0705/1741 68/78 Blue Skies NE10/15 85%H
DOGS 8828 3860 8850 1140 Libor138...
Greetings from the Hill.
A perfect day in paradise for golfers,
if they likied a lady's course,
silly little 5500 yarder.
Magenta skies through the president's room,
classics from Havana, swaying palms,
the old cat on the console,
the oldman belching on the second pint.
Shopping at the plaza, a busride home.
Living beneath one's means.
A week of watching the voices of turmoil
agitate the roiling markets
and boil the volatility of the VIXX,
amusing how these poseurs of truth
pursue the devil's tongue,
whores of General Electric and NBC,
3 Billion in Iraq electric equipment,
Georgie's Xmas gift.
Another month and the Bushites leave
and the Shittes return...
"Fucking Democratic Capitalism,
same sauce, same patty, same bun,
the price may vary depending
on the cost of shipping,"
hofuckingho Fedex.
"What's 'it' all about, Arnie,"
he never lied,
Jack wore checkered pants,
Tiger sold Buicks,
China's favorite car
and GM closes for the holidays.
Old people are resting in bed
arranging their head
wondering if Goldie Sox
has Santa in a box
of Derivatives to Swap.
"How stupid can the public be,
citizens who voted for denizens
of deceit and default...
trading the Pink Elephant
for a halfwhite jackass,"
fumes the madone
watching a Clinton rerun.
"Tourism is the Number One
business of America," spouts
the CNBC talking tie,
the tits nodding,
Key West business down 30%,
like auto sales,
air flights down 30%
to paradise at McCoy International,
hello daytrippers
and weekends in Cuba.
"Some destinations will do better,
the AARP market will chose
comfort and convenience,
a walk to the store,
a bicycle ride to the beach,
cocktails on the balcony,
dinner in the back garden,
balmy nights in paradise,"
soothes the oldman.
The battle rages in Washington
and Detroit loses to wages,
benefits going to healthcare
and hardone pills,
happy old women waiting
for insurance from AIG...
"Who could have imagined."
Quiet streets without cars,
driving or parking.
Partimers gone north,
houses empty,
no Xmas lights,
paradise lost.
"Seems like old times
before daily greed."
Above the Horn.
Beyond the Reef.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A Rainy Day in Paradise
0701/1740 74/78 Cloudy ESE/20 90%H
DOGS 8660 4760 8203 1039 Libor 1996.
Greetings from the Hill.
A cool and cloudy day in paradise,
gusting rain with 30 knot westerlies
damping the president's floor.
Classics from Havana, CNBC boasting
it's interview with Jamie Dimon,
"Who tells the truth,"
oozes an asshole gossiper
kissing ass to a 20M CEO.
Ah, yes, a formidable young liar,
experienced in the deceit of Lehman...
had not JPMorgan invented or at best,
sophisticated the swindle
during the Asian central bank ripoff,
added dear Blythe Masters to the coop
of flying Vultures on Air Derivative.
Hofuckingho, selling Hot Air Insurance.
"Erin, you little slut, gushing over Jamie,
your pussy dripping in fantasy,"
growls the madone watching
the talking tits from five to five,
disgusted with the producers of trashTV,
and Jack Welch a guest host
"There is a chance that housing prices
could fall, but it's effect on the economy
will be limited," Greenspan 10/04.
"The use of a growing array of derivatives
and the related application
of more sophisticated approaches
to measuring and managing risk
are key factors underpinning
the greater resilence of our largest
financial institutions....
Derivatives have permitted
the unbundling of financial risks,"
Greenspan 5/05.
"the Market impact of the US subprime
mortgage fallout is largely contained and
the global economy is as strong
as it has been in decades," Paulson 1/07
"It is not the responsibility of the Federal Reserve
nor would it be appropriate to protect
lenders and investors from
the consequences of their
financial decisions," Bernanke 10/07
My heavens, but so much deceit fills
the Recession River it overflows
with Turd Tarps and Tarf rafts,
25 Billion to CITI and JPM,
20 Billion to B/A and Wells,
10 Billion to GS and MS,
3 Billion to Mellon and State...
"Ain't Hank the US Bank,"
growls the madone
as Trillions flow down
this subprime tributary
into the Great Depression River
soon a sandbed.
"Come off this shit, this is America,
nothing lasts very long at all,
a fad, a fashion, a style, a look...
Change on the range, a new pony,
fast cars and slow sex...
marriage two years,"
resisting the truth
of eight years of loss and lies.
Clearing skies in the keys,
lush greenery everywhere,
rain water out to sea.
Recycling sucks,
cardboard down 135/35
plastic 25/2
aluminum 80/40,
and scrap 525 to 100.
At least bicycle.
Above the Horn.
DOGS 8660 4760 8203 1039 Libor 1996.
Greetings from the Hill.
A cool and cloudy day in paradise,
gusting rain with 30 knot westerlies
damping the president's floor.
Classics from Havana, CNBC boasting
it's interview with Jamie Dimon,
"Who tells the truth,"
oozes an asshole gossiper
kissing ass to a 20M CEO.
Ah, yes, a formidable young liar,
experienced in the deceit of Lehman...
had not JPMorgan invented or at best,
sophisticated the swindle
during the Asian central bank ripoff,
added dear Blythe Masters to the coop
of flying Vultures on Air Derivative.
Hofuckingho, selling Hot Air Insurance.
"Erin, you little slut, gushing over Jamie,
your pussy dripping in fantasy,"
growls the madone watching
the talking tits from five to five,
disgusted with the producers of trashTV,
and Jack Welch a guest host
"There is a chance that housing prices
could fall, but it's effect on the economy
will be limited," Greenspan 10/04.
"The use of a growing array of derivatives
and the related application
of more sophisticated approaches
to measuring and managing risk
are key factors underpinning
the greater resilence of our largest
financial institutions....
Derivatives have permitted
the unbundling of financial risks,"
Greenspan 5/05.
"the Market impact of the US subprime
mortgage fallout is largely contained and
the global economy is as strong
as it has been in decades," Paulson 1/07
"It is not the responsibility of the Federal Reserve
nor would it be appropriate to protect
lenders and investors from
the consequences of their
financial decisions," Bernanke 10/07
My heavens, but so much deceit fills
the Recession River it overflows
with Turd Tarps and Tarf rafts,
25 Billion to CITI and JPM,
20 Billion to B/A and Wells,
10 Billion to GS and MS,
3 Billion to Mellon and State...
"Ain't Hank the US Bank,"
growls the madone
as Trillions flow down
this subprime tributary
into the Great Depression River
soon a sandbed.
"Come off this shit, this is America,
nothing lasts very long at all,
a fad, a fashion, a style, a look...
Change on the range, a new pony,
fast cars and slow sex...
marriage two years,"
resisting the truth
of eight years of loss and lies.
Clearing skies in the keys,
lush greenery everywhere,
rain water out to sea.
Recycling sucks,
cardboard down 135/35
plastic 25/2
aluminum 80/40,
and scrap 525 to 100.
At least bicycle.
Above the Horn.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Sleeping in the Fifties.
0656/1736 58/68 Blue Skies NE15 65%H
DOGS 8244 4687 7721 0975 Libor 220
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise, looking out..
warm clothes on inside after the chill,
camping out in the fifties at home,
no heating no A/C, pansy things.
"Hey, the tropics, frostfree, never freeze,
no need for antifreeze in the Keys,"
laughs the madone alcoholfree.
Blue skies and palm trees swaying,
perfectly clean windows for the view,
classics from Havana in the west room
with CNBC arguing in the east,
fools with fast answers.
The corporapists driving to Washington
to slum for loans from the representatives
of the taxpaying public who have no choice,
politicians who are experts at DEBT.
GM sales down 41% at 153T last month,
Toyota down 34% at 130T,
Ford down 30% at 119T,
Chrysler down 47% at 85T,
Honda down 32% at 76T...
Imagine the worst month since 1945,
Moody rating a C for GMAC,
Smartnotes looking dumb
but seeking the conversion to banking.
"Hofuckingho, the lameduck fuckup,
Carter for Savings and Loans,
Clinton for investment banks,
that asshole with Rubin and Greenspan
created the financial shitstorm,
and now the Halfwit in seven weeks
will make Hedge Funds full access banks
with 50 to 1 fractional leverage,
GO GO GEORGY PO,"
rants the madone taking a noon pint.
Not a problem, gross income 13Trillion,
against 50T in DEBT,
the stupid government owes 100 Trillion
and the mystery bets in Derivatives,
650 Trillion in the USA and.....
1.25 Quadrillion in the World.
"Now what is a few hundred billion
to save a hundred year old industry,
credit derivatives aren't even twenty,
blame 'it' on Blythe Masters and JP,
hang them from the rafters,"
growls the madone pissed with the Lies.
"Yes yes of course, 'its' all in the VIXX,
the big plays are in options because
of the volatility in the market,
swings of three and four hundred points
within an hour, but the costs are up,"
barking for the Chicago Vultures
trying to keep their monopoly.
"Sorryass shits starting to look confused
about their scripts, GE falling, NBC worried,
CBS and Redstone in disarray and ABC,
and the truth in alphabets...
the Greek of the Geeks has put
Alpha and Beta in Default, all bullshit,
TARP is not enough, add some TARF
for MBS and LDS, initials for Duncedom,"
the oldman was disgusted with FED economists
conned by HedgeHogs...
the looters with short sale shooters.
Idiots in the bedroom gasping on CNBC
over SOC, save our cars and jobs,
but a deal with Getttleberger
who controls the union DEBT,
"My heavens but isn't who is first,
the insurance companies that guarantee
the couterparties, the pools, funny words
for joint ventures, pieces of a DEAL,
a piece of the ACTION,
same old assholes,
all MERCHANTS OF DEBT,
and KKR just fucked BELL CANADA,
some public offering,"
sick of words for numbers.
Blue skies and shiney leaves,
silver roofs and afternoon shadows
with sleeping cats in the sun,
life beyond urgency
and anxiety.
Above the Florida Horn.
Recycle and bicycle.
Retire while you can.
DOGS 8244 4687 7721 0975 Libor 220
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise, looking out..
warm clothes on inside after the chill,
camping out in the fifties at home,
no heating no A/C, pansy things.
"Hey, the tropics, frostfree, never freeze,
no need for antifreeze in the Keys,"
laughs the madone alcoholfree.
Blue skies and palm trees swaying,
perfectly clean windows for the view,
classics from Havana in the west room
with CNBC arguing in the east,
fools with fast answers.
The corporapists driving to Washington
to slum for loans from the representatives
of the taxpaying public who have no choice,
politicians who are experts at DEBT.
GM sales down 41% at 153T last month,
Toyota down 34% at 130T,
Ford down 30% at 119T,
Chrysler down 47% at 85T,
Honda down 32% at 76T...
Imagine the worst month since 1945,
Moody rating a C for GMAC,
Smartnotes looking dumb
but seeking the conversion to banking.
"Hofuckingho, the lameduck fuckup,
Carter for Savings and Loans,
Clinton for investment banks,
that asshole with Rubin and Greenspan
created the financial shitstorm,
and now the Halfwit in seven weeks
will make Hedge Funds full access banks
with 50 to 1 fractional leverage,
GO GO GEORGY PO,"
rants the madone taking a noon pint.
Not a problem, gross income 13Trillion,
against 50T in DEBT,
the stupid government owes 100 Trillion
and the mystery bets in Derivatives,
650 Trillion in the USA and.....
1.25 Quadrillion in the World.
"Now what is a few hundred billion
to save a hundred year old industry,
credit derivatives aren't even twenty,
blame 'it' on Blythe Masters and JP,
hang them from the rafters,"
growls the madone pissed with the Lies.
"Yes yes of course, 'its' all in the VIXX,
the big plays are in options because
of the volatility in the market,
swings of three and four hundred points
within an hour, but the costs are up,"
barking for the Chicago Vultures
trying to keep their monopoly.
"Sorryass shits starting to look confused
about their scripts, GE falling, NBC worried,
CBS and Redstone in disarray and ABC,
and the truth in alphabets...
the Greek of the Geeks has put
Alpha and Beta in Default, all bullshit,
TARP is not enough, add some TARF
for MBS and LDS, initials for Duncedom,"
the oldman was disgusted with FED economists
conned by HedgeHogs...
the looters with short sale shooters.
Idiots in the bedroom gasping on CNBC
over SOC, save our cars and jobs,
but a deal with Getttleberger
who controls the union DEBT,
"My heavens but isn't who is first,
the insurance companies that guarantee
the couterparties, the pools, funny words
for joint ventures, pieces of a DEAL,
a piece of the ACTION,
same old assholes,
all MERCHANTS OF DEBT,
and KKR just fucked BELL CANADA,
some public offering,"
sick of words for numbers.
Blue skies and shiney leaves,
silver roofs and afternoon shadows
with sleeping cats in the sun,
life beyond urgency
and anxiety.
Above the Florida Horn.
Recycle and bicycle.
Retire while you can.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
At Home for Thanksgiving.
0653/1737 70/75 Blue Skies SSE5/10 65%H
DOGS 8650 5385 8111 1012 Libor 221.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise, somewhat cool...
cats fed, classics from Cuba, roosters crowing,
the last weekend of a month of Change
yet all seems the same with banksters
the corporapists, gangsters and pranksters,
smooth words with deceit and dissemble
lying in your eye stealing apple pie,
Obama acting in charge, Bush absent...
"Yeah, without a letter from Pop,
another mess, another failure,
this one, the nation," growls the madone.
Fences make good neighbors said a sage,
the Love Lane Improvement Society
decided to rebuild an eyesore
after ruined by their remodeling,
but only kindly Bill
paid for and did the work...
answers are not solutions.
A week watching television, Bloomberg early,
then CNBC, talking tits, suits with smirks,
every day parading the charade of truth,
pretending the puzzle beyond understanding,
panderers to the great coverup...
"Fucking right, three Trillion Dollars
printed for Paulson by Bernanke,
a TARF for the TARP, saving CITI,
sucking Goldman's titty," growls the madone.
A view from a window of the blue,
palm trees prevent madness.
The crisis in spending requires liquidity,
available funds for lending
opening the vaults for 110 Million Households
spending a little over 2 Trillion,
6 Million Households higher up
spend the same, 100T to 1M incomes.
135 Thousand rich shits, 1M to 20M
spend 270 Billion.
"Who dares to care about gas and groceries."
In this socalled newage of austerity,
one wonders if the inhabitants can survive
without prepared entertainment and food,
spectators propagating hemmoroids,
walking to the bathroom,
"The family unit would have to contribute
to each other functioning as a team
in the great American Dream, of course
after counseling and rehab...
the obeisity battle begins at home,
salads and water, fat asses
get no passes,"grumbling to the kitchen.
"The Counterparties have been paid off
with the Fifty Billion or so...
the Default Swaps are next,
'it' will take a Trillion dollars or more,
this situation is global,"
a funny smirk on the old jew's face,
the biggest loser in the world,
his company stolen by pirates
sailing the good ship Derivative,
all AIG on his face,
chatting to CNBC from Key Largo...
History Channel and more myths,
no such thing as the Battle of Bunker Hill,
'it' was Breen's Hill, Paul Revere was gay,
a black runaway slave was the first martyr
of the Boston Massacre,the Summer of 75.
"Fucking assholes beleive their own bullshit."
Heart pains and weak legs, stuck at home,
banks use loan money for acquisitions,
the Bailout a Fallout, Bushshit...
CitiBank gives the Mets 400M,
AIG gives Manchester 25M,
GM cans the Tiger,hummmm.
"The Financial Market turmoil is stabilized,
the Fed is buying the MBS of F and F,
this is a once or twice in a century situation,
conservatorship mortgage spreads up,
there is a problem with AAA paper,"
stuttering and swaying, bobbing and nodding,
the oldman had sympathy for his fortitude,
"We will work to the last day,"
when Geithner takes his job.
And the Markets fell again.
"By securitising the Debt,
the new bond's risk will be spread,"
echoes the ghost of Greenspan
repeating and repeating
until the revolvers come down.
"Spread the debt and insure the couterparties,
concentrate the deal with the few
by the few, Licensed To Steal,
Goldman and JPMorgan,
BofA and Merrill, Wells and Wasitfuck,
consolidation for the nation,
Chevrolet Motors and WalMart,
so much for individuality,
guaranteed by the US of DEBT,"
pissed and popping a pint.
Watching the tourists gawk and talk.
Elections and Thanksgiving over.
Santa Claus is coming.
A cool breeze in the fabulous florida keys.
Above the Straits.
DOGS 8650 5385 8111 1012 Libor 221.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise, somewhat cool...
cats fed, classics from Cuba, roosters crowing,
the last weekend of a month of Change
yet all seems the same with banksters
the corporapists, gangsters and pranksters,
smooth words with deceit and dissemble
lying in your eye stealing apple pie,
Obama acting in charge, Bush absent...
"Yeah, without a letter from Pop,
another mess, another failure,
this one, the nation," growls the madone.
Fences make good neighbors said a sage,
the Love Lane Improvement Society
decided to rebuild an eyesore
after ruined by their remodeling,
but only kindly Bill
paid for and did the work...
answers are not solutions.
A week watching television, Bloomberg early,
then CNBC, talking tits, suits with smirks,
every day parading the charade of truth,
pretending the puzzle beyond understanding,
panderers to the great coverup...
"Fucking right, three Trillion Dollars
printed for Paulson by Bernanke,
a TARF for the TARP, saving CITI,
sucking Goldman's titty," growls the madone.
A view from a window of the blue,
palm trees prevent madness.
The crisis in spending requires liquidity,
available funds for lending
opening the vaults for 110 Million Households
spending a little over 2 Trillion,
6 Million Households higher up
spend the same, 100T to 1M incomes.
135 Thousand rich shits, 1M to 20M
spend 270 Billion.
"Who dares to care about gas and groceries."
In this socalled newage of austerity,
one wonders if the inhabitants can survive
without prepared entertainment and food,
spectators propagating hemmoroids,
walking to the bathroom,
"The family unit would have to contribute
to each other functioning as a team
in the great American Dream, of course
after counseling and rehab...
the obeisity battle begins at home,
salads and water, fat asses
get no passes,"grumbling to the kitchen.
"The Counterparties have been paid off
with the Fifty Billion or so...
the Default Swaps are next,
'it' will take a Trillion dollars or more,
this situation is global,"
a funny smirk on the old jew's face,
the biggest loser in the world,
his company stolen by pirates
sailing the good ship Derivative,
all AIG on his face,
chatting to CNBC from Key Largo...
History Channel and more myths,
no such thing as the Battle of Bunker Hill,
'it' was Breen's Hill, Paul Revere was gay,
a black runaway slave was the first martyr
of the Boston Massacre,the Summer of 75.
"Fucking assholes beleive their own bullshit."
Heart pains and weak legs, stuck at home,
banks use loan money for acquisitions,
the Bailout a Fallout, Bushshit...
CitiBank gives the Mets 400M,
AIG gives Manchester 25M,
GM cans the Tiger,hummmm.
"The Financial Market turmoil is stabilized,
the Fed is buying the MBS of F and F,
this is a once or twice in a century situation,
conservatorship mortgage spreads up,
there is a problem with AAA paper,"
stuttering and swaying, bobbing and nodding,
the oldman had sympathy for his fortitude,
"We will work to the last day,"
when Geithner takes his job.
And the Markets fell again.
"By securitising the Debt,
the new bond's risk will be spread,"
echoes the ghost of Greenspan
repeating and repeating
until the revolvers come down.
"Spread the debt and insure the couterparties,
concentrate the deal with the few
by the few, Licensed To Steal,
Goldman and JPMorgan,
BofA and Merrill, Wells and Wasitfuck,
consolidation for the nation,
Chevrolet Motors and WalMart,
so much for individuality,
guaranteed by the US of DEBT,"
pissed and popping a pint.
