic old white man?” “I’m all out of bald caps and eagle noses, and I’m selling big sheets of paper that say ‘Credit Default Swap’ and have a huge green skull on them.”

Most popular, however, he says is his Dick Fuld kit, which includes gym clothes, a heart monitor, and the makeup for a black eye and bloody nose. A deflating crotch comes with the outfit.

Not everyone is going store-bought though, we spoke to Jake Kowalski from Hoboken, and he said: “Fuck that shit. I just bought a big ass parachute and spray-painted it gold. I’m rocking that shit with a speedo, son!”

This new phrase, “banker rich,” used to describe those living ostentatiously yet in massive debt, is sweeping the nation, replacing a much more racially charged term which was once meant to convey a similar sentiment. The new idiom, however, is intended for even more blatant disregard for sensible budgeting, a tribute to Wall Street’s extreme abuse of leverage. The $700Bn bailout figure, it seems, has served as an inspiration for others.

“I wake up, and I say to myself: I’m gonna try to spend at least three to four hundred times what I actually should today,” Corey explains. “I make $8.25/hour and just spent $12k on this belt,” and he grips an Anthony Kim-esque buckle, seemingly unconcerned about his financial situation. “I don’t even like this thing,” he adds, realizing his initials aren’t A.K.

But why the need for such excess? “I just gotta stay fly,” Corey clarifies, eloquently articulating the mentality that caused this crisis on both ends.

Not surprisingly, response to the new expression has been largely positive: most bankers find it flattering, and the African-American community is pleased to have a racially offensive phrase erased from the mainstream vernacular.

Lucinda James was elated when she heard her 8 year old son use “banker rich” to mock a homeless man whose Escalade just got repossessed. She was thankful: “I’m just really glad there’s another group of people out there even less responsible with money than we are.”