0732/1937 Cloudy and Windy SE15/25 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.
What a day for sailing, chimes singing, trees bending,
windows rattling, papers blowing about,
"Notes on the scammers, those crooked banksters
and the corporapists...fuck them," growls the madone
finishing his egg and sausage crumpet with cafeconleche,
a big breeze in the keys today.
A crisis in the education program over lunches...
parents are delinquent in prepaying for the crap
that is confused as food for thier little hoggies.
"Let the fat turds fast on odd days," grumbles the oldman,
disgusted with the walking bloated.
"It's a goddamned shame the way these people look,
fifty inch asses flopping up the street...
imagine the strain on the toilet seat,"
belching from the hot sausage,
farting from the eggs
ready for a cigarette.
The odd thing about this financial crisis is the con.
Economists beyond the american media suspect
a plot of conspirators beyond belief...
"The Indians shrug and decouple thier market,
the Chinese smile and wait, the Russians have got
the investment bankers secret stash with no fear
of Hedge Fund takeovers....the old KGB,"
offers the doctor visiting the cripple.
The wind was blowing off the last leaves
of the key lime tree, springtime in paradise,
summer arrives hand in hand, 70/80....
One wonders if the McMansions are worried about
thier gardens and pets, children and grandparents,
the wind in thier, hair classics in the air,
or.....CSI on plasmaTV, fuel in the SUV,
the Harley in the back garage,
and Cramer's barrage.
"It is a consolidation of power by the agents,
these licensed distributers of government debt
who can control the money markets through
the Federal Reserve, itself under the aegis
of the GoldieSocks graduates," sighs the doctor,
attending to the oregano taking the balcony sun.
"What the vulture funds have done with debt
is now being applied by the top twenty, now the top
nineteen," chuckling to himself....
"The mystery is the rotten root, the decayed apple
that spreads its disease through the money trees
of economic greed groves....and the rot is not
from subprime mortgages."
"No fucking shit Sherlock," growls the oldman
too weak to walk to Faustos on a sunny day,
trapped behind the machine of gloom and doom,
locked inside a devaluating room,
sick and tired of being retired
"So the fuck what, it's all bullshit, Doctor..
and the 'it' is government shit, funny how the problems
all began with one man and the WTC and WMD,
this savage little prick then brought Homeland
and Blackwater for protection for Halliburton,
oh yes..privatization of government for profit,"
the oldman was getting heart palpitations
fuming about the scumball structure.
"Relax yourself, death comes soon enough,"
soothed the kindly spirit leaving the oldman
to his house arrested development.
"How stupid can a populace be that allows a clown
to represent the most powerful nation on earth,"
sighs the weary oldman wishing he were forty.
"House for sale, built with plastic nail,
an Astroturf lawn with imitation gardens,
lovingly looked after by aliens,"
snorted the madone.
Take the breeze in the keys,
sail on small seas,
Don't eat canned worms.