Watching the tourists gawk and talk.
Elections and Thanksgiving over.
Santa Claus is coming.
A cool breeze in the fabulous florida keys.
Above the Straits.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Blue Skies and Beautiful
0646/1739 58/66 Blue Skies N15/25 65%H
DOGS 8190 5402 7378 0915...
Greetings from the Hill.
Yeah, fucking yeah, back in the waves,
goddamn machine is malfunctioning,
WiWi's from ATT monitoring the signal.
A gorgeous day in paradise.
Classics from Havana, CNBC in the East,
cats fed and sunning, doves eating,
below Hilda mothers her chickabees
in Bill's porch garden.
Bill, the neighbour, repairing
the Love Lane fence
for Connie Lee...
PI Bill is too busy to visit.
Economic Populism makes large promises
without knowing how to finance them...
Paulson's Folly..Harp on the Tarp,
then Change to social Capitalism,
market capitalism guaranteed by government
and a nation of Debtors...
"Send the taxpayers share certificates
of invested banks as collateral...
Fucking Bullshit again, Treasury Bonds
discounted at 80 Basis Points,
spliced and diced for speculators,
Tarp Bonds to cover
the toxic waste barrels
transported to Duncedom,"
growls the madone
pissed with the Great Coverup,
the League of Liars,
a nation so diseased with deceit
that all are guilty of the con...
sell shit to family and friends,
anything for money,
make the deal,
feed the need
to play the machine,
get a handle on the gamble,
leverage the odds
and sell the Debt.
"Oh, oh, who opened the door
to the Money Store...
and we trusted the pin stripes,
should have been Joe not Phil,"
mocking spokesmen.
Believe what you see,
not what you hear.
Voiceovers.
Clean clear windows
and camera's to picture.
A cool breeze in the Keys.
Beyond Insanity.
Bicycle and recycle.
DOGS 8190 5402 7378 0915...
Greetings from the Hill.
Yeah, fucking yeah, back in the waves,
goddamn machine is malfunctioning,
WiWi's from ATT monitoring the signal.
A gorgeous day in paradise.
Classics from Havana, CNBC in the East,
cats fed and sunning, doves eating,
below Hilda mothers her chickabees
in Bill's porch garden.
Bill, the neighbour, repairing
the Love Lane fence
for Connie Lee...
PI Bill is too busy to visit.
Economic Populism makes large promises
without knowing how to finance them...
Paulson's Folly..Harp on the Tarp,
then Change to social Capitalism,
market capitalism guaranteed by government
and a nation of Debtors...
"Send the taxpayers share certificates
of invested banks as collateral...
Fucking Bullshit again, Treasury Bonds
discounted at 80 Basis Points,
spliced and diced for speculators,
Tarp Bonds to cover
the toxic waste barrels
transported to Duncedom,"
growls the madone
pissed with the Great Coverup,
the League of Liars,
a nation so diseased with deceit
that all are guilty of the con...
sell shit to family and friends,
anything for money,
make the deal,
feed the need
to play the machine,
get a handle on the gamble,
leverage the odds
and sell the Debt.
"Oh, oh, who opened the door
to the Money Store...
and we trusted the pin stripes,
should have been Joe not Phil,"
mocking spokesmen.
Believe what you see,
not what you hear.
Voiceovers.
Clean clear windows
and camera's to picture.
A cool breeze in the Keys.
Beyond Insanity.
Bicycle and recycle.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Big Change or just small change.
0639/1742 72/78 Grey skies NE10/15 85%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A depressing grey sky day,
ten knot winds for the Power Boats,
a wake at Capt. Tony's
for his fifty years of compassion,
faith and understanding,
the laughing eye of lust
for straights and gays,
"Why Not."
Forty years ago in another age,
the oldman got clubbed in Chicago
at Grant's Park for another's dream
about freedom of speech...
"And the whiteman lied and lied
and told and sold promises
of a home of one's own, regardless..."
Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan,
Bush, Clinton, Bush,
and where is Osama, Obama????
The Four Fools will not exit without
blackmail on the email,
Volker and Rubin with Soros,
"Hey, Hitler had the VW,
one label one brand,
our country stores,
guaranteed by USA...
WalMart, BofA, General Chrysler
and one plastic card,"
snorts the madone,
pissed with 'it' all.
Bush gives a speech, the Market falls,
Tarp is implemented, down 500...
"Oh, oh, 'its' so volatile, why why,"
wonder the talking tits
to the baldmen with zits
watching their ratings
dreaming of Merideth,
the younger and older,
with a body slammer
and a numbers cruncher,
who to believe, who to trust ,
which face on the box.
"The ThreeHeaded Dog from Styxx,
who owns GMAC and Moparts,
and Albertsons, Hofuckingho,"
snorts the madone sipping
warm beer watching
palm trees sway
and staying away
from Capt. Tony's wake
at Joe's Bar.
"You're so beautiful...
you remind me of my wife,"
making Kathy's heart swoon
and 'Mad Jack' proud,
who printed his tshirts for Mayor,
'If you Care', 'If you Dare',
then 'Why Not',
and Sonny McCoy
lost to the barefoot Mayor,
when times were good.
Then times changed with gentrification
and the big money buyouts
of local originality,
"Made in Key West,"
became a gay disease.
TLC, tender loving care
had gone Republican...
Thieving Lying Cheats.
Crooked lawyers and
paid off politicians.
Gullible homeowners
greedy for debt.
SUV's and Plasma TV's.
Sink the Vandenberg
and pay the 'Ducks'.
What fools we elect.
Beyond the Straits
and above the Horn.
In Paradise.
Greetings from the Hill.
A depressing grey sky day,
ten knot winds for the Power Boats,
a wake at Capt. Tony's
for his fifty years of compassion,
faith and understanding,
the laughing eye of lust
for straights and gays,
"Why Not."
Forty years ago in another age,
the oldman got clubbed in Chicago
at Grant's Park for another's dream
about freedom of speech...
"And the whiteman lied and lied
and told and sold promises
of a home of one's own, regardless..."
Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan,
Bush, Clinton, Bush,
and where is Osama, Obama????
The Four Fools will not exit without
blackmail on the email,
Volker and Rubin with Soros,
"Hey, Hitler had the VW,
one label one brand,
our country stores,
guaranteed by USA...
WalMart, BofA, General Chrysler
and one plastic card,"
snorts the madone,
pissed with 'it' all.
Bush gives a speech, the Market falls,
Tarp is implemented, down 500...
"Oh, oh, 'its' so volatile, why why,"
wonder the talking tits
to the baldmen with zits
watching their ratings
dreaming of Merideth,
the younger and older,
with a body slammer
and a numbers cruncher,
who to believe, who to trust ,
which face on the box.
"The ThreeHeaded Dog from Styxx,
who owns GMAC and Moparts,
and Albertsons, Hofuckingho,"
snorts the madone sipping
warm beer watching
palm trees sway
and staying away
from Capt. Tony's wake
at Joe's Bar.
"You're so beautiful...
you remind me of my wife,"
making Kathy's heart swoon
and 'Mad Jack' proud,
who printed his tshirts for Mayor,
'If you Care', 'If you Dare',
then 'Why Not',
and Sonny McCoy
lost to the barefoot Mayor,
when times were good.
Then times changed with gentrification
and the big money buyouts
of local originality,
"Made in Key West,"
became a gay disease.
TLC, tender loving care
had gone Republican...
Thieving Lying Cheats.
Crooked lawyers and
paid off politicians.
Gullible homeowners
greedy for debt.
SUV's and Plasma TV's.
Sink the Vandenberg
and pay the 'Ducks'.
What fools we elect.
Beyond the Straits
and above the Horn.
In Paradise.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Two Weeks Lost without Internet.
0732/1848 62/70 Cloudy NE10/15 60%H
DOGS 9120 6746 7560 9855...
Greetings from the Hill,
the Dow, Oil, Gas and Silver...DOGS..
arf fuckingarf.
A chilly night in paradise
beneath a comforter
inside closed windows,
not sense last major storm...
isolated without internet,
only the classics from Havana
and cable from America and CNBC.
The oldman was into his fall change,
Law and Order at 0400, then
Bloomberg until 0800,
reading Greenspan, great sentences...
"Hey, oldman, how are you feeling,"
not looking at the withered person
shivering in the heat of the console
bringing the world an update
on the continuing financial rape
of Big Daddy Warbucks
and his retarded son, George...
the oldman nodded
and took the cold pint,
"Inflation has hit home...
Millers went up a dime,
thats 15% inflation at once,
the recession begins for real,"
rants the madone on fixed income.
Two weeks off riding the roiling seas
and the crashing waves of volatility,
200 and 300 then 500 point changes,
the VIXX, 80 points of Volatility,
another indice to bet, oh, oh,
the betting Market...
the drugs are on the street,
credit default swaps and
derivatives no longer the secret,
Markit, Markit, Markit gives
you the prices, have for years,
"Some secret to the dunces,
those payroll slaves in the
Kingdom of Duncedom,
the lovers of George,"
spitting snot over the balcony
towards Bill the rooster,
he crowed in the noon sunlight,
from the porch railing,
blazing colors ruffling in contrast
to the natural ambiance
of the unpainted wood.
The financial news competes
with the presidential election,
lie upon lie upon lie by the best,
Greenspan, Snow and Cox
and the politician waving the Truth,
thank cable for CSPAN...
"The fuckers freaked over that one,
holding up 'the document' of fact,
the True Debt numbers USA,"
smiled the madone shrugging,
the numbers were so exagerated
and words between lying in your eye,
the betting voting fools believe
in their own lies and of course
buy their own bullshit.
John McCain is acting silly being nice,
his voice sounds drugged and he sways,
could he be swooning for a fantasy
in black nylon over thunder thighs,
grade school teachers glasses
and a voice only a deaf man
could love...a shrill shrew,
Palen gets worse by the week.
The halfwhite fellow is syrupy,
trying to be something he isn't
by making up poverty stories
while playing basketball at a private
very elite and expensive high school,
now visiting the dying white granny
who paid for 'it' all and the'uppity'
kept expecting more, spoiled, spoiled,
another mommies boy
with dead daddies in the ditch.
"Well, my heavens, maybe this was planned
by treacherous minds to collapse
the nation by DEBT not BLOOD,
moles inside the FED monitoring the funds
awaiting the timing of events
leading to the declaration MARTIAL LAW,
Hofuckingho and King George for Christmas,"
laughs the madone at the irony.
Solve the whole problem...Warbucks.
The oldman liked to listen to Greenspan,
his past of Ayn Rand and jazz
with the Village background made musical
the movement of trillions of dollars
lost in the past month in equities
while the same loaned back with toxic collateral,
the Twelve Bankers of Fedhell
playing games with the Federal Banking Agents,
JPMorgan on the foodstamp card
"Love that cashflow on plastic,
trunching and tranching, dicing and slicing
those derivatives fly high in the sky
of US DEBT, no lifeboats no anchor,
ports closed running on empty,
the captain in the galley
cooking turkey,"
ready for an afternoon walk.
The curious thing about the Big Rush on the Tarp
was the results of government intervention,
"Everyone is selling and no one is buying,"
oozes the talking tits to TVland, strange...
how can you sell if no one buys,
but then no one owns anything, 'its' streetname,
short what you don't own, who knows,
"The computer knows and operators
make secret numbered trades to protect
those gamblers and speculators of The Market,
that forum of Democratic Capitalism,
the global Fuck of the Buck by 'them',
the secret society of jewish masons,"
growled the madone off to Faustos.
A good day to clean windows.
The indianwoman was working for Doug
and had another 'gig' at Blue Heaven
with a telephone in her rogosuite,
her life was improving in the recession.
The oldman was increasing his reserves.
The FantasyFest was a fantasy fast,
the season was looking bleak,
free beer with a tshirt
and 99cent cheeseburgers
for local McMansioners.
Recycle and bicycle.
A fourpack went up forty cents.
Alcoholfree sundays.
A beautiful day in paradise.
DOGS 9120 6746 7560 9855...
Greetings from the Hill,
the Dow, Oil, Gas and Silver...DOGS..
arf fuckingarf.
A chilly night in paradise
beneath a comforter
inside closed windows,
not sense last major storm...
isolated without internet,
only the classics from Havana
and cable from America and CNBC.
The oldman was into his fall change,
Law and Order at 0400, then
Bloomberg until 0800,
reading Greenspan, great sentences...
"Hey, oldman, how are you feeling,"
not looking at the withered person
shivering in the heat of the console
bringing the world an update
on the continuing financial rape
of Big Daddy Warbucks
and his retarded son, George...
the oldman nodded
and took the cold pint,
"Inflation has hit home...
Millers went up a dime,
thats 15% inflation at once,
the recession begins for real,"
rants the madone on fixed income.
Two weeks off riding the roiling seas
and the crashing waves of volatility,
200 and 300 then 500 point changes,
the VIXX, 80 points of Volatility,
another indice to bet, oh, oh,
the betting Market...
the drugs are on the street,
credit default swaps and
derivatives no longer the secret,
Markit, Markit, Markit gives
you the prices, have for years,
"Some secret to the dunces,
those payroll slaves in the
Kingdom of Duncedom,
the lovers of George,"
spitting snot over the balcony
towards Bill the rooster,
he crowed in the noon sunlight,
from the porch railing,
blazing colors ruffling in contrast
to the natural ambiance
of the unpainted wood.
The financial news competes
with the presidential election,
lie upon lie upon lie by the best,
Greenspan, Snow and Cox
and the politician waving the Truth,
thank cable for CSPAN...
"The fuckers freaked over that one,
holding up 'the document' of fact,
the True Debt numbers USA,"
smiled the madone shrugging,
the numbers were so exagerated
and words between lying in your eye,
the betting voting fools believe
in their own lies and of course
buy their own bullshit.
John McCain is acting silly being nice,
his voice sounds drugged and he sways,
could he be swooning for a fantasy
in black nylon over thunder thighs,
grade school teachers glasses
and a voice only a deaf man
could love...a shrill shrew,
Palen gets worse by the week.
The halfwhite fellow is syrupy,
trying to be something he isn't
by making up poverty stories
while playing basketball at a private
very elite and expensive high school,
now visiting the dying white granny
who paid for 'it' all and the'uppity'
kept expecting more, spoiled, spoiled,
another mommies boy
with dead daddies in the ditch.
"Well, my heavens, maybe this was planned
by treacherous minds to collapse
the nation by DEBT not BLOOD,
moles inside the FED monitoring the funds
awaiting the timing of events
leading to the declaration MARTIAL LAW,
Hofuckingho and King George for Christmas,"
laughs the madone at the irony.
Solve the whole problem...Warbucks.
The oldman liked to listen to Greenspan,
his past of Ayn Rand and jazz
with the Village background made musical
the movement of trillions of dollars
lost in the past month in equities
while the same loaned back with toxic collateral,
the Twelve Bankers of Fedhell
playing games with the Federal Banking Agents,
JPMorgan on the foodstamp card
"Love that cashflow on plastic,
trunching and tranching, dicing and slicing
those derivatives fly high in the sky
of US DEBT, no lifeboats no anchor,
ports closed running on empty,
the captain in the galley
cooking turkey,"
ready for an afternoon walk.
The curious thing about the Big Rush on the Tarp
was the results of government intervention,
"Everyone is selling and no one is buying,"
oozes the talking tits to TVland, strange...
how can you sell if no one buys,
but then no one owns anything, 'its' streetname,
short what you don't own, who knows,
"The computer knows and operators
make secret numbered trades to protect
those gamblers and speculators of The Market,
that forum of Democratic Capitalism,
the global Fuck of the Buck by 'them',
the secret society of jewish masons,"
growled the madone off to Faustos.
A good day to clean windows.
The indianwoman was working for Doug
and had another 'gig' at Blue Heaven
with a telephone in her rogosuite,
her life was improving in the recession.
The oldman was increasing his reserves.
The FantasyFest was a fantasy fast,
the season was looking bleak,
free beer with a tshirt
and 99cent cheeseburgers
for local McMansioners.
Recycle and bicycle.
A fourpack went up forty cents.
Alcoholfree sundays.
A beautiful day in paradise.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
A Bouncing Fevered Market and Frigid Credit.
0723/1902 78/84 Cloudy ESE10 80%H
8451 79 912 11.5
Greetings from the Hill.
Black clouds over the Straits,
static with the classics from Havana,
a cool breeze and a feeling of fall...
"Yeah, fall down a financial hole,
excavated by the 'Goldie Sox' gang
that have kidnapped the Fed
and blackmailed central banks
shorting the 'shit' they sold them,"
taking the warm beer downstairs
to the freezer.
The scandal starts with the nonjew,
token head of the Street, 50M a year man,
who sells his 500M in GS at the top,
taxfree gift from George...
consolidates the investment business,
wipes out competition and banks,
acquires a portfolio of WellsFargo
then resigns by Thanksgiving
taking the turkey and trimmings
from whichever loser...
and takes little Bens' job.
Georgie becomes a supreme court judge,
appointing himself at Christmas.
"Ho, fuckingho, Santa Claus,
Mumbles gets elected, but he's sick...
Wacko becomes Wonderwoman in black
and Pelosi as Speaker becomes VP,
a nation united under WomanKind,
could 'it' be worse than being halfwhite,
with a black foreigner father
and a black alien family,"
chortles the madone
accepting the failure of 'it' all.
A strange week watching numbers and
listening to the talking tits playing coy,
the tricks with the hair and smirk
to the camera, a secret not shared...
always the last word driving
the oldman to drink
by the closing bell.
"They are all Jews from New York,
they sound like Streisand doing
a horse racing announcer,"
he laughed at a funny one.
What a sorryass fuckup George is,
he chairs the G6 in Washington,
gives a speech after the 'bell'
and the 'Market' tumbles
500 Points before rallying,
"Trust me, Believe me,
I won't cum in your ear,"
this dickhead is heading
a World Economy Summit,
"See how we do 'it'."
And next the G20, hofuckingho.
"Tough shit you dumb bastards,
imagine had all your retirement
been invested in equity shares
managed by traitorous traders,"
snorted the oldman bored
with crime without punishment.
This whole pile of shit was predicated
on the odds in the gamble
and the larceny of the House
and the Street and the Strip,
the last a family destination
for Main Streeters,
like sending the little boys
camping in Key West.
"Who the fuck made you think
your home would double
every five years, a little voice on TV,
those moneymaggots convincing you,
'You deserve 'it' because you want 'it',
anddddd, you need it, pictures you see
on Big Screen slopping pizza
and guzzling beer with the men,
while the little woman connives
with other wives...
another conspiracy, the worst,
mendacity.. what a word,
you can see it drooling
from Orson Welles' lips,"
snorted the madone
checking the freezer.
The old indianwoman was in bliss,
a breeze blowing through the window,
cigarettes, grapes, avocados, a mango
in bamboo trays, a filled fridge...
she was the foodstamp
Queen for a Day.
And played her flutes
for the fruit loops
at Capt Tim's political rally
for King of Fantasy Fest.
"Rally round the Faghags, guys."
"What the fuck, I remember when
we'd bumfuck a whitegirl caught
screwing a spearchucker,
those black boys don't like
the Hershey Highway,"
laughed the madone
remembering days past
growing up in Detroit.
Times had changed or something else,
acceptance and compromise
seemed to be effected by bloatedness...
the american public was fatter
not in the bank but in the ass,
not in the stash but in the gut,
piggy banks had become food banks.
And overfilled septic tanks.
The blabbering idiots talk about polls,
the odds, the bet for what...
only stupid ass americans would
bet on a losing race...
"Guess what...
The American Race is Over,
no cars, no drivers, no gas,
no Track....no fans,"
spits the oldman
on a sleeping cat.
IT was all bullshit, a good word
said Henry Fonda to Billy,
an ability to tell a lie
when one knows the truth,
to tell the truth knowing a lie,
with a trusting eye.
