The air was thick and heavy in the summer heat, and sound was muffled, as if one's own footfalls were far away, when Pharaoh slept and dreamed, and saw Egypt, and then the entire world falling into pieces, as if the glue holding everything together had given out.
So Pharaoh called in his wise men and soothsayers, saying, "Say some sooth, you suckahz!" And they were all there, the Baptist preacher, the Pope from Rome, the "Proud to be a Mullah from the Umma" guy, chanting Mahayana monks, and the editorial page writers from the Wall St. Churnal, and none could say the meaning of Pharoah's dream.
And they said, "We cannot understand the meaning of it."
And then the Pharaoh waxed wroth, and little bricks shat he. And he saith, "Get rid of these fakers. It looks like we gotta call in Joe."
So in comes Joe, campesino, illegale, hombre muy sympatico, and hears old Pharaoh's dream. "Sounds like a money problem," say Joe.
"What you say?" the file voiced Pharaoh rasps.
"You're gonna reach that point where we don't even know what money is any more," says the seer. "At that point, things fall apart."
Ain´t nothing we can do about it this time, ´cause there´s been too much water under the bridge.