Div>Music, the American Dream. There's a reason they call it a dream. Who's there? Cockadoodledoo! Pow! No, no, no, my job sucks right now. Please, you can't take my house. Is that your signature? Just tell me, work something out. Okay, I mean, you set up good credit, right? Music, hardly. Is that you? Bet allowed abs is a fourth-grade machine. There's no need to concern yourself with my stand accomplishments. Best, Gideon. There's not much time. Oh, Bank can't gonna help you now. Towel in the truck, just set of balls, put them on. You gonna need them, no pile. You are. I'm here to show you how. Music, submitted for your approval. One, First National Bank. What is a bank, you ask? A curious place where both space, time, and irony exist, and yet don't. Are you gonna be doing that the whole time? Pay attention in tile. Exhibit A, those who have come to deposit and safely store their earned monies. Exhibit B, those who need to borrow/send money for purposes unknown. Hey there, go! Exhibit C, the bank only has so much money in the vault to lend out to people such as you. Hey, hey! That's the guy. He took my house, really screwing my vibe here, pal. Space-time continuum, he can't hear you. Just let me narrate now. Where was I? Mm-hmm. So you see, by the time he got to you, pile, his bank was out of month, but he gave me lots of money and charged me a lot of interest. Yes, that's the only way banks make money. By making debt loans. Debt equals money, pile. Remember that. Debt equals money. The more loans they make, the more money they make. But if they don't have any money, then where did...
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