Financial instruments of a bygone era,
common stocks and debt obligations
have been augmented by a vast array
of complex hybrid financial products
which allow risk to be isolated
but which in many cases
seemingly challenge human understanding.
Hofuckingho, wrote the jazzman,
a lover of Ayn Rand
and the spreader
of financial disease,
all bullshit.
Blue skies and beautiful.
Fuck Bill,
bunghole Hillary.
Palm trees swaying
and three weeks
before Martial Law.
A Trillion here, a Trillion there.
8451 79 912 11.5
Greetings from the Hill.
Black clouds over the Straits,
static with the classics from Havana,
a cool breeze and a feeling of fall...
"Yeah, fall down a financial hole,
excavated by the 'Goldie Sox' gang
that have kidnapped the Fed
and blackmailed central banks
shorting the 'shit' they sold them,"
taking the warm beer downstairs
to the freezer.
The scandal starts with the nonjew,
token head of the Street, 50M a year man,
who sells his 500M in GS at the top,
taxfree gift from George...
consolidates the investment business,
wipes out competition and banks,
acquires a portfolio of WellsFargo
then resigns by Thanksgiving
taking the turkey and trimmings
from whichever loser...
and takes little Bens' job.
Georgie becomes a supreme court judge,
appointing himself at Christmas.
"Ho, fuckingho, Santa Claus,
Mumbles gets elected, but he's sick...
Wacko becomes Wonderwoman in black
and Pelosi as Speaker becomes VP,
a nation united under WomanKind,
could 'it' be worse than being halfwhite,
with a black foreigner father
and a black alien family,"
chortles the madone
accepting the failure of 'it' all.
A strange week watching numbers and
listening to the talking tits playing coy,
the tricks with the hair and smirk
to the camera, a secret not shared...
always the last word driving
the oldman to drink
by the closing bell.
"They are all Jews from New York,
they sound like Streisand doing
a horse racing announcer,"
he laughed at a funny one.
What a sorryass fuckup George is,
he chairs the G6 in Washington,
gives a speech after the 'bell'
and the 'Market' tumbles
500 Points before rallying,
"Trust me, Believe me,
I won't cum in your ear,"
this dickhead is heading
a World Economy Summit,
"See how we do 'it'."
And next the G20, hofuckingho.
"Tough shit you dumb bastards,
imagine had all your retirement
been invested in equity shares
managed by traitorous traders,"
snorted the oldman bored
with crime without punishment.
This whole pile of shit was predicated
on the odds in the gamble
and the larceny of the House
and the Street and the Strip,
the last a family destination
for Main Streeters,
like sending the little boys
camping in Key West.
"Who the fuck made you think
your home would double
every five years, a little voice on TV,
those moneymaggots convincing you,
'You deserve 'it' because you want 'it',
anddddd, you need it, pictures you see
on Big Screen slopping pizza
and guzzling beer with the men,
while the little woman connives
with other wives...
another conspiracy, the worst,
mendacity.. what a word,
you can see it drooling
from Orson Welles' lips,"
snorted the madone
checking the freezer.
The old indianwoman was in bliss,
a breeze blowing through the window,
cigarettes, grapes, avocados, a mango
in bamboo trays, a filled fridge...
she was the foodstamp
Queen for a Day.
And played her flutes
for the fruit loops
at Capt Tim's political rally
for King of Fantasy Fest.
"Rally round the Faghags, guys."
"What the fuck, I remember when
we'd bumfuck a whitegirl caught
screwing a spearchucker,
those black boys don't like
the Hershey Highway,"
laughed the madone
remembering days past
growing up in Detroit.
Times had changed or something else,
acceptance and compromise
seemed to be effected by bloatedness...
the american public was fatter
not in the bank but in the ass,
not in the stash but in the gut,
piggy banks had become food banks.
And overfilled septic tanks.
The blabbering idiots talk about polls,
the odds, the bet for what...
only stupid ass americans would
bet on a losing race...
"Guess what...
The American Race is Over,
no cars, no drivers, no gas,
no Track....no fans,"
spits the oldman
on a sleeping cat.
IT was all bullshit, a good word
said Henry Fonda to Billy,
an ability to tell a lie
when one knows the truth,
to tell the truth knowing a lie,
with a trusting eye.
Financial instruments of a bygone era,
common stocks and debt obligations
have been augmented by a vast array
of complex hybrid financial products
which allow risk to be isolated
but which in many cases
seemingly challenge human understanding.
Hofuckingho, wrote the jazzman,
a lover of Ayn Rand
and the spreader
of financial disease,
all bullshit.
Blue skies and beautiful.
Fuck Bill,
bunghole Hillary.
Palm trees swaying
and three weeks
before Martial Law.
A Trillion here, a Trillion there.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Memories, sweet memories in Paradise.
0722/1908 78/84 Blue skies ENE10/20 80%H
DOW 9447 down 508 OIL 89 GOLD 887 SILVER 11.6
Greetings from the Hill.
Blue skies and beautiful unless...
one invests with numbers,
maybe weather derivatives
or other bets on bets.
"Hey, keep 'it' in the bank,
your safe secure local branch."
The oldman deposited his first check
from Capt. Tony for 'a gross' of shirts,
the man had style and gambled
that printed shirts would 'be the thing',
and millions later still are.
Banks just change the signs.
This oversight committee is pathetic,
certainly Waxman suckassing
to the sleezeking Fuld
who emanates boiler room mentality,
the prick hired George Sr to lie,
then dipshit Jeb to peddle toxic bonds
to state pension funds.
These keepers of the public trust
are now taking a break for three months
while the nation goes to hell...
"Hello, hello, is anyone at home
while corrupters seek reelection,
vote every scumball out
and have 'Real Change."
"Credit Default Swaps, my oh my,"
says the black lady, a lawyer as well,
knowing the bet on bets and
insuring the insurance over and over,
"In a Casino Type mentality, Woooeee,"
finally the awareness is being communicated
that chief officers of the companies
were culpible through interbanking,
"Woooee, counterparties and derivatives,"
putting a stain in Fuld's pants.
Who could say, who can say...
forty five years ago and still a dream,
"I have a Dream..."
well, this dream could be
your worst nightmare
when civil rights are lost
by all but the rich one percent.
And overhead small planes approach
an airport incomplete and shamed
where once 727's landed
and times were different...
the natives were not slaves
to a greedy needy daily dollar
enjoying time to enjoy
life in paradise.
Storms would come and go,
before million dollar houses,
not homes for living,
but trim and spin,
the real estate whores with
bed partners in the bank.
"All One Family Together."
Nothing stays the same, times change,
nature has 'its' way and day,
buildings too tall can fall.
A good rain can clean the streets
and chicken shit from a car,
emblazon the poinciannas
and burst a backyard orchid...
island living with
as Frenchy would say,
"The Carribbean Soul."
So the stock market is falling,
room rates or rent won't,
nor will gas or milk or cigarettes.
Don't drive, fart or smoke.
Live beneath your means,
walk to work'
go fishing.
Have fishburger on Sunday.
Life is a breeze
in the florida keys.
DOW 9447 down 508 OIL 89 GOLD 887 SILVER 11.6
Greetings from the Hill.
Blue skies and beautiful unless...
one invests with numbers,
maybe weather derivatives
or other bets on bets.
"Hey, keep 'it' in the bank,
your safe secure local branch."
The oldman deposited his first check
from Capt. Tony for 'a gross' of shirts,
the man had style and gambled
that printed shirts would 'be the thing',
and millions later still are.
Banks just change the signs.
This oversight committee is pathetic,
certainly Waxman suckassing
to the sleezeking Fuld
who emanates boiler room mentality,
the prick hired George Sr to lie,
then dipshit Jeb to peddle toxic bonds
to state pension funds.
These keepers of the public trust
are now taking a break for three months
while the nation goes to hell...
"Hello, hello, is anyone at home
while corrupters seek reelection,
vote every scumball out
and have 'Real Change."
"Credit Default Swaps, my oh my,"
says the black lady, a lawyer as well,
knowing the bet on bets and
insuring the insurance over and over,
"In a Casino Type mentality, Woooeee,"
finally the awareness is being communicated
that chief officers of the companies
were culpible through interbanking,
"Woooee, counterparties and derivatives,"
putting a stain in Fuld's pants.
Who could say, who can say...
forty five years ago and still a dream,
"I have a Dream..."
well, this dream could be
your worst nightmare
when civil rights are lost
by all but the rich one percent.
And overhead small planes approach
an airport incomplete and shamed
where once 727's landed
and times were different...
the natives were not slaves
to a greedy needy daily dollar
enjoying time to enjoy
life in paradise.
Storms would come and go,
before million dollar houses,
not homes for living,
but trim and spin,
the real estate whores with
bed partners in the bank.
"All One Family Together."
Nothing stays the same, times change,
nature has 'its' way and day,
buildings too tall can fall.
A good rain can clean the streets
and chicken shit from a car,
emblazon the poinciannas
and burst a backyard orchid...
island living with
as Frenchy would say,
"The Carribbean Soul."
So the stock market is falling,
room rates or rent won't,
nor will gas or milk or cigarettes.
Don't drive, fart or smoke.
Live beneath your means,
walk to work'
go fishing.
Have fishburger on Sunday.
Life is a breeze
in the florida keys.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Roof is Falling, Run to your Yacht.
0720/1910 78/83 Grey skies E10/15 95%H
Greetings from the Hill.
Overcast and a grey cover above,
perhaps God has put a TARP overhead
to create a proper mood to begin
the financial fall, a golden autumn,
silver moments for sunset years...
"But in your paper dreams,
nothing is real, we will insure your hedge
against moneyworms," laughs the madone
beyond 'it' all.
A dear friend arrived to take the oldman
for a famous hogfish sandwich
overlooking mangroves and still waters
and his the only cellphone...
keeping track of what was left
after that 777 day of doom.
"And just the beginning, this is fraud,
I know, you know where I live,
'the HedgeHog town, Ha Ha...
I like that, maybe put up a sign,"
his broker called between beers,
no martini lunches for this
morning fisherman...
he lived there before the hogs,
the honest years after Nixon.
"No one is going to learn about this scam
and no one wants to know, cover it up,
your 'it' will go away, or..."
shrugging and pouring from the pitcher,
it had a bag of ice to keep it cool
and half full, four fucking cups
for eight dollars, little cups
the lunch was sixteen bucks each.
"Hey, don't worry, I'm paying
and this is worth the flight,"
always at home in his dream.
"You know everything is half price
for cash," he laughed and frowned
wondering how far down,
things were not good in town,
restaurants and bars half full
at happy hour, no one laughing.
"It's getting like the seventies
before drugs and samesex,
money and perversion
and then corruption
with government hand's out,
now 'it's' handouts,"
leaving the out islands
for a stop at Home Depot.
"Three registers, that's all,"
always watching things,
"And at Walmart in Homestead
when I got the catfood..four,"
emphasizing the signs of the times.
"Might as well give the country
to the janitors and the cashiers,
moneycounters and floorsweepers,
the service industry," snorting,
"In service of slavery."
Away in the rental and off to Miami,
a drink in Atlanta and homeward
for fishing in the morning
off the banks of the green witches,
the greedy wives of Hedge Hogs.
The oldman was drained from a week
that was lying words of worry
by those talking tits dreaming
of their ratings and fucking Warren,
models expert with the look
and sidekicks as stupid as weathermen
comic relief and silly gaffoons...
"Oh oh where can we go, ask Jim,"
the idiot savant playing court jester
for blue collar investors
trading SUV's for SIV's,
buying CMO's for maturity,
and coffee and oil options
from Goldman Sachs,
all online of course
from a laptop on the golfcourse.
"It ain't over yet,"
said John Wayne in the rain.
Of course of course, off course,
the baked alaskan wonderwoman
turned into a shrill knownothing
with an even dumber daughter
who couldn't cross her legs
to a hockey stick.
Mumbles wife loves the family,
she upgrades the slow witted,
the poor and the handicapped,
and loves dayglo green.
Fast moving grey clouds passing
over the hill, static with the classics,
the weather station a relief from CNBC,
anxiety over roof leaks
and not dollar dam breaks.
Bernanke and fellow stockholders of the FED,
that private company acquiring the DEBTS
of this nation of FOOLS as well as assets,
those specific contracts available later,
after the bankruptcy proceedings
of cities and counties...
"Hello assholes, remember Orange County,
the biggest, the richest in the WORLD,
the Keating Five and who got away,
Honest John and Senator Glenn,
but not Mike, he did time
and kept the money,
a trail through the Grammholes
and Enron with the dish of delight
DERIVATIVES....
'too fucking complicated', claim
those occupants of Foggy Bottom,"
ranted the madone pissed with liars
who hire expensive lawyers
or own the law firms
and change the LAW.
The smirking murderer walked
and strutted florida free
for thirteen years when justice failed
and now traitors will trade away
the soul and heart of everyman
who dreamed beyond his means
then schemed with coconspirators
who knock on foreclosed doors,
and peddle on the Internet
opportunities to own
the AMERICAN DREAM.
Too many crooks walking,
too many lies talking.
Too few angry pissed off people.
A nation of gutless wonders
with big bellies.
Enjoy the breeze
from politicians passing wind
not LAW.
Greetings from the Hill.
Overcast and a grey cover above,
perhaps God has put a TARP overhead
to create a proper mood to begin
the financial fall, a golden autumn,
silver moments for sunset years...
"But in your paper dreams,
nothing is real, we will insure your hedge
against moneyworms," laughs the madone
beyond 'it' all.
A dear friend arrived to take the oldman
for a famous hogfish sandwich
overlooking mangroves and still waters
and his the only cellphone...
keeping track of what was left
after that 777 day of doom.
"And just the beginning, this is fraud,
I know, you know where I live,
'the HedgeHog town, Ha Ha...
I like that, maybe put up a sign,"
his broker called between beers,
no martini lunches for this
morning fisherman...
he lived there before the hogs,
the honest years after Nixon.
"No one is going to learn about this scam
and no one wants to know, cover it up,
your 'it' will go away, or..."
shrugging and pouring from the pitcher,
it had a bag of ice to keep it cool
and half full, four fucking cups
for eight dollars, little cups
the lunch was sixteen bucks each.
"Hey, don't worry, I'm paying
and this is worth the flight,"
always at home in his dream.
"You know everything is half price
for cash," he laughed and frowned
wondering how far down,
things were not good in town,
restaurants and bars half full
at happy hour, no one laughing.
"It's getting like the seventies
before drugs and samesex,
money and perversion
and then corruption
with government hand's out,
now 'it's' handouts,"
leaving the out islands
for a stop at Home Depot.
"Three registers, that's all,"
always watching things,
"And at Walmart in Homestead
when I got the catfood..four,"
emphasizing the signs of the times.
"Might as well give the country
to the janitors and the cashiers,
moneycounters and floorsweepers,
the service industry," snorting,
"In service of slavery."
Away in the rental and off to Miami,
a drink in Atlanta and homeward
for fishing in the morning
off the banks of the green witches,
the greedy wives of Hedge Hogs.
The oldman was drained from a week
that was lying words of worry
by those talking tits dreaming
of their ratings and fucking Warren,
models expert with the look
and sidekicks as stupid as weathermen
comic relief and silly gaffoons...
"Oh oh where can we go, ask Jim,"
the idiot savant playing court jester
for blue collar investors
trading SUV's for SIV's,
buying CMO's for maturity,
and coffee and oil options
from Goldman Sachs,
all online of course
from a laptop on the golfcourse.
"It ain't over yet,"
said John Wayne in the rain.
Of course of course, off course,
the baked alaskan wonderwoman
turned into a shrill knownothing
with an even dumber daughter
who couldn't cross her legs
to a hockey stick.
Mumbles wife loves the family,
she upgrades the slow witted,
the poor and the handicapped,
and loves dayglo green.
Fast moving grey clouds passing
over the hill, static with the classics,
the weather station a relief from CNBC,
anxiety over roof leaks
and not dollar dam breaks.
Bernanke and fellow stockholders of the FED,
that private company acquiring the DEBTS
of this nation of FOOLS as well as assets,
those specific contracts available later,
after the bankruptcy proceedings
of cities and counties...
"Hello assholes, remember Orange County,
the biggest, the richest in the WORLD,
the Keating Five and who got away,
Honest John and Senator Glenn,
but not Mike, he did time
and kept the money,
a trail through the Grammholes
and Enron with the dish of delight
DERIVATIVES....
'too fucking complicated', claim
those occupants of Foggy Bottom,"
ranted the madone pissed with liars
who hire expensive lawyers
or own the law firms
and change the LAW.
The smirking murderer walked
and strutted florida free
for thirteen years when justice failed
and now traitors will trade away
the soul and heart of everyman
who dreamed beyond his means
then schemed with coconspirators
who knock on foreclosed doors,
and peddle on the Internet
opportunities to own
the AMERICAN DREAM.
Too many crooks walking,
too many lies talking.
Too few angry pissed off people.
A nation of gutless wonders
with big bellies.
Enjoy the breeze
from politicians passing wind
not LAW.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Whatever could come next.
0718/1914 78/84 Cloudy SE/5 80%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A strange calm day in paradise,
perhaps the laidback are laidout...
banks unwilling to loan to each other,
short term money gone long,
LIBOR rates going to the roof,
equities plunging to the floor,
no realtors at the door...
"Horror of Horrors, let's lunch
while the plastic's good..
and have fun in the sun,"
laughs the madone
to his friend from Greenwitch.
The Wheasle was on again this morning
acting like the rejected worm he is,
"Embarassing and pathetic",
says Peggy Noonan,
"A defeated bill of the party in power
means resignation in most nations".
But not in the rein of George Insane.
The oldman wondered about this 'thing',
'all about oil' and the money pixels,
electronic transfers at all times
and instant accounting of balances,
credit and debt, transparent and opaque,
cooking books with smoking pens...
certainly nothing was learned from Enron,
the same stupid shit globalized
through commissioned salesmen
under the umbrella of 'meritocracy'
"Boy, ain't that a lovely term,
the realtor, the broker, the banker,
now that's a three headed dog
barking at Hell's Pond,"
cackled the madone.
The Odd Couple, she babbled
while he blathered
like a toothless woman,
where was gaypower
and queerbucks...
another silent minority
in a disgusted nation.
"Well, you assholes, get ready to live
with CHANGE, a new lifestyle,
jailbirds will eat better and no
gas to buy or mortgage to pay,
'they' can save money",
snorts the madone.
"We lost over a trillion dollars",
wails a grovelling politician to TV,
hoping to confuse with fear
and force a vote for 'Mo Money'
from the taxpayers deep pockets
some time in the future.
"A Trillion here, a Trillion there,
soon we'll be talking real money",
said somebody funny,
but there was no jokes on The Street
or in The House as the rats
scurried about looking to find
another disease to start
another plague to begin
feeders off life
breeders of death
Of a Once Great Nation.
King Rat Dimon was doing well,
after all had not JPMorgan
created the con in derivatives
then sliced the tranches of CMO's,
to distribute to greedy bankers,
taking from Freddy and Fanny
then repackaging bonds to nations
like Russia and China
for a handsome fee of course,
"Guaranteed by the USA,
IN GOD WE TRUST,
imagine all those athiests and buddhists
buying that bullshit,"
belches the oldman,
grey skies and classics from Havana,
the end of another month,
the financial quarter,
more lying numbers from Washington
and a chance for Hedge Fund investors
to take the money and run
for the gold
"But the Gold is all gone,
hiding somewhere unknown,
maybe in yellow submarines,"
mused the oldman sighing
going downstairs
to check the bullion
in the freezer.
The Mogambo Guru claims the Chinese
government banks are accumulating
vast amounts of gold to establish
a financial system backed by gold
not facetious specious fiat...
clever little laundryman
collecting coins.
