"Where's my bailout?" has become a punch line. There isn't a meter maid, baby sitter or lemonade-stand proprietor left anywhere in America who hasn't asked this question.

I know I'm not getting a bailout. Why would the government bail out journalists? We're the ones who ask all the awkward questions like "How many were killed?" or "Where'd you get the money for that?" or "And is this your wife?"

The government dances on the grave of every newspaper that goes belly-up. Another watchdog that'll never bark again. Whatever -- I've got a new question.

"Where's my bonus for doing a lousy job?"

This is what I have learned from AIG. These guys are Jedi masters -- look how they just wave a hand and get what they want.

"This company is too big to be allowed to fail.

"The taxpayers will be happy to fork over $170 billion to keep it afloat.

"We can go on about our business.

"Sucker says what?"

And when they think we're all stupefied on green beer and schadenfreude over Bristol Palin's baby daddy, AIG quietly slips its execs $165 million in bonuses.

Remember: The company was failing. Crashing. Kaput. And these guys helped it get that way.

So naturally they deserve a handsome reward. I'll tell you what: I'm never going to complain again about people on welfare buying their kids Wiis and sneakers that cost more than my TV.

In fact, I don't want to hear another word out of anybody about welfare queens in Cadillacs. You just bought another Lexus for an AIG exec who thought derivatives were a great way to make a quick buck by selling sailboat fuel to credulous gamblers like yourself.

I'm done trying to make an honest buck. The dishonest bucks are far, far more plentiful and, if you know the right people, easy to come by. My parents fed me a lot of sappy nonsense about getting a good education, staying out of trouble, being nice to people, paying my bills and taxes more or less on time and working hard at a decent job. Yours, too, I bet. How's that working out for ya? Got your Lexus yet?

Me neither.

So I don't know about you, but here's my plan: I want in on this deal where you get paid to be incompetent (paid handsomely -- not the pittance I get now to be incompetent), and you get a bonus for being downright destructive. I've even come up with a price list.

For $200,000 a year, I will show up at meetings of your company's board of directors. I will bring a Blackberry and a pen. You supply a notepad and a bottle of high-end imported water. For a $10,000 bonus, I won't spill it on your conference table.

For $100,000 a year and a company credit card, I'll waste your money. I'll go out and buy myself a nice suit and take all my friends to Ruth's Chris on your dime. I'll buy up a string of lemonade stands at inflated prices and pay to keep them open all winter. Staffed by adults. Who aren't cute.

For $1,000 a day, I will get in the left lane of the various parkways in and around town and drive 35 mph. I know there are plenty of people who'll do this free of charge, but I will also talk on my cell phone and flip people off, because I can multitask.

For a flat fee of $1,500, I will steal your boyfriend. If I can't do it the old-fashioned way, I'll shoot him with a tranquilizer dart and put him in the trunk of my car. For a bonus of $500, I'll return him. For a bonus of $750 I won't.

For $200 an hour, I will un-house-train your pet.

For a flat fee of $150, I will cater your dinner party. I have some stuff in my freezer. I'll remember what it is when it thaws.

I'm confident someone will pay me to be a public menace -- and if I'm not good at it, the taxpayers will pay me. Why? I'm a taxpayer myself. So I'm the government. I'm propping up the whole economy, as I understand it. And that means I must be too big to fail.

Sucker says what?