By amassing such monopoly
the world standard would become
"Up your ying yuang."
Twenty years of planning for 2020
have been assisted by the Dunce
who in eight years destroyed
a hundred years of progress.
Get your children a Chinese tutor
and a Mexican cook...
maybe a canadian hockey coach.
Things are slowing down in town,
of course it's October
and quite pleasant without
those wasteful extravagant visitors
showing off their wealth,
eating and shitting.
As Deak the Freak would say,
"Two Legged Shit Factories."
The sun is shining in paradise.
Blue skies and beautiful.
A slight breeze in the Keys.
Recycle and bicycle.
Greetings from the Hill.
A strange calm day in paradise,
perhaps the laidback are laidout...
banks unwilling to loan to each other,
short term money gone long,
LIBOR rates going to the roof,
equities plunging to the floor,
no realtors at the door...
"Horror of Horrors, let's lunch
while the plastic's good..
and have fun in the sun,"
laughs the madone
to his friend from Greenwitch.
The Wheasle was on again this morning
acting like the rejected worm he is,
"Embarassing and pathetic",
says Peggy Noonan,
"A defeated bill of the party in power
means resignation in most nations".
But not in the rein of George Insane.
The oldman wondered about this 'thing',
'all about oil' and the money pixels,
electronic transfers at all times
and instant accounting of balances,
credit and debt, transparent and opaque,
cooking books with smoking pens...
certainly nothing was learned from Enron,
the same stupid shit globalized
through commissioned salesmen
under the umbrella of 'meritocracy'
"Boy, ain't that a lovely term,
the realtor, the broker, the banker,
now that's a three headed dog
barking at Hell's Pond,"
cackled the madone.
The Odd Couple, she babbled
while he blathered
like a toothless woman,
where was gaypower
and queerbucks...
another silent minority
in a disgusted nation.
"Well, you assholes, get ready to live
with CHANGE, a new lifestyle,
jailbirds will eat better and no
gas to buy or mortgage to pay,
'they' can save money",
snorts the madone.
"We lost over a trillion dollars",
wails a grovelling politician to TV,
hoping to confuse with fear
and force a vote for 'Mo Money'
from the taxpayers deep pockets
some time in the future.
"A Trillion here, a Trillion there,
soon we'll be talking real money",
said somebody funny,
but there was no jokes on The Street
or in The House as the rats
scurried about looking to find
another disease to start
another plague to begin
feeders off life
breeders of death
Of a Once Great Nation.
King Rat Dimon was doing well,
after all had not JPMorgan
created the con in derivatives
then sliced the tranches of CMO's,
to distribute to greedy bankers,
taking from Freddy and Fanny
then repackaging bonds to nations
like Russia and China
for a handsome fee of course,
"Guaranteed by the USA,
IN GOD WE TRUST,
imagine all those athiests and buddhists
buying that bullshit,"
belches the oldman,
grey skies and classics from Havana,
the end of another month,
the financial quarter,
more lying numbers from Washington
and a chance for Hedge Fund investors
to take the money and run
for the gold
"But the Gold is all gone,
hiding somewhere unknown,
maybe in yellow submarines,"
mused the oldman sighing
going downstairs
to check the bullion
in the freezer.
The Mogambo Guru claims the Chinese
government banks are accumulating
vast amounts of gold to establish
a financial system backed by gold
not facetious specious fiat...
clever little laundryman
collecting coins.
By amassing such monopoly
the world standard would become
"Up your ying yuang."
Twenty years of planning for 2020
have been assisted by the Dunce
who in eight years destroyed
a hundred years of progress.
Get your children a Chinese tutor
and a Mexican cook...
maybe a canadian hockey coach.
Things are slowing down in town,
of course it's October
and quite pleasant without
those wasteful extravagant visitors
showing off their wealth,
eating and shitting.
As Deak the Freak would say,
"Two Legged Shit Factories."
The sun is shining in paradise.
Blue skies and beautiful.
A slight breeze in the Keys.
Recycle and bicycle.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
What would Paul Newman say to Barney.
0717/1917 78/83 Grey skies E/10 80%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A rainy day in paradise, death is dreary,
the oldman was sad about his favorite star,
but eighty three is a full life
with one woman
and a sultry voice...
fucking with Orson Wells and Liz,
sucking eggs with George
"We have a failure to communicate,"
caused more shit for the policestate
at that time before BushCops
and Homeland Security .
"What would Paul say.."
'"Fuck the Fed and elect Ron Paul,"
but he never said 'it',
tough shit, maybe he was a chickenshit.
Kind of like the two assholes
not debating, not relating,
just kissassing to sponsors
who invested in advertising bullshit,
GE and NBC with Cramer Crap
and talking tit teeth.
Very pathetic ruses for attention
to the middleclass market
with Freddie and Fannie toxic slime.
Arms to be gone
like soldier's legs
in a domestic financial bomb.
Warren Fuckit Buffett and George Soros
leer and profiteer at the expense
of the dumb stupid masses
sitting on their overweight asses
too lazy to question the elected liars
who soothe and ooze the verbs
engineered by scriptwriters
that create compliance...
cows eating cud.
"Well what about the 'Get Rich Quick Thing',
that infomercial on late night, foreclosures,
a house for $500, that sort of thing,"
wonders the drunk at three in the morning,
worried about his gas tank,
thinking about CHANGE
but really chumpchange.
"Sure sure, blame 'it' on the outsiders,
Bush is too stupid to understand derivatives,
Greenspan told him but so what,
he wanted to finish Daddy's War
and be the COMMANDER...
money, materials and manpower,
what an executive,"
growled the madone disgusted
with the smartasses like Uggla,
creating indices for imbeciles
and bankrolled by prime dealers...
Markit Markit Markit
save the crooked market.
Sorryass horsefucks from Fort Riley
caused the Spanish Flu,
this epidemic is from the floors
and greedy banker's doors
who opened houses
to germs in too many bathrooms.
Walk to work
if you have a job.
Enjoy an afternoon nap
and walk the wife.
Enjoy the sunsets.
And a breeze in the keys
Above the Horn
Greetings from the Hill.
A rainy day in paradise, death is dreary,
the oldman was sad about his favorite star,
but eighty three is a full life
with one woman
and a sultry voice...
fucking with Orson Wells and Liz,
sucking eggs with George
"We have a failure to communicate,"
caused more shit for the policestate
at that time before BushCops
and Homeland Security .
"What would Paul say.."
'"Fuck the Fed and elect Ron Paul,"
but he never said 'it',
tough shit, maybe he was a chickenshit.
Kind of like the two assholes
not debating, not relating,
just kissassing to sponsors
who invested in advertising bullshit,
GE and NBC with Cramer Crap
and talking tit teeth.
Very pathetic ruses for attention
to the middleclass market
with Freddie and Fannie toxic slime.
Arms to be gone
like soldier's legs
in a domestic financial bomb.
Warren Fuckit Buffett and George Soros
leer and profiteer at the expense
of the dumb stupid masses
sitting on their overweight asses
too lazy to question the elected liars
who soothe and ooze the verbs
engineered by scriptwriters
that create compliance...
cows eating cud.
"Well what about the 'Get Rich Quick Thing',
that infomercial on late night, foreclosures,
a house for $500, that sort of thing,"
wonders the drunk at three in the morning,
worried about his gas tank,
thinking about CHANGE
but really chumpchange.
"Sure sure, blame 'it' on the outsiders,
Bush is too stupid to understand derivatives,
Greenspan told him but so what,
he wanted to finish Daddy's War
and be the COMMANDER...
money, materials and manpower,
what an executive,"
growled the madone disgusted
with the smartasses like Uggla,
creating indices for imbeciles
and bankrolled by prime dealers...
Markit Markit Markit
save the crooked market.
Sorryass horsefucks from Fort Riley
caused the Spanish Flu,
this epidemic is from the floors
and greedy banker's doors
who opened houses
to germs in too many bathrooms.
Walk to work
if you have a job.
Enjoy an afternoon nap
and walk the wife.
Enjoy the sunsets.
And a breeze in the keys
Above the Horn
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Paulson takes the Grill for Bookcookers
0718/1921 78/85 Blue skies E10/15 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise,
classics from Havana,
cats sleeping and CNBC ranting...
today Ben is alone with representatives,
Paulson crying with the two dunces
wailing and bailing,
wondering what to steal
and not reveal.
The Senate Banking Committee yesterday,
such a television treat to watch
as these watchdogs stumble
and fumble with words
overlooking numbers...
"That represents $7,000 per household,"
figures a wise one contemplating.
"But only $2,300 per person,"
offers the 'hold to maturity' advocate
against mark to market
and 'firesale' pricing'
a proponent of cashcards at birth.
Senator Dodd had a chance for the throne
but had those Mozzili sillys
with the rest that love BofA
and look at them now...
Going after the Goldie Sox gang.
Now Schumer is senior in New York,
keeping the shrew on the leash,
but who wants this fucking mess
started by Wonderboy Bill...
Phil Gramm and Greenspan,
Summers and Rubin,
and coke from Columbia,
"Hey you fucking assholes, give me the Truth."
Not a hope in Hell, these twenty deadheads
were responsible to monitor the Fed
and sucked Bush's tit for four years,
then under Pelosi did shit
while the Shrew manipulated
in her bitch's brew
with the dike's of America.
"Great Ceasar's Ghost, such a dilemma,
a pickle in the porkhole", laughed the madone.
Could there not be a voice of reason,
a combination of Sense,
the good doctor and Elizabeth Dole,
a Secretary herself...
"Credit Default Swaps over 63 Trillion,
an Over The Counter derivative market,
a growing counterparty crisis that
is swept under shadow banking,"
Paulson stuttering again, Ben in tears,
the heart felt for the academic,
but not the baldheaded bullshitter.
All very nice, this capitalist democracy
based on who owns the debt
and who can collect, the mob is gone,
no broken knees on Wall Street,
just fuckup bonuses, 'Paid to Fail'
and a parachute to Dubai.
"Hey, look at the Odd Couple,
imagine if this pair took over...
the Democrats stall the Bailout,
maintain control and lose the White House",
snorts the madone amused
at the scenario of the shrill
and Mister Mumbles,
better than Bojangles.
"And think of Sick Dick
and the gun totting bitch
fatassing in his chair,"
snapping a pint
and watering the rooster.
The oldman sighed,
his broken shoulders ached,
there would be no surgery
not even pain pills,
just living with pain
beneath one's means,
drinking at home and
saving ten percent each month.
Walking to the bus stop.
Sweeping the sidewalk.
Watering the chickens.
Above the Horn.
Inside the Straits.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise,
classics from Havana,
cats sleeping and CNBC ranting...
today Ben is alone with representatives,
Paulson crying with the two dunces
wailing and bailing,
wondering what to steal
and not reveal.
The Senate Banking Committee yesterday,
such a television treat to watch
as these watchdogs stumble
and fumble with words
overlooking numbers...
"That represents $7,000 per household,"
figures a wise one contemplating.
"But only $2,300 per person,"
offers the 'hold to maturity' advocate
against mark to market
and 'firesale' pricing'
a proponent of cashcards at birth.
Senator Dodd had a chance for the throne
but had those Mozzili sillys
with the rest that love BofA
and look at them now...
Going after the Goldie Sox gang.
Now Schumer is senior in New York,
keeping the shrew on the leash,
but who wants this fucking mess
started by Wonderboy Bill...
Phil Gramm and Greenspan,
Summers and Rubin,
and coke from Columbia,
"Hey you fucking assholes, give me the Truth."
Not a hope in Hell, these twenty deadheads
were responsible to monitor the Fed
and sucked Bush's tit for four years,
then under Pelosi did shit
while the Shrew manipulated
in her bitch's brew
with the dike's of America.
"Great Ceasar's Ghost, such a dilemma,
a pickle in the porkhole", laughed the madone.
Could there not be a voice of reason,
a combination of Sense,
the good doctor and Elizabeth Dole,
a Secretary herself...
"Credit Default Swaps over 63 Trillion,
an Over The Counter derivative market,
a growing counterparty crisis that
is swept under shadow banking,"
Paulson stuttering again, Ben in tears,
the heart felt for the academic,
but not the baldheaded bullshitter.
All very nice, this capitalist democracy
based on who owns the debt
and who can collect, the mob is gone,
no broken knees on Wall Street,
just fuckup bonuses, 'Paid to Fail'
and a parachute to Dubai.
"Hey, look at the Odd Couple,
imagine if this pair took over...
the Democrats stall the Bailout,
maintain control and lose the White House",
snorts the madone amused
at the scenario of the shrill
and Mister Mumbles,
better than Bojangles.
"And think of Sick Dick
and the gun totting bitch
fatassing in his chair,"
snapping a pint
and watering the rooster.
The oldman sighed,
his broken shoulders ached,
there would be no surgery
not even pain pills,
just living with pain
beneath one's means,
drinking at home and
saving ten percent each month.
Walking to the bus stop.
Sweeping the sidewalk.
Watering the chickens.
Above the Horn.
Inside the Straits.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Lies Ties and Fingers in Financial Dikes.
0715/1923 78/85 Blue skies E10/15 75%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise,
swaying palm trees in the breeze,
cats fed and plants watered,
the odd roar of a motorcyle,
the rooster crowing for catfood...
the opera from Havana,
the Red Sox and Blue Jays
across the hall.
All seems well.
"Yeah, asshole, we are blessed
for reasons unknown, but...
that buthead in the Whitehouse,"
the madone getting geared up
over the disasterous policies
of the whore of Wall Street
bailing out the banksters
and corporapists, trading toxic paper
for treasury credits and Fed fiat...
"The Fuckball keeping Goldie Socks
alive to survive with 'it' all,
the deceptions of derivatives and
the 'Bet on Debt' at the US Casino
with ETN's and ETF's, new schemes
sneakier than the CDS's of toxic slop,
trading shorts through Rydex.."
fumes the madone as the machine
fucks up like asshole americans.
Ron Paul was interviewed on CNN,
'Doctor Sense' who won't support
either incompetant candidate.
Poor old Greenberg loses 20 Billion,
a lot of AIG on his face from
another snot trading derivatives,
"Hofuckingho, insuring insurance
without dead bodies or burned houses,
just evaporated paper,"
growls the madone pissed.
The terrorists have renewed power
with the collapse of Money Power,
the free market is social insurance
for the rich and shit for the public.
Government fools administrating finance,
the Rat that whined on dollar burgers
while sequestering bullion...
"More, more, I need more",
at the Senate Door.
Fagasaurus Rex opening the vaults
to another collection of thieves
to keep the F and F alive,
the fantasy of every sleezeball politician
to be empowered with spending
"Buttfuckers and Buckfuckers".
Houston citizens have no water,
can't shit and don't even revolt.
The steers are hungry.
Time for a third party,
a talking jackass and a senile elephant,
a sorry ass state of affairs.
Turn the lights out...
if you still have electricity.
Walk to work.
Still a breeze in the keys.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise,
swaying palm trees in the breeze,
cats fed and plants watered,
the odd roar of a motorcyle,
the rooster crowing for catfood...
the opera from Havana,
the Red Sox and Blue Jays
across the hall.
All seems well.
"Yeah, asshole, we are blessed
for reasons unknown, but...
that buthead in the Whitehouse,"
the madone getting geared up
over the disasterous policies
of the whore of Wall Street
bailing out the banksters
and corporapists, trading toxic paper
for treasury credits and Fed fiat...
"The Fuckball keeping Goldie Socks
alive to survive with 'it' all,
the deceptions of derivatives and
the 'Bet on Debt' at the US Casino
with ETN's and ETF's, new schemes
sneakier than the CDS's of toxic slop,
trading shorts through Rydex.."
fumes the madone as the machine
fucks up like asshole americans.
Ron Paul was interviewed on CNN,
'Doctor Sense' who won't support
either incompetant candidate.
Poor old Greenberg loses 20 Billion,
a lot of AIG on his face from
another snot trading derivatives,
"Hofuckingho, insuring insurance
without dead bodies or burned houses,
just evaporated paper,"
growls the madone pissed.
The terrorists have renewed power
with the collapse of Money Power,
the free market is social insurance
for the rich and shit for the public.
Government fools administrating finance,
the Rat that whined on dollar burgers
while sequestering bullion...
"More, more, I need more",
at the Senate Door.
Fagasaurus Rex opening the vaults
to another collection of thieves
to keep the F and F alive,
the fantasy of every sleezeball politician
to be empowered with spending
"Buttfuckers and Buckfuckers".
Houston citizens have no water,
can't shit and don't even revolt.
The steers are hungry.
Time for a third party,
a talking jackass and a senile elephant,
a sorry ass state of affairs.
Turn the lights out...
if you still have electricity.
Walk to work.
Still a breeze in the keys.
Friday, September 19, 2008
After Gustav, Hanna and Ike
0716/1926 78/85 Cloudy NE10/15 80%H
Greetings from the Hill.
Back to the fun after a budget problem
and another skirt with the wind,
all windows boarded up
just in case...
of course Bill did the hard work
climbing to the second floor,
then racing home ahead of Ike.
Two weeks watching the unraveling
on Bloomberg and CNBC...
while reading 'The Conspiracy of Fools',
the Enron story and 'The Age of Turbulence',
Greenspan's interesting interpretation.
"Yeah, an applicable background for the end
of summer Bush League, Hofuckingho,"
snorts the madone coming to life.
"Well, well, the week is over, and ..."
sputter the talking tits and shiny heads.
"Changes never imagined in my lifetime,
hardly free markets with shorts gone
and insurance insured by the government,
and who will lead these Changes,"
wonders the commentator in confusion
as the Market rebounds another 500 points'
a billion shares, all that commission
up and down the toilet flows.
Deeper into Joe Fourpack's pockets,
cutting him down to quarts
"Ah, yes...let Lehman go, Enron was 63B,
the largest bankruptcy, this one, ten times
and the unknown offbalance sheet shit,
OTC derivatives, the fake opaques
soon to be uncovered as the SEC
vows to regulate this shadow market,
Hofuckingho... Welcome to the
United States Socialist Republic,
how ironic and no healthcare,"
growls the madone
joining the oldman on pirate wireless.
Ah, yes, the great leaders of finance...
the global expansion of american
financial products after shylocks,
credit is debt, to owe better than own,
charge a yacht or a barge.
Trundle and bundle the tranches
for baby suburban ranches...
toxic sludge packaged shit,
unlike Milorganite,
grows nothing rots everything,
eventually destroying the very fortunes
of those writers, packagers and traders
of borrowed money, the 20/20 Club,
"Horror of Horrors, could the HedgeHogs
short the Investment Funds, Oh Oh,
put a stop order on shorting Financials,
Uncle Henry, Cousin Chris.. save us,"
whine the Goldie Sock gang
who created 'it' all.
Kind of strange how soon catastrophes
are forgotten, millions dislocated and still
without water and toilets, basics..
the JPMorganChase building in Houston
got trashed, the Bush family's hometown,
Galveston gone, save the OnePercenters
and let the others 'Save at Walmart',
the suit and tie elite who run the 'Street'
and fuck Main Street, but that was
in another time before instant cash
and electronic trading and records
are out there 'somewhere'...
Lies from the Traitors,
the Traders of Greed.
New phrases with the uptick,
"You must want to Save."
"God will give you a Piggy Bank."
"Ten Percent still gets you to Heaven."
Recyle and bicycle.
Above the Horn.
Inside the Straits.
In the fabulous florida keys.
Greetings from the Hill.
Back to the fun after a budget problem
and another skirt with the wind,
all windows boarded up
just in case...
of course Bill did the hard work
climbing to the second floor,
then racing home ahead of Ike.
Two weeks watching the unraveling
on Bloomberg and CNBC...
while reading 'The Conspiracy of Fools',
the Enron story and 'The Age of Turbulence',
Greenspan's interesting interpretation.
"Yeah, an applicable background for the end
of summer Bush League, Hofuckingho,"
snorts the madone coming to life.
"Well, well, the week is over, and ..."
sputter the talking tits and shiny heads.
"Changes never imagined in my lifetime,
hardly free markets with shorts gone
and insurance insured by the government,
and who will lead these Changes,"
wonders the commentator in confusion
as the Market rebounds another 500 points'
a billion shares, all that commission
up and down the toilet flows.
Deeper into Joe Fourpack's pockets,
cutting him down to quarts
"Ah, yes...let Lehman go, Enron was 63B,
the largest bankruptcy, this one, ten times
and the unknown offbalance sheet shit,
OTC derivatives, the fake opaques
soon to be uncovered as the SEC
vows to regulate this shadow market,
Hofuckingho... Welcome to the
United States Socialist Republic,
how ironic and no healthcare,"
growls the madone
joining the oldman on pirate wireless.
Ah, yes, the great leaders of finance...
the global expansion of american
financial products after shylocks,
credit is debt, to owe better than own,
charge a yacht or a barge.
Trundle and bundle the tranches
for baby suburban ranches...
toxic sludge packaged shit,
unlike Milorganite,
grows nothing rots everything,
eventually destroying the very fortunes
of those writers, packagers and traders
of borrowed money, the 20/20 Club,
"Horror of Horrors, could the HedgeHogs
short the Investment Funds, Oh Oh,
put a stop order on shorting Financials,
Uncle Henry, Cousin Chris.. save us,"
whine the Goldie Sock gang
who created 'it' all.
Kind of strange how soon catastrophes
are forgotten, millions dislocated and still
without water and toilets, basics..
the JPMorganChase building in Houston
got trashed, the Bush family's hometown,
Galveston gone, save the OnePercenters
and let the others 'Save at Walmart',
the suit and tie elite who run the 'Street'
and fuck Main Street, but that was
in another time before instant cash
and electronic trading and records
are out there 'somewhere'...
Lies from the Traitors,
the Traders of Greed.
New phrases with the uptick,
"You must want to Save."
"God will give you a Piggy Bank."
"Ten Percent still gets you to Heaven."
Recyle and bicycle.
Above the Horn.
Inside the Straits.
In the fabulous florida keys.
Friday, August 29, 2008
The First Female Vice President.
0707/1947 80/87 Blue Skies E10/15 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise, sunny and showers,
morning notes watching crap television
waiting for the surprise to change
Bullshit Boy's concept of 'Change'.
Sneaky John was beaming with pride,
who could ever imagine this script...
the oldman loved this family.
"Hey, she was better at basketball
than that uppity halfwhite boy,"
the madone loved this change of plot.
"What a true American Story,
born in Idaho, moves to Alaska,
dad a teacher, mom a school secretary,
falls in love with high school sweetheart,
a Yupik Eskimo," he beamed with joy.
"Returned to Idaho for BA in journalism,
a minor in politics, back to Wasilia
to marry Todd and raise a family,
Todd a four time 'Iron Dog' champion,
their oldest son off to Bagdad next month,
at twentyeight a councilwoman,
at thirtytwo a mayor, at fortytwo the first
woman Governor of Alaska."
The oldman loved this story
stirring the chicken soup but worried
how the Evil McCain would dramatize
Baby Trigg and his Down's Syndrome.
Blue skies and a lovely breeze outside,
classics from Havana with static,
two year's ago was Katrina then Rita,
now Gustav and Hanna...
10,000 weary guardsmen off to help
while the vultures speculate on oil,
fucking gamblers always betting
in the Great Casino of Debt,
hedged now always by derivatives,
Greenspan's 'perfect insurance'.
"And if that ain't the crock of shit,"
snorts the madone studying Google Earth
and the island of Molokai where
Jake was visiting Uncle Ernie,
the oddest couple imaginable.
"All those ugly bitches for Hillary
will have a problem now, twenty percent,
nasty, pushy, beligerent dikes...
real women will love Sarah and
Michelle can be Queen DikeHag,
hofuckingho, she's nasty enough,"
chortled the madone,
enjoying the possibilities
of social change in the Beltway,
the WhiteHouse would remain white,
and Ferraro could smile.
Would any of this change the course
of the ship of state steaming
towards the Arabian Sea,
DumbFuck's final attempt
to complete disaster
or a bankrupt Treasury
and Federal Reserve with toxic IOU's,
economists dumbfounded in europe
with no solutions to the mess,
Ben and his smartfarts partying
in Jackson Hole...
"We stand ready to take additional actions,
it's not the Fed's job to bail out investors..
we will act as needed to limit adverse effects
arising from disruptions in financial markets."
HohofuckingHo, a big fat recession
is a volcano erupting."
"It is our twentieth wedding anniversary today,
and I told Todd it would be a surprise,"
softening the hearts of talking teeth.
The oldman had passed out before Obama bullshit,
he disliked the uppity halfwhite,
bigeared grinning fool...
of course he hated the party
of George FuckHead Bush.
A hazy day in paradise,
a light breeze
in the keys.
Between
two storms.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful day in paradise, sunny and showers,
morning notes watching crap television
waiting for the surprise to change
Bullshit Boy's concept of 'Change'.
Sneaky John was beaming with pride,
who could ever imagine this script...
the oldman loved this family.
"Hey, she was better at basketball
than that uppity halfwhite boy,"
the madone loved this change of plot.
"What a true American Story,
born in Idaho, moves to Alaska,
dad a teacher, mom a school secretary,
falls in love with high school sweetheart,
a Yupik Eskimo," he beamed with joy.
"Returned to Idaho for BA in journalism,
a minor in politics, back to Wasilia
to marry Todd and raise a family,
Todd a four time 'Iron Dog' champion,
their oldest son off to Bagdad next month,
at twentyeight a councilwoman,
at thirtytwo a mayor, at fortytwo the first
woman Governor of Alaska."
The oldman loved this story
stirring the chicken soup but worried
how the Evil McCain would dramatize
Baby Trigg and his Down's Syndrome.
Blue skies and a lovely breeze outside,
classics from Havana with static,
two year's ago was Katrina then Rita,
now Gustav and Hanna...
10,000 weary guardsmen off to help
while the vultures speculate on oil,
fucking gamblers always betting
in the Great Casino of Debt,
hedged now always by derivatives,
Greenspan's 'perfect insurance'.
"And if that ain't the crock of shit,"
snorts the madone studying Google Earth
and the island of Molokai where
Jake was visiting Uncle Ernie,
the oddest couple imaginable.
"All those ugly bitches for Hillary
will have a problem now, twenty percent,
nasty, pushy, beligerent dikes...
real women will love Sarah and
Michelle can be Queen DikeHag,
hofuckingho, she's nasty enough,"
chortled the madone,
enjoying the possibilities
of social change in the Beltway,
the WhiteHouse would remain white,
and Ferraro could smile.
Would any of this change the course
of the ship of state steaming
towards the Arabian Sea,
DumbFuck's final attempt
to complete disaster
or a bankrupt Treasury
and Federal Reserve with toxic IOU's,
economists dumbfounded in europe
with no solutions to the mess,
Ben and his smartfarts partying
in Jackson Hole...
"We stand ready to take additional actions,
it's not the Fed's job to bail out investors..
we will act as needed to limit adverse effects
arising from disruptions in financial markets."
HohofuckingHo, a big fat recession
is a volcano erupting."
"It is our twentieth wedding anniversary today,
and I told Todd it would be a surprise,"
softening the hearts of talking teeth.
The oldman had passed out before Obama bullshit,
he disliked the uppity halfwhite,
bigeared grinning fool...
of course he hated the party
of George FuckHead Bush.
A hazy day in paradise,
a light breeze
in the keys.
Between
two storms.
Monday, August 25, 2008
After Fay and before Hillary
0705/1951 81/90 Light Clouds ESE/10 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
Another beautiful day in paradise,
up early and no water..a hot pump,
broken lines beneath the house,
intruding insurgents...
the oldman trimmed the broken pipe,
replaced the fittings and took a walk
to Walgreens, his discount dream,
enjoying the sun.
Cats fed, plants watered, floors swept,
perusing the Internet favorites,
morning notes with breakfast
on the balcony...
Plumber Jack was back
on track,
straight in week four,
sober in week two
avoiding those with temptation.
This week of the convention in Denver
with the Wimp and the Wacko
while the Clintons scheme bringing
Florida delegates into the fold,
and that fucking Bill
and his dirty deeds repealing
the Glass Steagle Act
and....passing during 106th Congress
'The Silk Road Strategy Act of1999 ',
the prick who pardoned Rich as well,
a very evil pair indeed.
"Well, what's 'it' all about besides oil
and all that natural gas for Europe,
China and India...Hofuckingho,"
chuckled the madone at lunch,
a peanut butter sandwich with milk,
the diet for an onlyone.
The lunatic pawn of the Bushbrainers
and their incompetent generals
fucked up again in a miniwar...
"Operation Brimstone, what a joke,
the navy was not allowed in the Black Sea,
Putin pissed on George's shoes,"
cackled the madone following
events on Pravda and others,
his favorite, GlobalResearch.ca,
no US bullshit.
IOUSA opened about the country this week,
would the braindead consider the content,
discuss the ramifications of the situation,
hardly likely, whine about the popcorn price
and bitch in the plaza parking lot over
another store closed.
David Walker tried and no one listened,
now with a born again Pete Peterson,
they are trying for change...
not the silly sophistry of Obama,
looking more like a pretentious pansy,
apathy allows indifference to a system,
disgust without disdain,
change by avoidance,
denial of decision.
"Hey, we're all in 'it' together,
let's pool our debt and spread 'it' out,
yeah, debt diversification...
send some overseas to the greedy upstarts
of democratic capitalism,
market populism to the masses,
back to Walter Wriston emulating
Charlie Mitchell, city slickers
spreading financial products
to a global market...
Ah, yes, the free market that
transcends politics and dictatorships,
the great levelor of trade,
the floating dollar,
hofuckingho...
about to sink into the dark liquidity
of the Caspian Sea,"
mocks the madone always amazed
at the stupidity of gullibility,
a dumbed nation of watchers
who believe the actors they see
are real, the words they utter
are true, the faith they project
.....honest.
"When lying becomes acceptable,
deceit is normal and fraud..
is the law," sighs the oldman
ready for an afternoon walk.
A beautiful breeze
in the fabulous florida keys
above the Horn
beyond the Straits.
Greetings from the Hill.
Another beautiful day in paradise,
up early and no water..a hot pump,
broken lines beneath the house,
intruding insurgents...
the oldman trimmed the broken pipe,
replaced the fittings and took a walk
to Walgreens, his discount dream,
enjoying the sun.
Cats fed, plants watered, floors swept,
perusing the Internet favorites,
morning notes with breakfast
on the balcony...
Plumber Jack was back
on track,
straight in week four,
sober in week two
avoiding those with temptation.
This week of the convention in Denver
with the Wimp and the Wacko
while the Clintons scheme bringing
Florida delegates into the fold,
and that fucking Bill
and his dirty deeds repealing
the Glass Steagle Act
and....passing during 106th Congress
'The Silk Road Strategy Act of1999 ',
the prick who pardoned Rich as well,
a very evil pair indeed.
"Well, what's 'it' all about besides oil
and all that natural gas for Europe,
China and India...Hofuckingho,"
chuckled the madone at lunch,
a peanut butter sandwich with milk,
the diet for an onlyone.
The lunatic pawn of the Bushbrainers
and their incompetent generals
fucked up again in a miniwar...
"Operation Brimstone, what a joke,
the navy was not allowed in the Black Sea,
Putin pissed on George's shoes,"
cackled the madone following
events on Pravda and others,
his favorite, GlobalResearch.ca,
no US bullshit.
IOUSA opened about the country this week,
would the braindead consider the content,
discuss the ramifications of the situation,
hardly likely, whine about the popcorn price
and bitch in the plaza parking lot over
another store closed.
David Walker tried and no one listened,
now with a born again Pete Peterson,
they are trying for change...
not the silly sophistry of Obama,
looking more like a pretentious pansy,
apathy allows indifference to a system,
disgust without disdain,
change by avoidance,
denial of decision.
"Hey, we're all in 'it' together,
let's pool our debt and spread 'it' out,
yeah, debt diversification...
send some overseas to the greedy upstarts
of democratic capitalism,
market populism to the masses,
back to Walter Wriston emulating
Charlie Mitchell, city slickers
spreading financial products
to a global market...
Ah, yes, the free market that
transcends politics and dictatorships,
the great levelor of trade,
the floating dollar,
hofuckingho...
about to sink into the dark liquidity
of the Caspian Sea,"
mocks the madone always amazed
at the stupidity of gullibility,
a dumbed nation of watchers
who believe the actors they see
are real, the words they utter
are true, the faith they project
.....honest.
"When lying becomes acceptable,
deceit is normal and fraud..
is the law," sighs the oldman
ready for an afternoon walk.
A beautiful breeze
in the fabulous florida keys
above the Horn
beyond the Straits.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Imagine What If.
0701/2002 82/91 Blue Skies SW/5 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A hot day in paradise in a quiet house,
cats sleeping and birds gone,
classics from Havana,
History Channel in the bedroom,
the crippledone in the pool,
life without interruption.
"Interrupt this oldman,
George Insane is doing 'it' again,
that fuckhead is mobilizing on water
for the naval blockade of Iran...
Operation Brimstone,
with all the suckass countries,
even your pussy Maple Leafs,"
growls the madone always
suspecting the plot
behind the plot.
'It's all about oil, stupid.'
"Yeah, fuckingyeah, that oil slime
sends the black bitch snaking about
bribing for missile shields
to surround Iran and Russia
and cut off the pipeline
through Georgia, Hofuckingho,"
pissed off with media lies,
he watched Pravda and Regnum,
barked at Fox and CNN/Disney.
Saakashvili bombs and kills
2000 innocents invading South Ossetia
during the Olympic's truce,
typical US Israeli tactics,
cowardly administrations
and gutless leaders
who avoided service
to war vicariously.
Create the bogeyman fear at home
to avoid the reality of chaos,
unite against the yellow peril..
glowing uranium.
Who wants to know the truth
of defaults and deceit,
the corruption of congress
for gangsters on Wall Street
and bankers on Main Street..
"Hey, those fucks buried FASB,
so much for fair accounting,
not a hope in Hell now to find
about the shadow system
unless reading Markit,
but who reads graphs,"
snorts the madone amazed
at the nerve of the chosenones
of the FED, licensed thieves
for the Treasury at usury,
the Goldie Socks gang
who have fucked up housing
and the loan business and now
will operate the infrastructure,
financing the purchase of tollroads,
the Pennsylvania Turnpike gone..
"Trundle and Tranche those bonds,
own a share of the roadway on which
you cannot afford to drive."
Sorryass saps watching the country bleed
slowly through the summer waiting
for CHANGE that will be
chumpchange if the other is elected...
income tax increases to the already poor,
return of the inheritance tax,
a home sale tax,
all those foreclosures
and imagine Barry Bambi as
COMMANDER IN CHIEF...
God bless America, the land I love,
the people are lost and leaderless,
braindead from white bread,
too much greed in the head.
Recycle and bicycle
Save stamps
Avoid freeway ramps.
Greetings from the Hill.
A hot day in paradise in a quiet house,
cats sleeping and birds gone,
classics from Havana,
History Channel in the bedroom,
the crippledone in the pool,
life without interruption.
"Interrupt this oldman,
George Insane is doing 'it' again,
that fuckhead is mobilizing on water
for the naval blockade of Iran...
Operation Brimstone,
with all the suckass countries,
even your pussy Maple Leafs,"
growls the madone always
suspecting the plot
behind the plot.
'It's all about oil, stupid.'
"Yeah, fuckingyeah, that oil slime
sends the black bitch snaking about
bribing for missile shields
to surround Iran and Russia
and cut off the pipeline
through Georgia, Hofuckingho,"
pissed off with media lies,
he watched Pravda and Regnum,
barked at Fox and CNN/Disney.
Saakashvili bombs and kills
2000 innocents invading South Ossetia
during the Olympic's truce,
typical US Israeli tactics,
cowardly administrations
and gutless leaders
who avoided service
to war vicariously.
Create the bogeyman fear at home
to avoid the reality of chaos,
unite against the yellow peril..
glowing uranium.
Who wants to know the truth
of defaults and deceit,
the corruption of congress
for gangsters on Wall Street
and bankers on Main Street..
"Hey, those fucks buried FASB,
so much for fair accounting,
not a hope in Hell now to find
about the shadow system
unless reading Markit,
but who reads graphs,"
snorts the madone amazed
at the nerve of the chosenones
of the FED, licensed thieves
for the Treasury at usury,
the Goldie Socks gang
who have fucked up housing
and the loan business and now
will operate the infrastructure,
financing the purchase of tollroads,
the Pennsylvania Turnpike gone..
"Trundle and Tranche those bonds,
own a share of the roadway on which
you cannot afford to drive."
Sorryass saps watching the country bleed
slowly through the summer waiting
for CHANGE that will be
chumpchange if the other is elected...
income tax increases to the already poor,
return of the inheritance tax,
a home sale tax,
all those foreclosures
and imagine Barry Bambi as
COMMANDER IN CHIEF...
God bless America, the land I love,
the people are lost and leaderless,
braindead from white bread,
too much greed in the head.
Recycle and bicycle
Save stamps
Avoid freeway ramps.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
White Shirts and More Lies.
0658/2007 80/88 Blue Skies E/5 80%H
Greetings from the Hill.
Another day in paradise...
the indianwoman crippled,
wasting away in bed,
chickens eating dogfood,
chores neglected...
no one to help.
"Close the door, get off the floor."
The oldman had no patience
for wagbag walkers.
He didn't like Obama either,
a grinning dildo like Bill
who both were pussy whipped,
cumcheese on crumpets,
smelly snatch eaters...
He'd been listening to
David Allen Coe's 'dirty records',
pretty funny thirty years ago.
Quiet streets without outsiders.
Watching television was an experience
in the persuasives of advertising
still suckering the assholes...
"Buy buy until goodbye,"
laughs the madone.
The Gaussian Copula had failed
as had the Black Scholes model,
the theory of elliptic copulas...pure crap,
an anologue of implied volatility
based on Greek from geeks...
"Housing is collapsing,
state budgets in shambles,
unemployment soaring and
savings invisible..
the dollar sinking,
the bond market doomed
by 'dark liquidity' and
accounting malfeasance..
all shall be saved by
the King of Debt
and the Treasurer of Duncedom,
HohoFuckinghiyoSilver,"
laughs the madone.
A 99cent breakfast takeout
to eat on the porch
of a Mc Mansion,
summer delights from McDonalds.
Ride the bicycle
hide the SUV.
Watch FreeTV
Listen to Alice Cooper.
Walk to Fausto's.
No breeze in the Keys
above the Horn.
Greetings from the Hill.
Another day in paradise...
the indianwoman crippled,
wasting away in bed,
chickens eating dogfood,
chores neglected...
no one to help.
"Close the door, get off the floor."
The oldman had no patience
for wagbag walkers.
He didn't like Obama either,
a grinning dildo like Bill
who both were pussy whipped,
cumcheese on crumpets,
smelly snatch eaters...
He'd been listening to
David Allen Coe's 'dirty records',
pretty funny thirty years ago.
Quiet streets without outsiders.
Watching television was an experience
in the persuasives of advertising
still suckering the assholes...
"Buy buy until goodbye,"
laughs the madone.
The Gaussian Copula had failed
as had the Black Scholes model,
the theory of elliptic copulas...pure crap,
an anologue of implied volatility
based on Greek from geeks...
"Housing is collapsing,
state budgets in shambles,
unemployment soaring and
savings invisible..
the dollar sinking,
the bond market doomed
by 'dark liquidity' and
accounting malfeasance..
all shall be saved by
the King of Debt
and the Treasurer of Duncedom,
HohoFuckinghiyoSilver,"
laughs the madone.
A 99cent breakfast takeout
to eat on the porch
of a Mc Mansion,
summer delights from McDonalds.
Ride the bicycle
hide the SUV.
Watch FreeTV
Listen to Alice Cooper.
Walk to Fausto's.
No breeze in the Keys
above the Horn.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Bailing out SIV's and SUV's.
0650/2014 81/90 Blue skies SE5/10 60%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A lovely day in paradise,
classics from Havana...
Beverley Hillbilly's on FreeTV,
billowing clouds over the Straits,
cats sleeping in chairs,
the oldman was in therapy again.
"The Sociological Imagination
by C Wright Mills, my heavens,
that's Kennedy vintage,hummm,
reading with color cable, classic movies,
favorite reruns and all those
commercials you hate,
probably smoke in bed,"
mocks the madone
over the oldman
decoupling from americanism.
Wall Street, a classic twenty years ago,
a seven am watch for the unemployed,
troubles and issues begins Mills
comparing private and public distinctions
between the inner and outer man,
the oldman still had his book collections
from the days of 'Camelot'.
At ten, Jon Stewart, then asshole Colbert,
off to Chicago and Nash Bridges,
while assimilating the evolvement
of scientific and humanistic cultures.
"You watch the noon movie on GAYTV,
and TULSA, who's queer in that,"
wondering with a cold pint.
"It's about success, sexuality and ecology,"
smiled the oldman.
The radio crackled and the air was damp.
The television set downstairs
had a volume problem,
just captions...no voices.
"Fucking cunts, makes one naseous,
whores and bores, fruits on Bravo,
voiceover on every ad, hopeless couples
using Tilanol and KY after an Arby's,
but listening to that constant hype..."
the oldman was inundated
by advertising idiocy
after five days.
The economic crisis had been averted
so politicians could be with loved ones
counting what was left.
The very idea of government backing
seems appropo of Duncedom,
a collection of lying thieves boondoggling
the braindead masses with dreams
of a better life, a better wife,
complete healthcare, cheaper airfare,
a solution to pollution...
"Hofuckingho....no money for JoeFourPak,
save China, Japan and Russia,
a paper war and guess who lost,
all during the rein
of George Insane,"
growls the madone
who hated bureaucrats,
the whores of political pimps.
Oh, oh, can I count the derivatives
in the shadow exchanges
or off balance sheets
in Over the Counter
and under the table transactions
of the fake opaque...
so many greedy young men
dreaming and scheming
at their consoles
playing outside the Street
in new bourses
with new horses.
"Take the money and run boys,
convert to gold, hide the toys,
and don't come back...
nothing left to sack."
Goldman and Sachs are experts,
they and the others raped Mexico
and now fleeced their own Uncle Sam...
Traitors are always traders.
Grey skies in the west,
thunder and crackling.
Time for two o'clock brew.
Recycle and bicycle.
Don't drink bottled water.
Pee in your backyard.
Above the Horn of Florida.
Greetings from the Hill.
A lovely day in paradise,
classics from Havana...
Beverley Hillbilly's on FreeTV,
billowing clouds over the Straits,
cats sleeping in chairs,
the oldman was in therapy again.
"The Sociological Imagination
by C Wright Mills, my heavens,
that's Kennedy vintage,hummm,
reading with color cable, classic movies,
favorite reruns and all those
commercials you hate,
probably smoke in bed,"
mocks the madone
over the oldman
decoupling from americanism.
Wall Street, a classic twenty years ago,
a seven am watch for the unemployed,
troubles and issues begins Mills
comparing private and public distinctions
between the inner and outer man,
the oldman still had his book collections
from the days of 'Camelot'.
At ten, Jon Stewart, then asshole Colbert,
off to Chicago and Nash Bridges,
while assimilating the evolvement
of scientific and humanistic cultures.
"You watch the noon movie on GAYTV,
and TULSA, who's queer in that,"
wondering with a cold pint.
"It's about success, sexuality and ecology,"
smiled the oldman.
The radio crackled and the air was damp.
The television set downstairs
had a volume problem,
just captions...no voices.
"Fucking cunts, makes one naseous,
whores and bores, fruits on Bravo,
voiceover on every ad, hopeless couples
using Tilanol and KY after an Arby's,
but listening to that constant hype..."
the oldman was inundated
by advertising idiocy
after five days.
The economic crisis had been averted
so politicians could be with loved ones
counting what was left.
The very idea of government backing
seems appropo of Duncedom,
a collection of lying thieves boondoggling
the braindead masses with dreams
of a better life, a better wife,
complete healthcare, cheaper airfare,
a solution to pollution...
"Hofuckingho....no money for JoeFourPak,
save China, Japan and Russia,
a paper war and guess who lost,
all during the rein
of George Insane,"
growls the madone
who hated bureaucrats,
the whores of political pimps.
Oh, oh, can I count the derivatives
in the shadow exchanges
or off balance sheets
in Over the Counter
and under the table transactions
of the fake opaque...
so many greedy young men
dreaming and scheming
at their consoles
playing outside the Street
in new bourses
with new horses.
"Take the money and run boys,
convert to gold, hide the toys,
and don't come back...
nothing left to sack."
Goldman and Sachs are experts,
they and the others raped Mexico
and now fleeced their own Uncle Sam...
Traitors are always traders.
Grey skies in the west,
thunder and crackling.
Time for two o'clock brew.
Recycle and bicycle.
Don't drink bottled water.
Pee in your backyard.
Above the Horn of Florida.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
FEDS fly in when FOOLS fall out.
0647/2017 81/88 Blue Skies SSE5/10 75%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful morning in paradise,
blue skies and swaying palms..
sunlight on the scaffolding,
cats sleeping, doves cooing,
hens stealing food
and chickens fly.
The oldman was distressed
with the US dilemma...
The FED, SEC, CFTC, GWB
and all regulatory and supervisory
bureaus and bodies
seemed like the RATERS
and the twit Dodd,
with the whole pack of clowns
serving the citizens of DEBTDUMB
seemed not to have noticed
the signs...myfuckingmy.
"But the computer programs were
not modeled for shortfalls
or downfalls,
certainly not twenty per cent,
the FED balances inflation,
absolutely recessionproof,
the American Dream; up, up and away
in you new Chevrolet,
and the stock is seven bucks,"
mocks the madone
pissed with the chickens,
perhaps the two dozen birds
could be penned.
A HenPen egg farm
surrounded by the herb gardens
and tomato fields
protected by the nuts above...
one had to consider the future
when faced with an economic downturn,
dangerous curves
and falling stocks.
"And the price of catfood...
ripfuckingoff the petlovers
time for bulkbuying
and home cooking...
for those with a home
and time......"
the madone hosed down
a chicken on the sidewalk.
The strange thing about the Bush League
is the image of leadership...
not one of distance, hardly aloof
and apparently unworldly...
"Why goddamn, a shotgun riding
pickup truck good oldboy,"
parodied the madone
of a nation reformed from the excesses
of the eighties, Ronnie and Nancy
pontificating 'Just say No' while
everyone over twelve said 'Yes'.
GeorgieBoy couldn't find a wet well,
didn't last long at anything,
failed at everything, then given
management of the Texas Rangers...
a cheerleader who flunked flying
becomes the American Dream Sportowner,
apple pie and pretend to fly,
learn to cheat and lie
from the best...
"Read my lips, no new taxes,"
family ties and family lies
and secret connections
to wealth power and knowledge...
Poppa was the CIA and the China Man
who fried shit in a CFR skillet
and simmered in a Carlyle crockpot,
president at the height of greatness,
living to see a son,
'the blacksheep one'
reduce a nation to impotence.
"Or what...another conspiracy."
Millers High Life
seventy five cents a pint.
Recycle and bicycle.
Twelve month farming.
On the Florida Horn.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful morning in paradise,
blue skies and swaying palms..
sunlight on the scaffolding,
cats sleeping, doves cooing,
hens stealing food
and chickens fly.
The oldman was distressed
with the US dilemma...
The FED, SEC, CFTC, GWB
and all regulatory and supervisory
bureaus and bodies
seemed like the RATERS
and the twit Dodd,
with the whole pack of clowns
serving the citizens of DEBTDUMB
seemed not to have noticed
the signs...myfuckingmy.
"But the computer programs were
not modeled for shortfalls
or downfalls,
certainly not twenty per cent,
the FED balances inflation,
absolutely recessionproof,
the American Dream; up, up and away
in you new Chevrolet,
and the stock is seven bucks,"
mocks the madone
pissed with the chickens,
perhaps the two dozen birds
could be penned.
A HenPen egg farm
surrounded by the herb gardens
and tomato fields
protected by the nuts above...
one had to consider the future
when faced with an economic downturn,
dangerous curves
and falling stocks.
"And the price of catfood...
ripfuckingoff the petlovers
time for bulkbuying
and home cooking...
for those with a home
and time......"
the madone hosed down
a chicken on the sidewalk.
The strange thing about the Bush League
is the image of leadership...
not one of distance, hardly aloof
and apparently unworldly...
"Why goddamn, a shotgun riding
pickup truck good oldboy,"
parodied the madone
of a nation reformed from the excesses
of the eighties, Ronnie and Nancy
pontificating 'Just say No' while
everyone over twelve said 'Yes'.
GeorgieBoy couldn't find a wet well,
didn't last long at anything,
failed at everything, then given
management of the Texas Rangers...
a cheerleader who flunked flying
becomes the American Dream Sportowner,
apple pie and pretend to fly,
learn to cheat and lie
from the best...
"Read my lips, no new taxes,"
family ties and family lies
and secret connections
to wealth power and knowledge...
Poppa was the CIA and the China Man
who fried shit in a CFR skillet
and simmered in a Carlyle crockpot,
president at the height of greatness,
living to see a son,
'the blacksheep one'
reduce a nation to impotence.
"Or what...another conspiracy."
Millers High Life
seventy five cents a pint.
Recycle and bicycle.
Twelve month farming.
On the Florida Horn.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Happy Fourth of July.
0642/2019 80/90 Cloudy E/5 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
Grey skies always depressed the oldman,
"Reading the BIS annual report will too,"
snorts the madone with breakfast.
Toasted crumpets and cream cheese,
Total and milk, chilled orange juice,
classics from Havana, FreeTV,
the pipe filled...
"And the good old summertime begins
with fireworks at nine o'clock,"
feeling better.
Tuesday was Canada Day to the north,
"Well it has been for a while,
merely a Dominion with differences,
life appointed senators and a PM
not elected, love that oil price...
the largest exporter to US,
then Africa, Mexico, Venezuela,
then the fucking ragheads,"
grumbles the oldman
always pissed with lies.
A week wearing out the failing eyes
seeking new sources of TRUTH
but getting weary of the same,
writers who repeat and knock off,
mental masturbators...
Jim Daughty is a favorite,
Chris Whalen, Denninger, Kunstler,
Roubini a bureaucrat now,
but not a funnyman since who ???
Really sucks without comedians
when the roof is disappearing
and bankruptcy is nearing,
"Poor fucks going sailing..
Harfuckinghar,
yardsaling their treasures."
"Hey, how come China has
two trillion in US reserves,
Japan a trillion, Russia 500B,
India and Taiwan 300B and
the US twentythird with 75B,
maybe its the derivatives
and credit swaps that
no one knows about,"
wondered the madone
lighting the pipe
at midmorning.
Square jugs was clever,
once a few brains are freed
of greed to improvise,
the flag can fly free
and proud,
above the traitor traders
seeking world dominance
through globalization.
"Fucking assholes ruin the farm,
mortgage the home and
whore the daughter
to be a Hedge Fund operator,
with a wheelbarrow
full of money,"
the broken arm
hurt.
The sun was shining
in paradise.
A refreshing breeze
in the florida keys.
Bicycle and recycle.
Greetings from the Hill.
Grey skies always depressed the oldman,
"Reading the BIS annual report will too,"
snorts the madone with breakfast.
Toasted crumpets and cream cheese,
Total and milk, chilled orange juice,
classics from Havana, FreeTV,
the pipe filled...
"And the good old summertime begins
with fireworks at nine o'clock,"
feeling better.
Tuesday was Canada Day to the north,
"Well it has been for a while,
merely a Dominion with differences,
life appointed senators and a PM
not elected, love that oil price...
the largest exporter to US,
then Africa, Mexico, Venezuela,
then the fucking ragheads,"
grumbles the oldman
always pissed with lies.
A week wearing out the failing eyes
seeking new sources of TRUTH
but getting weary of the same,
writers who repeat and knock off,
mental masturbators...
Jim Daughty is a favorite,
Chris Whalen, Denninger, Kunstler,
Roubini a bureaucrat now,
but not a funnyman since who ???
Really sucks without comedians
when the roof is disappearing
and bankruptcy is nearing,
"Poor fucks going sailing..
Harfuckinghar,
yardsaling their treasures."
"Hey, how come China has
two trillion in US reserves,
Japan a trillion, Russia 500B,
India and Taiwan 300B and
the US twentythird with 75B,
maybe its the derivatives
and credit swaps that
no one knows about,"
wondered the madone
lighting the pipe
at midmorning.
Square jugs was clever,
once a few brains are freed
of greed to improvise,
the flag can fly free
and proud,
above the traitor traders
seeking world dominance
through globalization.
"Fucking assholes ruin the farm,
mortgage the home and
whore the daughter
to be a Hedge Fund operator,
with a wheelbarrow
full of money,"
the broken arm
hurt.
The sun was shining
in paradise.
A refreshing breeze
in the florida keys.
Bicycle and recycle.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Summertime Scandals are Brewing.
0639/2018 81/90 Hazy E/10 75%H
Greetings from the Hill.
Away from the Rock for a visit,
politics have become obsessive
and economics depressing...
a simpler view of life.
A front yard chair and a toasty home.
"Well, 'it' didn't last long,
that indian song,"
grumbles the madone left alone.
"And a new face on the Rock."
The oldman had been studying machines,
those peculiar devices that record information
for marketeers of financial products
giving the Hedge an edge.
"Perhaps Obama knows about those 'things'
and those companies like CitiGroup
and their 2000 subsidiaries worldwide,
not offices...companies,
paid 850M for ATD that processes
200M deals a day...6% of the Action.
It is not Regulation, 'IT' is the equipment,
the technology to monitor the banksters,
the IRS doesn't have the tools, not the SEC,
nor CRTC, the FED's models are a decade old,
perhaps an expert economist might,"
muses the oldman sipping a warm beer.
"I don't know how to use a computer,
that's why I have Phil and Wendy,"
bullshits another braindead candidate,
another King for Duncedom.
This Georgia Texan Democrat Republican
wear any coat with money in the pockets
and his corrupted wife are frauds...
her as CMFA of CFTC setting up deregulation
for ENRON for BUSHONE,
then joining the gangsters
as financial director
with all the payoffs.
Scuzzball sucks ass and cons Clinton
with the Gramm Leach Bliley Act
and the world of Credit Swaps...
"Hey, asshole, familiar....
2000 Subs and offshore derivatives
coming down on Bobby Rubin,
man the torpedoes, call the Fed."
My heavens but this shit is not new,
merely relabeled for export
and gullible foreigners who want
the American Dream.
Even the Swiss got sucked in
by Silly Phil and Wendy the Gook
Greetings from the Hill.
Away from the Rock for a visit,
politics have become obsessive
and economics depressing...
a simpler view of life.
A front yard chair and a toasty home.
"Well, 'it' didn't last long,
that indian song,"
grumbles the madone left alone.
"And a new face on the Rock."
The oldman had been studying machines,
those peculiar devices that record information
for marketeers of financial products
giving the Hedge an edge.
"Perhaps Obama knows about those 'things'
and those companies like CitiGroup
and their 2000 subsidiaries worldwide,
not offices...companies,
paid 850M for ATD that processes
200M deals a day...6% of the Action.
It is not Regulation, 'IT' is the equipment,
the technology to monitor the banksters,
the IRS doesn't have the tools, not the SEC,
nor CRTC, the FED's models are a decade old,
perhaps an expert economist might,"
muses the oldman sipping a warm beer.
"I don't know how to use a computer,
that's why I have Phil and Wendy,"
bullshits another braindead candidate,
another King for Duncedom.
This Georgia Texan Democrat Republican
wear any coat with money in the pockets
and his corrupted wife are frauds...
her as CMFA of CFTC setting up deregulation
for ENRON for BUSHONE,
then joining the gangsters
as financial director
with all the payoffs.
Scuzzball sucks ass and cons Clinton
with the Gramm Leach Bliley Act
and the world of Credit Swaps...
"Hey, asshole, familiar....
2000 Subs and offshore derivatives
coming down on Bobby Rubin,
man the torpedoes, call the Fed."
My heavens but this shit is not new,
merely relabeled for export
and gullible foreigners who want
the American Dream.
Even the Swiss got sucked in
by Silly Phil and Wendy the Gook
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Forgotten War of George Insane.
0638/2018 81/88 Blue Skies SSE/5 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A hot and humid day in paradise,
a faint breeze from Havana,
classics clear in the president's room.
Outrage from Ontario
and photos to match...
"Hey, who doesn't hate the Worm,
who can remember Katrina..
or their mortgage payments,"
snorts the madone watering
the rooster on the balcony.
These young men traumatized for what...
for Oil Conglomerates to return
and suck out $200 barrels for a buck
dislocating a million souls
and destroying antiquity,
"Perverts for Profit,"
growls the madone...
"MadCow burgereaters."
These fuckingassholes have won
and destroyed the American Dream
of the patriot young,
fighters for banker's wars
too dumb to know
that Traders are
the real Traitors.
"Sell a number,
Sell a Soul...."
a baseball agent.
Yeah, that's when 'it' started,
Brooklyn went to LA and TV,
the market went national,
then international and...
"WorldWide Wrestling,"
StupidGeorge's favorite show.
"Is it any wonder," wondered the oldman.
And young men suffered the lies
of baby killers and profiteers
to be crippled for years,
while billionaires fly in jets
to taxfree havens
abetted by regulaters
bribed by crooked lawyers
and accountants.
"We must have accountability
and transparency and truth
in shadow banking," lied the Limey,
that cunt who is rumoured
to have invented those 'things'
for JPM in London
for the Rothschild Brand.
Keep saving cans,
tin is going up.
Bicycle to work.
Don't eat dinner.
Blythe Masters is a Spy.
Greetings from the Hill.
A hot and humid day in paradise,
a faint breeze from Havana,
classics clear in the president's room.
Outrage from Ontario
and photos to match...
"Hey, who doesn't hate the Worm,
who can remember Katrina..
or their mortgage payments,"
snorts the madone watering
the rooster on the balcony.
These young men traumatized for what...
for Oil Conglomerates to return
and suck out $200 barrels for a buck
dislocating a million souls
and destroying antiquity,
"Perverts for Profit,"
growls the madone...
"MadCow burgereaters."
These fuckingassholes have won
and destroyed the American Dream
of the patriot young,
fighters for banker's wars
too dumb to know
that Traders are
the real Traitors.
"Sell a number,
Sell a Soul...."
a baseball agent.
Yeah, that's when 'it' started,
Brooklyn went to LA and TV,
the market went national,
then international and...
"WorldWide Wrestling,"
StupidGeorge's favorite show.
"Is it any wonder," wondered the oldman.
And young men suffered the lies
of baby killers and profiteers
to be crippled for years,
while billionaires fly in jets
to taxfree havens
abetted by regulaters
bribed by crooked lawyers
and accountants.
"We must have accountability
and transparency and truth
in shadow banking," lied the Limey,
that cunt who is rumoured
to have invented those 'things'
for JPM in London
for the Rothschild Brand.
Keep saving cans,
tin is going up.
Bicycle to work.
Don't eat dinner.
Blythe Masters is a Spy.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Saving for the Seasons.
0638/2017 79/89 Light Clouds SW15/20 75%H
Greetings from the Hill.
The reddish orange blossoms of poincianna
fill the open west window
against a brilliant blue background.
Thunder roars from Mallory Square,
Florida Bay a menacing grey,
the joy of island living.
Cats, birds and chickens fed,
plants watered, floors swept,
the backyard garden a trimming...
extending daily chores to prevent
atrophication of the soul,
laboring for love
not greed.
"That fucking Bud is horsepiss anyway,
and Joe Fourpack just don't care,
poor fucks just nibbled away,"
snorts the madone fingering the conchtrain
and four passengers...
empty parking spaces,
storm shuttered houses,
summer vacation
for spoiled students,
"And no more drug testing...
Free to Board, Free to Board,"
babbling on the balcony.
It was just one of those days,
the mind full of MarketWatch and Roubini,
Clusterfuck, Asia Times, NYT and KWC,
Rueters, the Economist, the Guardian and BBC,
lovely lies from the WhiteHouse and FRB,
and into the mental blender of wonderment
concocts 'SmoothyShit', the answer
to 'it'....derivatives and credit swaps,
manipulations of the 'Twenty Dealers',
partners in all crime...
"The Fucking Fed,
Clearing Corporation,
and Markit,
the Shadows of OTC,
you'll see when out to sea
on a sinking raft,"
rants the thirstyone
at noon.
The broken shoulder was not healing,
pain kept the brain alive,
those without benefits
alone must survive
or sell sell sell
to pay to die.
America supports her Poor,
the old and crippled,
with a soupbone to stir.
"Now, now, don't be disturbed,
'it' was a dogbone
from the gas shelter,
but who knows next...Soylent Green,"
"Revenge is sweet...sweet crude futures,
all those years of ugly american bucklording
over the little people now fuckbucked
in their big fat asses,"
thinking of lunch.
"Cornburgers for the Chinese,
raw eggs for the ragheads,
barbequed beets for East Indians,
baby seals for Canadians
at McDonalds' McMansions,
America's Bed and Breakfasts,"
and 'it' could come true.
Recycle and bicycle.
Walk for beer.
Greetings from the Hill.
The reddish orange blossoms of poincianna
fill the open west window
against a brilliant blue background.
Thunder roars from Mallory Square,
Florida Bay a menacing grey,
the joy of island living.
Cats, birds and chickens fed,
plants watered, floors swept,
the backyard garden a trimming...
extending daily chores to prevent
atrophication of the soul,
laboring for love
not greed.
"That fucking Bud is horsepiss anyway,
and Joe Fourpack just don't care,
poor fucks just nibbled away,"
snorts the madone fingering the conchtrain
and four passengers...
empty parking spaces,
storm shuttered houses,
summer vacation
for spoiled students,
"And no more drug testing...
Free to Board, Free to Board,"
babbling on the balcony.
It was just one of those days,
the mind full of MarketWatch and Roubini,
Clusterfuck, Asia Times, NYT and KWC,
Rueters, the Economist, the Guardian and BBC,
lovely lies from the WhiteHouse and FRB,
and into the mental blender of wonderment
concocts 'SmoothyShit', the answer
to 'it'....derivatives and credit swaps,
manipulations of the 'Twenty Dealers',
partners in all crime...
"The Fucking Fed,
Clearing Corporation,
and Markit,
the Shadows of OTC,
you'll see when out to sea
on a sinking raft,"
rants the thirstyone
at noon.
The broken shoulder was not healing,
pain kept the brain alive,
those without benefits
alone must survive
or sell sell sell
to pay to die.
America supports her Poor,
the old and crippled,
with a soupbone to stir.
"Now, now, don't be disturbed,
'it' was a dogbone
from the gas shelter,
but who knows next...Soylent Green,"
"Revenge is sweet...sweet crude futures,
all those years of ugly american bucklording
over the little people now fuckbucked
in their big fat asses,"
thinking of lunch.
"Cornburgers for the Chinese,
raw eggs for the ragheads,
barbequed beets for East Indians,
baby seals for Canadians
at McDonalds' McMansions,
America's Bed and Breakfasts,"
and 'it' could come true.
Recycle and bicycle.
Walk for beer.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Summer Planning.
0632/2015 78/88 Blue Skies E10/15 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A Magnum PI day in paradise,
a lovely young lady hiding below
from a murderous exlover,
the richest lesbian in town.
"Where's PI Bill,"
wonders the madone
with a gallon of paint.
The engineer could have fun
for the summer season.
Worked for the biggest, GE,
to get his first ring at Georgia Tech,
then off to Annapolis
and nuclear submarine school,
a ring on the USS INIANAPOLIS.
Back on land with nuclear plants
from Michigan to Turkey Point.
Then heading Universal Exploits,
an innovator in the INTERNET,
KEYS WATER.COM.
Perhaps 'it' could be nice,
the weather without destruction
"And life without construction,"
sighs the oldman wondering
about the indians' friend below.
A lovely day in paradise
where Jimmy B. was A1A
on the Anchor Inn bar,
Bud's bar....
eating Laurie's pussy.
Off to the beach
in Terry's tractor.
Boil your tomatoes,
cook your books.
Eat raw fish.
Sing in the rain.
Greetings from the Hill.
A Magnum PI day in paradise,
a lovely young lady hiding below
from a murderous exlover,
the richest lesbian in town.
"Where's PI Bill,"
wonders the madone
with a gallon of paint.
The engineer could have fun
for the summer season.
Worked for the biggest, GE,
to get his first ring at Georgia Tech,
then off to Annapolis
and nuclear submarine school,
a ring on the USS INIANAPOLIS.
Back on land with nuclear plants
from Michigan to Turkey Point.
Then heading Universal Exploits,
an innovator in the INTERNET,
KEYS WATER.COM.
Perhaps 'it' could be nice,
the weather without destruction
"And life without construction,"
sighs the oldman wondering
about the indians' friend below.
A lovely day in paradise
where Jimmy B. was A1A
on the Anchor Inn bar,
Bud's bar....
eating Laurie's pussy.
Off to the beach
in Terry's tractor.
Boil your tomatoes,
cook your books.
Eat raw fish.
Sing in the rain.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Hurricane Season and Horseshit.
0636/2014 80/88 Blue Skies ESE10/15 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A gorgeous day in paradise, blue skies,
billowing white clouds, swaying palms,
quiet streets before the tour arrives...
"The What and for Whom,"
sputters the madone,
amazed at the neighbour exposing his home
for 'Pridefest', a week when
gays and lesbians talk
to each other...
"And that ripoff 'Rainbow Flag',"
snorting and wondering
about Moody's persuasion.
The oldman sighed and sipped
another pint,
fat dikes and fruits on bikes,
another way to sell a house,
tours for whores.
The opera from Havana,
Dragnet on FreeTV,
doves eating catfood,
cats sleeping on scaffolding,
roosters in the gardens,
underwear on the clothesline,
the Rogosuite empty and neat,
the indian on a rideabout.
The oldman wondered about the future,
less than five months...
would he live to see 'Change'
or the same dumb shit
avoiding the truth of 'it'.
"Barryboy or Bambi, as the cunt calls him
is an effete, not killer quality,
he might get the 20%'s,
but queers aren't sissies anymore,
too weak to lead mercenaries,"
grumbles the madone
disgusted with the deceit
of pathetic faces
pretending races.
"The dumbfuck public doesn't vote,
give them a beercard, a gascard,
good for an 'Andrew Jackson',
get them to the polling booth
and home with a dime,"
the oldman hated house tours.
And snotty fat shorthaired dikes.
The gayboys next door had gone north
and shuttered their home
for the season.
The hurricane season.
A lovely breeze in the Keys
the Isles of Eternal Sun,
All One Family
until November.
Recycle and bicycle.
Buy the canned goods.
And don't wear hoods.
Greetings from the Hill.
A gorgeous day in paradise, blue skies,
billowing white clouds, swaying palms,
quiet streets before the tour arrives...
"The What and for Whom,"
sputters the madone,
amazed at the neighbour exposing his home
for 'Pridefest', a week when
gays and lesbians talk
to each other...
"And that ripoff 'Rainbow Flag',"
snorting and wondering
about Moody's persuasion.
The oldman sighed and sipped
another pint,
fat dikes and fruits on bikes,
another way to sell a house,
tours for whores.
The opera from Havana,
Dragnet on FreeTV,
doves eating catfood,
cats sleeping on scaffolding,
roosters in the gardens,
underwear on the clothesline,
the Rogosuite empty and neat,
the indian on a rideabout.
The oldman wondered about the future,
less than five months...
would he live to see 'Change'
or the same dumb shit
avoiding the truth of 'it'.
"Barryboy or Bambi, as the cunt calls him
is an effete, not killer quality,
he might get the 20%'s,
but queers aren't sissies anymore,
too weak to lead mercenaries,"
grumbles the madone
disgusted with the deceit
of pathetic faces
pretending races.
"The dumbfuck public doesn't vote,
give them a beercard, a gascard,
good for an 'Andrew Jackson',
get them to the polling booth
and home with a dime,"
the oldman hated house tours.
And snotty fat shorthaired dikes.
The gayboys next door had gone north
and shuttered their home
for the season.
The hurricane season.
A lovely breeze in the Keys
the Isles of Eternal Sun,
All One Family
until November.
Recycle and bicycle.
Buy the canned goods.
And don't wear hoods.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
On to the Convention.
0637/2012 78/88 Blue Skies SSE/5 70%H.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful morning in paradise,
chores done at sunup,
quiet streets and empty spaces,
the June exodus...
evictions to those too poor to leave.
"What a fucking mess for the next,
four lawyers in The White House
can't save this disaster...
and the prick who started 'it'
will be sniffing about,"
grumbles the madone
never impressed with Billy Blythe
after repealing 'The Glass Steagle Act'
making banks conglomerates.
"Now 'this blackman' is pure spin,
a bastard born to a married man
doing postgraduate studies
on a white woman...
who abandons forever his family
doctoring in economics at Harvard,
returning to native Kenya
raising more pureblacks
and dies drunk...
just like Billy's dad
in a ditch,"
snorts the oldman
belching on tomato juice.
Roosters crowing below.
Breakfast served in the president's room,
homefries, cheese omelette, rye toast,
a garden grown tomato,
the oldman was starving...
life had been tumultuous lately.
Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum
in Cape Fear, the classic, on FreeTV,
classics from Havana,
palm trees swaying,
cats sleeping,
the oldman pecking
about politics.
"Truth..gimme some truth,"
shouts the madone
walking out to the balcony,
spouting to a deserted street.
"Barry Soetoro for President
or why not Barry Dunham,
but Obama the bigamist,
shit on shit on shit
on a shithead public."
The white jury convicted
an innocent blackman
not in Cape Fear,
but To Kill A Mockingbird,
the oldman was senile.
The little boy had a new daddy
and moved to Jakarta at six,
learning muslim and catholic prayers,
returning to Hawaii and granny,
the only white female vicepresident
in state banking...proud of Barry Who
and their daughter now a doctor...
Columbia and Harvard then Chicago,
and the world of law and politics,
a black lawyer wife
and African roots
of bigamist Obama.
"Hey, fuckwad.. and you think Bush lies,
read the Fed speeches, fancy shit,
fancier graphs and charts,
FOMC and Satyajit Das,
Superderivatives ragmag,"
not even started
with Janet Yellen,
his favorite fed.
Billowing white clouds
and blue skies
with a lazy breeze.
Recycle and bicycle.
Greetings from the Hill.
A beautiful morning in paradise,
chores done at sunup,
quiet streets and empty spaces,
the June exodus...
evictions to those too poor to leave.
"What a fucking mess for the next,
four lawyers in The White House
can't save this disaster...
and the prick who started 'it'
will be sniffing about,"
grumbles the madone
never impressed with Billy Blythe
after repealing 'The Glass Steagle Act'
making banks conglomerates.
"Now 'this blackman' is pure spin,
a bastard born to a married man
doing postgraduate studies
on a white woman...
who abandons forever his family
doctoring in economics at Harvard,
returning to native Kenya
raising more pureblacks
and dies drunk...
just like Billy's dad
in a ditch,"
snorts the oldman
belching on tomato juice.
Roosters crowing below.
Breakfast served in the president's room,
homefries, cheese omelette, rye toast,
a garden grown tomato,
the oldman was starving...
life had been tumultuous lately.
Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum
in Cape Fear, the classic, on FreeTV,
classics from Havana,
palm trees swaying,
cats sleeping,
the oldman pecking
about politics.
"Truth..gimme some truth,"
shouts the madone
walking out to the balcony,
spouting to a deserted street.
"Barry Soetoro for President
or why not Barry Dunham,
but Obama the bigamist,
shit on shit on shit
on a shithead public."
The white jury convicted
an innocent blackman
not in Cape Fear,
but To Kill A Mockingbird,
the oldman was senile.
The little boy had a new daddy
and moved to Jakarta at six,
learning muslim and catholic prayers,
returning to Hawaii and granny,
the only white female vicepresident
in state banking...proud of Barry Who
and their daughter now a doctor...
Columbia and Harvard then Chicago,
and the world of law and politics,
a black lawyer wife
and African roots
of bigamist Obama.
"Hey, fuckwad.. and you think Bush lies,
read the Fed speeches, fancy shit,
fancier graphs and charts,
FOMC and Satyajit Das,
Superderivatives ragmag,"
not even started
with Janet Yellen,
his favorite fed.
Billowing white clouds
and blue skies
with a lazy breeze.
Recycle and bicycle.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Free at Last....Free at Last.
0637/2010 78/88 Blue Skies E5/10 60%H
Greetings from the Hill.
No Fridays Lies today...
just money in the bank,
donations for the household,
keeping the lights on,
cats and birds fed,
crappers flushing,
hotless water flowing.
The financial engineer was 'tight',
orders on the Internet had stopped,
the phone silent...
he had spent the week with family,
a rented home in Charleston,
playing golf with Dad,
and brother Jack,
the otherjack.
"He reneges, lies cheats,"
snorted the indianwoman
after a game of cutthroat bridge
in the 'RogoSuite'.
"Of course, of course,"
the oldman smiled...
"Usually off course."
His most worshipfull of shitmaster
took on the judge with delay,
the courts delay and stalled
the system through mirrors
of the secret clan
unseen by the common man.
"Elitest shithead pretender
to the warbase of rangers
and fatass computer scouts
who fantasize of 'Being Crazy'
raising a mob to Madness....
Not a fuckingchance.."
the madone still investigating
P I BILL.
The Cheerleader controlled the Mob.
"What could that mean...
a redneck Texas cheerleader at Harvard
snorting coke guzzling whiskey
playing queer mocking Dad,
nasty little pecker kicking
his sissy brother at home
with the ragheads...
No movie I ever saw,"
shrugs the oldman ready,
especially at three in the afternoon
on a gorgeous day in paradise,
breakfast on the balcony,
cafe conleche and a booger,
internet and emails,
perhaps another blog.
The Poinceanna sprouting delicate leaves,
two nights of rain,
green weeds on the corner lawn,
classics from Havana,
a brancheater on the corner,
Canada day this weekend,
Judge Overby dismissed the case.
Blue skies and beautiful,
where Life is the Breeze.
Recycle and bicycle.
Greetings from the Hill.
No Fridays Lies today...
just money in the bank,
donations for the household,
keeping the lights on,
cats and birds fed,
crappers flushing,
hotless water flowing.
The financial engineer was 'tight',
orders on the Internet had stopped,
the phone silent...
he had spent the week with family,
a rented home in Charleston,
playing golf with Dad,
and brother Jack,
the otherjack.
"He reneges, lies cheats,"
snorted the indianwoman
after a game of cutthroat bridge
in the 'RogoSuite'.
"Of course, of course,"
the oldman smiled...
"Usually off course."
His most worshipfull of shitmaster
took on the judge with delay,
the courts delay and stalled
the system through mirrors
of the secret clan
unseen by the common man.
"Elitest shithead pretender
to the warbase of rangers
and fatass computer scouts
who fantasize of 'Being Crazy'
raising a mob to Madness....
Not a fuckingchance.."
the madone still investigating
P I BILL.
The Cheerleader controlled the Mob.
"What could that mean...
a redneck Texas cheerleader at Harvard
snorting coke guzzling whiskey
playing queer mocking Dad,
nasty little pecker kicking
his sissy brother at home
with the ragheads...
No movie I ever saw,"
shrugs the oldman ready,
especially at three in the afternoon
on a gorgeous day in paradise,
breakfast on the balcony,
cafe conleche and a booger,
internet and emails,
perhaps another blog.
The Poinceanna sprouting delicate leaves,
two nights of rain,
green weeds on the corner lawn,
classics from Havana,
a brancheater on the corner,
Canada day this weekend,
Judge Overby dismissed the case.
Blue skies and beautiful,
where Life is the Breeze.
Recycle and bicycle.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sunday on the Sunnyside.
0638/2008 78/88 Billowing Clouds SE5/10 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
Sunday morning in paradise,
sunshine and shadows,
Segovia from Havana 59AM
John Wayne on FreeTV,
roosters crowing
for catfood,
bars closed.
Clouds drifting southwest
through the front windows,
floating northwest
through the side windows...
"Holey horsefuck, that's a storm,"
laughs the madone
ready for the rain.
"And tomorrows a bank holiday,
the last for banksters and hedgehogs,
the summer of discontent
brewing in the engine's roar
as Detroit gasps 'it's' last...
ragheads stuffing their pipes,"
grumbles the oldman,
a pint before noon at home,
within the law
for now.
"Yeah well fuckingwhat...
that evil little prick won't leave.
A setup for martial law.
Economic collapse
Dollar collapse
Civil war
Detainment of insurgents
Antipolitical actions
MexCanAm ...MACDOLLAR.
Blackstone, Blackrock, Blackwater.
The Kingdom of Duncedom
the reign of Insane,"
limping downstairs
for beer and grease.
The oldman read the Fed speeches,
tried to understand the 'models'
in 'Liz' Laderman's reports,
an admission of intent
by the economists
to dictate policy
beyond reason.
"A fucking mathmatical model
with government figures
approved by investment dealers
rated by subscribers
unknown to all
but an MIT acidhead,
the 20/20 Club,
Bet on a Bet on a Bet
to the last dollar,
the home is gone,"
sighs the oldman
ready for the rain.
Butter on toasted black rye,
wide sliced homefries
with Visalia onyins,
fat sliced Homestead tomato
beside an omelette
of green onyins and cheese
under the house eggs,
another pint,
a roach with a belch,
brunch at noon
cooked by the indian.
Life on the Hill.
always a breeze
in the fabulous keys.
Recycle and bicycle.
Save cans...
beer cans.
Happy Holiday.
Greetings from the Hill.
Sunday morning in paradise,
sunshine and shadows,
Segovia from Havana 59AM
John Wayne on FreeTV,
roosters crowing
for catfood,
bars closed.
Clouds drifting southwest
through the front windows,
floating northwest
through the side windows...
"Holey horsefuck, that's a storm,"
laughs the madone
ready for the rain.
"And tomorrows a bank holiday,
the last for banksters and hedgehogs,
the summer of discontent
brewing in the engine's roar
as Detroit gasps 'it's' last...
ragheads stuffing their pipes,"
grumbles the oldman,
a pint before noon at home,
within the law
for now.
"Yeah well fuckingwhat...
that evil little prick won't leave.
A setup for martial law.
Economic collapse
Dollar collapse
Civil war
Detainment of insurgents
Antipolitical actions
MexCanAm ...MACDOLLAR.
Blackstone, Blackrock, Blackwater.
The Kingdom of Duncedom
the reign of Insane,"
limping downstairs
for beer and grease.
The oldman read the Fed speeches,
tried to understand the 'models'
in 'Liz' Laderman's reports,
an admission of intent
by the economists
to dictate policy
beyond reason.
"A fucking mathmatical model
with government figures
approved by investment dealers
rated by subscribers
unknown to all
but an MIT acidhead,
the 20/20 Club,
Bet on a Bet on a Bet
to the last dollar,
the home is gone,"
sighs the oldman
ready for the rain.
Butter on toasted black rye,
wide sliced homefries
with Visalia onyins,
fat sliced Homestead tomato
beside an omelette
of green onyins and cheese
under the house eggs,
another pint,
a roach with a belch,
brunch at noon
cooked by the indian.
Life on the Hill.
always a breeze
in the fabulous keys.
Recycle and bicycle.
Save cans...
beer cans.
Happy Holiday.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Memorial Day Blues.
0639/2007 79/88 Hazy Hot S/8 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
The thirtythird of this holiday weekend
in paradise, these thrice blessed keys,
islands of the eternal sun...
"That's Honorary Conch Shit,"
laughs the madone celebrating
with a pint for lunch at 92 degrees
and 24.6/81.6 generalities.
The oldman was crippled again,
falling on the new plywood floors.
His right side too, the typing arm...
"Apple Blossom Weekend,"
smiled his mother enjoying the ride
around The Falls into Buffalo
to visit Aunt Effie and Uncle Frank,
a bookiebank and mobman.
"We Like Ike."
Chocolate bars and baseball cards,
angora sweaters and ducktails,
Bill Haley and The Comets...
"What the fuck happened then, oldman,
the frigging neutron bomb,
rock and fucking roll, or ........
the birth control pill, Harfuckinghar,"
cackles the madone,
as roosters crow
and hens fly to the scaffolding
eating dove and catfood
while the indianwoman plays the flute,
smoking Poker cigarettes,
snacking Ben and Jerry's,
feeding steak to the dog.
"Camelot and a parking lot
for plazas and suburban sod,
commuters and looters,
bomb shelters made into
backyard pools,
safe from 'the commie threat'
until 'that ride in Dallas'."
"She was jaded and callous,
had left her oldman,
dead in Dallas...
and married 'The Greek',
Jackie the Wacky and Wall Street,
just the beginning,"
mused the oldman in the heat
of the afternoon,
the dog eating chicken bones,
the stupid oldcunt up the street
leaving her pets alone
to bark and bark.
"But, I never heard my dogs bark
when I was out."
Americanfuckingassholes playing roles.
Greetings from the Hill.
The thirtythird of this holiday weekend
in paradise, these thrice blessed keys,
islands of the eternal sun...
"That's Honorary Conch Shit,"
laughs the madone celebrating
with a pint for lunch at 92 degrees
and 24.6/81.6 generalities.
The oldman was crippled again,
falling on the new plywood floors.
His right side too, the typing arm...
"Apple Blossom Weekend,"
smiled his mother enjoying the ride
around The Falls into Buffalo
to visit Aunt Effie and Uncle Frank,
a bookiebank and mobman.
"We Like Ike."
Chocolate bars and baseball cards,
angora sweaters and ducktails,
Bill Haley and The Comets...
"What the fuck happened then, oldman,
the frigging neutron bomb,
rock and fucking roll, or ........
the birth control pill, Harfuckinghar,"
cackles the madone,
as roosters crow
and hens fly to the scaffolding
eating dove and catfood
while the indianwoman plays the flute,
smoking Poker cigarettes,
snacking Ben and Jerry's,
feeding steak to the dog.
"Camelot and a parking lot
for plazas and suburban sod,
commuters and looters,
bomb shelters made into
backyard pools,
safe from 'the commie threat'
until 'that ride in Dallas'."
"She was jaded and callous,
had left her oldman,
dead in Dallas...
and married 'The Greek',
Jackie the Wacky and Wall Street,
just the beginning,"
mused the oldman in the heat
of the afternoon,
the dog eating chicken bones,
the stupid oldcunt up the street
leaving her pets alone
to bark and bark.
"But, I never heard my dogs bark
when I was out."
Americanfuckingassholes playing roles.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Red Sunset Depression Blues.
Greetings from the Hill.
0641/2004 76/86 Blue skies and breezy SSW 10/20 70%H
Another splendid day in paradise in the President's room,
cobalt blue skies and lush green trees
thirsting for a springtime shower,
the neighbour's corner lawn..brown.
The oldman watered everyday.
"Hey, how's the new setup," offering pleasantries
for change in the neworld of Kindness,
a radical new approach to Greed
and the peckers of coin.
The oldman had accumulated extensive notes
the past week recuperating from work,
the day of Miss Vickery's wake,
"No noise during the memorial,"
growls the madone
never trusting the engineer.
Seventeen sheets of plywood,
unloaded, cut and screwed
on the second floor
covering an oldman's dream...
"By Order of the Judge,"
laughs the madone.
The oldman never made it inside
reminiscing on the porch
with a ghost and a dream,
such a work of art,
balance, style and color
oversized for the special
centuryold hundredweight,
"Now, look at that, Jack,"
the teacher teaching observaton.
Looking is listening to the sound
of nature seeing color.
"And not listening to rich oldcunts
pretend they're not horny,"
cackles the indianwoman bringing
bread, juice and milk with...
"And I'm out of pot,"
shuffling out followed
by the dog.
"And I'm out of water,"
talking to the fifteen steps.
"What's 'it' all about,
Who are They,
and Where,
When will 'it' happen
and Why?"
wonders a stranded motorist
on USOne.
The breeze rattled the window,
the gnarled poinciana was bloomless,
southwest was the Yucatan,
a thousand miles of water
before Tampa
and The Foreclosure Coast,
Key West had it's own troubles,
subprimes were backing up,
the waters were becoming toxic
"It could get in your hair...
It's in the air,"
mumbles the indianwoman
with a lunch treat.
"Any idiot can figure 'it' out...
a simple equation based on the model,
Smets Wouters 2003 DSGE/AWM
analysing the optimality of stratagies,
a newer model interelates real GDP,
consuption, investment,employment,
real wages, inflation and
short term interest
as opposed to
Bayesian estimation and validation
and vector auto regressions VAR's,
HOhofuckingHO."
The voice in the hallway of thirst.
"Hey, oldman, what about Janet Yellen
up there (B.C.) with the CFA, Yuck, Yuck,"
sneaking in his notes again..
"Events are roiling US markets,
turmoil in all loan forms as a result of
Financial Engineering and the 'model',
'The Originate to Distribute Business Model'
admitting to 7M subprime in the air,
defaults in ABS, MBS, CDO, and Muni's,
interbanking and counterparties reluctant,
the TAF, TSLF, PDCF bailouts a last window,
blah blah fucking blah."
Walking downstairs with the credit card.
"Investing in Treasury futures using CBOT
contracts and propriety model to identify
discrepancies in value against the yield curve
entailing arbitrage strategy...Yofuckingyo...
all to swindle administrators
and other traitors of Trust,"
sighed the oldman
late for lunch.
"The jury is guilty too."
"The boss is crooked, so is everyone on the take."
"Eight years of Failure."
Stay with canned goods.
The floors are safe.
Paradise ain't cheap.
Laura must be a bitch.
0641/2004 76/86 Blue skies and breezy SSW 10/20 70%H
Another splendid day in paradise in the President's room,
cobalt blue skies and lush green trees
thirsting for a springtime shower,
the neighbour's corner lawn..brown.
The oldman watered everyday.
"Hey, how's the new setup," offering pleasantries
for change in the neworld of Kindness,
a radical new approach to Greed
and the peckers of coin.
The oldman had accumulated extensive notes
the past week recuperating from work,
the day of Miss Vickery's wake,
"No noise during the memorial,"
growls the madone
never trusting the engineer.
Seventeen sheets of plywood,
unloaded, cut and screwed
on the second floor
covering an oldman's dream...
"By Order of the Judge,"
laughs the madone.
The oldman never made it inside
reminiscing on the porch
with a ghost and a dream,
such a work of art,
balance, style and color
oversized for the special
centuryold hundredweight,
"Now, look at that, Jack,"
the teacher teaching observaton.
Looking is listening to the sound
of nature seeing color.
"And not listening to rich oldcunts
pretend they're not horny,"
cackles the indianwoman bringing
bread, juice and milk with...
"And I'm out of pot,"
shuffling out followed
by the dog.
"And I'm out of water,"
talking to the fifteen steps.
"What's 'it' all about,
Who are They,
and Where,
When will 'it' happen
and Why?"
wonders a stranded motorist
on USOne.
The breeze rattled the window,
the gnarled poinciana was bloomless,
southwest was the Yucatan,
a thousand miles of water
before Tampa
and The Foreclosure Coast,
Key West had it's own troubles,
subprimes were backing up,
the waters were becoming toxic
"It could get in your hair...
It's in the air,"
mumbles the indianwoman
with a lunch treat.
"Any idiot can figure 'it' out...
a simple equation based on the model,
Smets Wouters 2003 DSGE/AWM
analysing the optimality of stratagies,
a newer model interelates real GDP,
consuption, investment,employment,
real wages, inflation and
short term interest
as opposed to
Bayesian estimation and validation
and vector auto regressions VAR's,
HOhofuckingHO."
The voice in the hallway of thirst.
"Hey, oldman, what about Janet Yellen
up there (B.C.) with the CFA, Yuck, Yuck,"
sneaking in his notes again..
"Events are roiling US markets,
turmoil in all loan forms as a result of
Financial Engineering and the 'model',
'The Originate to Distribute Business Model'
admitting to 7M subprime in the air,
defaults in ABS, MBS, CDO, and Muni's,
interbanking and counterparties reluctant,
the TAF, TSLF, PDCF bailouts a last window,
blah blah fucking blah."
Walking downstairs with the credit card.
"Investing in Treasury futures using CBOT
contracts and propriety model to identify
discrepancies in value against the yield curve
entailing arbitrage strategy...Yofuckingyo...
all to swindle administrators
and other traitors of Trust,"
sighed the oldman
late for lunch.
"The jury is guilty too."
"The boss is crooked, so is everyone on the take."
"Eight years of Failure."
Stay with canned goods.
The floors are safe.
Paradise ain't cheap.
Laura must be a bitch.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Skateboards for Baghdad.
0646/1958 Blue Skies ESE10/15 80%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A lovely day in paradise
reading on the balcony...
the diary of Henry Wallace.
A reincarnation for the times.
Imagine ugly skateboards, 100,000,
going to Baghdad to promote
the Disney Skatepark,
or boardpunks avoiding deadheads
and those without beds.
Could this promotion of the 'Occupants'
be bizarre or the fantasy's
of the King of Duncedom.
"Another fucking week of Bullshit
and Bushturds,"
grumbles the madone pissed
with monitoring the lies
from banksters and corporapists,
the spin from pixel land,
CountryWide on cheap TV,
and now the Garden gone
for a theme park
"A pathetic collection of cowards,
the men pretend to decide upon
the input from women too old
for their sexual fantasies,
coupled households
and obeise brats,"
sighs the oldman thirsty
for a coldone
but too weary
to be disturbed.
The fools of local government
closed the newly built SkatePark
to fuck the kids
as well as Harry and Pritham...
"And just who might those fools be,"
snorting at such lowlife,
the fulltime bureaucrat and other
brokers of favors,
a system so slimey that all
are contaminated in crime,
guilt that runs corruption
and makes a fool
believe
in god.
"Take a walk around the block,"
growling to the oldman,
something very suspicious was
happening in the financial markets,
obviously a sinister plot so far beyond
the banksters and fedsters
the hedgehogs and raters,
equity and debt,
canned goods and cash.
"It's the Rapture or a Rupture,"
smiles the oldman to the cat behind him,
a warm night without breeze
and the feel of thunder,
too long without rain
and too many things
out of harmony,
too long living the lie
of another' dream,
greed's scheme
of the lender's cream...
"Fuck you allllllllllll...
Subprime and Sour Milk,
SIV's in the dark
and CDO's that bark,"
laughing in the moonlight
on a tropical night
with hardly a breeze
in the quiet keys.
Lyndon LaRouche
supports Hillary...
whatfuckingnext.
McCoy is eighty.
Greetings from the Hill.
A lovely day in paradise
reading on the balcony...
the diary of Henry Wallace.
A reincarnation for the times.
Imagine ugly skateboards, 100,000,
going to Baghdad to promote
the Disney Skatepark,
or boardpunks avoiding deadheads
and those without beds.
Could this promotion of the 'Occupants'
be bizarre or the fantasy's
of the King of Duncedom.
"Another fucking week of Bullshit
and Bushturds,"
grumbles the madone pissed
with monitoring the lies
from banksters and corporapists,
the spin from pixel land,
CountryWide on cheap TV,
and now the Garden gone
for a theme park
"A pathetic collection of cowards,
the men pretend to decide upon
the input from women too old
for their sexual fantasies,
coupled households
and obeise brats,"
sighs the oldman thirsty
for a coldone
but too weary
to be disturbed.
The fools of local government
closed the newly built SkatePark
to fuck the kids
as well as Harry and Pritham...
"And just who might those fools be,"
snorting at such lowlife,
the fulltime bureaucrat and other
brokers of favors,
a system so slimey that all
are contaminated in crime,
guilt that runs corruption
and makes a fool
believe
in god.
"Take a walk around the block,"
growling to the oldman,
something very suspicious was
happening in the financial markets,
obviously a sinister plot so far beyond
the banksters and fedsters
the hedgehogs and raters,
equity and debt,
canned goods and cash.
"It's the Rapture or a Rupture,"
smiles the oldman to the cat behind him,
a warm night without breeze
and the feel of thunder,
too long without rain
and too many things
out of harmony,
too long living the lie
of another' dream,
greed's scheme
of the lender's cream...
"Fuck you allllllllllll...
Subprime and Sour Milk,
SIV's in the dark
and CDO's that bark,"
laughing in the moonlight
on a tropical night
with hardly a breeze
in the quiet keys.
Lyndon LaRouche
supports Hillary...
whatfuckingnext.
McCoy is eighty.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Level Plumb and Square.
0652/1954 75/85 Hazy S/5 75%H
Greetings from the Hill.
A sultry spring day in paradise,
hazy, warm and humid...
the oldman was still sick and suffering
headaches, ringing ears, dizziness,
burning eyes and lack of concentration...
"Too fucking tired to blog or..
sick of the banksters and liaticians
who dumb and numb the brain,"
growls the madone,
classics from Havana, no TV,
cats fed and sleeping,
dishes done,
plants watered
floors swept.
"Tomorrow and another day at court,
a new code inspector to dig deeper
into the historic house problems...
the engineer has leveled the floor,
plumbed the tilted walls
and squared the beams...
pretty damn good by himself,"
acknowledges the madone.
"And a new railing yesterday,"
muses the oldman becoming
faint at noon.
All this oppressive shit of finance,
minor millionaires pretending,
playing in bigtime digits
betting on betting on betting.
"Yeah, you assholes..
square derivatives that
magnify the 32/1 leverage
of HedgeHogging in the Caymans
or the world's largest sandtrap
Dubai."
Hazy silver skies and roofs
surrounded by lush spring leaves,
the forty foot Key Lime burgeoning
with yellow blossoms across the street,
a red trumpet of Royal Poinciana
dazzles through the west window...
"Greedy pissant thieves who strive
to drive the Bush SUV with SIV's
and exotic titles fueled by corn,
maybe the hungry starving masses
will push and pull for pennies...
Or maybe a ten cent dollar,"
wondering what reason
beside the greed of all
could cause Uncle Sam
to fall.
"Don't want to hear about 'it',
that answer to the predicament,
a cause of recession, a factor
in the financial model of bankers,
the buzzwords of hustlers with
lists of million dollar suckers...
the 20/20 Club," spitting
at the chickens below,
who only wanted food,
a little rice perhaps
or maybe corn.
"The dumbass fuckwads can't see,
never view their bulging bodies naked,
or are the fatones lowerclass, underclass,
the million elite are trim and slim
and the middleclass all on diets,
living not as they are
but who they fantasize...
smaller clothes sizes,
larger room sizes,"
upward mobility towards
The Diety of Debt,
gloom and doom without a tomb.
"Ah, it happens every decade,
a few trillion gets wiped out,
gamblers out of their league,
amateurs with the pros,"
skoffs Mileken beyond 'it',
that mysterious 'it' again...
all serving, like 'fuck it',
which the sheeple of this
'Once Great Nation'
ought to consider
come November.
The oldman's head was aching
from the fraud and deception,
truth in advertising but no returns
without buyer protection...
"Insurance is the name of the game,
hedge your bets for the gamble,
protect AAA's with derivatives,
that 'shadowy OTC market' by Markit,
coowned by the 'Top Twenty'
who get saved by 'Bailout Bernie'
and Whoever Whatever
the Fool in the Debt House.
Save canned goods.
Live on fifty a week.
Don't drive to work.
Buy Miller fourpacks.
Hardly a breeze
in the florida keys
where building booms
and nothing sells.
"
Greetings from the Hill.
A sultry spring day in paradise,
hazy, warm and humid...
the oldman was still sick and suffering
headaches, ringing ears, dizziness,
burning eyes and lack of concentration...
"Too fucking tired to blog or..
sick of the banksters and liaticians
who dumb and numb the brain,"
growls the madone,
classics from Havana, no TV,
cats fed and sleeping,
dishes done,
plants watered
floors swept.
"Tomorrow and another day at court,
a new code inspector to dig deeper
into the historic house problems...
the engineer has leveled the floor,
plumbed the tilted walls
and squared the beams...
pretty damn good by himself,"
acknowledges the madone.
"And a new railing yesterday,"
muses the oldman becoming
faint at noon.
All this oppressive shit of finance,
minor millionaires pretending,
playing in bigtime digits
betting on betting on betting.
"Yeah, you assholes..
square derivatives that
magnify the 32/1 leverage
of HedgeHogging in the Caymans
or the world's largest sandtrap
Dubai."
Hazy silver skies and roofs
surrounded by lush spring leaves,
the forty foot Key Lime burgeoning
with yellow blossoms across the street,
a red trumpet of Royal Poinciana
dazzles through the west window...
"Greedy pissant thieves who strive
to drive the Bush SUV with SIV's
and exotic titles fueled by corn,
maybe the hungry starving masses
will push and pull for pennies...
Or maybe a ten cent dollar,"
wondering what reason
beside the greed of all
could cause Uncle Sam
to fall.
"Don't want to hear about 'it',
that answer to the predicament,
a cause of recession, a factor
in the financial model of bankers,
the buzzwords of hustlers with
lists of million dollar suckers...
the 20/20 Club," spitting
at the chickens below,
who only wanted food,
a little rice perhaps
or maybe corn.
"The dumbass fuckwads can't see,
never view their bulging bodies naked,
or are the fatones lowerclass, underclass,
the million elite are trim and slim
and the middleclass all on diets,
living not as they are
but who they fantasize...
smaller clothes sizes,
larger room sizes,"
upward mobility towards
The Diety of Debt,
gloom and doom without a tomb.
"Ah, it happens every decade,
a few trillion gets wiped out,
gamblers out of their league,
amateurs with the pros,"
skoffs Mileken beyond 'it',
that mysterious 'it' again...
all serving, like 'fuck it',
which the sheeple of this
'Once Great Nation'
ought to consider
come November.
The oldman's head was aching
from the fraud and deception,
truth in advertising but no returns
without buyer protection...
"Insurance is the name of the game,
hedge your bets for the gamble,
protect AAA's with derivatives,
that 'shadowy OTC market' by Markit,
coowned by the 'Top Twenty'
who get saved by 'Bailout Bernie'
and Whoever Whatever
the Fool in the Debt House.
Save canned goods.
Live on fifty a week.
Don't drive to work.
Buy Miller fourpacks.
Hardly a breeze
in the florida keys
where building booms
and nothing sells.
"
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